I am my own f’ing hero, thank you very much.

To say that I had poor role models growing up would be a tragic understatement. In some fucked up cosmic roll of the dice, I won three of the most vile women you’re likely to ever meet. These are hateful women who did horrible things, and early on I formed the idea that all women were like this, because almost all of my formative interactions were putrid.

So, I never really liked other females. I didn’t trust them, I didn’t crave their company, and I certainly didn’t look up to any. I was disgusted by femininity. I blocked, hid, and cloistered every girlish aspect of myself that I could. I didn’t sing, or dance, or dream of riding ponies. I didn’t know how to interact with other girls so I came across as brutish and rude. Large groups of giggling girls made my skin crawl and any mention of the divine feminine made me puke a little in my mouth.

This left me a bit lost when it came to things like learning how to be a wife and a mother. I had no idea how to value any feminine aspect of these very feminine roles. I was no longer brutish and rude (I’m sure some may argue that point) but I was cold and withdrawn. And depressed. Really fucking depressed.

Here I was, a god damned fucking adult and I had no sense of my feminine self and I didn’t even know it was a problem. So, naturally, I believed I was broken.

I was so unaware it was a problem, I didn’t even look to it for a solution. And then, not too long ago, my mentor asked me who my “sheros” were. I was stumped. And, I was surprised I was stumped. I had no women I looked up to, admired, or wished to be like. None. I was dumbfounded. It was through my hunt for a “shero” that I realized how dysfunctional my relationship was with my feminine side. What. In. The. Actual. Fuck.

I sat and thought, and pondered, and considered. I settled on an easy one to start with and that was JK Rowling. It was easy for me because not only is she brilliant and brave, she is distant. She is uber famous and I most likely won’t ever have to look her in the eye, which felt a little safer. Okay, I was warming up to this a bit. Stretching my “not all women are vile bastards” muscles. Once I was able to say it out loud, I admire JK Rowling, I moved on to the next. And then the next. And then I stopped. I’m still not super comfortable with all this girl stuff and so I’m easing into it in my own way, and it seems to be working. Out of all of this, though, the best thing I realized is I AM MY OWN FUCKING HERO, and while others are nice, they are unnecessary. I’ve totally got this.

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