One day I will be forced to teach my daughter to be less of herself, as I was taught by my mother to be less of myself.
Less intelligent, less outspoken, less than a womxn who could move mountains with her words and bring peace in a breath. Less than a womxn who's beauty is unnerving, who's presence engulfs.
But as I was, she may still become the target of men who strive to break us, who place their own selfish need above the requirement of consent. My beloved daughter may still find her soul crushed and her edges left jagged by men on power trips, as I found myself.
So what then, am I left to teach my daughter? In a society that perpetuates the idea that a womxn who has been touched is somehow less pure, somehow less a womxn, somehow undesirable. In a society that affirms the concept that the violation of a womxn's body is always her own fault. A society unable to define rape, in a society that won't address it by name, one where the appearance of the naked female form in a public place is cause for more protest than the rape and abuse of multiple womxn in institutions where they should feel safe. In a society where rapists roam freely. In our society. In this society. What then, do I teach my beloved daughter?
In a world designed to break us down, I must teach my daughter to be soft and kind. I will teach her to love like a lamb and roar like a lion, fierce and proud. In a world of hatred and anger, I must teach my daughter to survive the storm. To BE the storm. My daughter will embody grace, and bliss and utter contentment. She will learn all of the lessons which heartbreak and anguish etched into my bones, all of the things that blood and brokenness taught me. I will teach my daughter that it is okay to say no.