I'm just a girl

I don't want to be a woman, I want to be a person

Negligence towards understanding and believing women in literature (and equally so in life) fosters the convenient stereotype of the hysterical female, which is only further reinforced by society's inability to embrace female vulnerability.

This is particularly clear in 20/20 by Linda Brewer, which, in its best moments, affords Ruthie a thrilling narrative freedom- but in its worst, sidelines her to a laughing stock. Ruthie saw life through a lens different from Bill's; "Her eyes were... capable of seeing wonderful sights." Yet while comparing their clashing interpretations of life and reality, Bill (as well as ourselves in the class Harkness circles) was quick to typecast her as odd: as the pariah, the outlier. Yet what made Ruthie a compelling character hinged on her creativity, her whimsical idiosyncrasies, and her strength to be unabashedly herself. Still, in announcing her observations on the road of an "Indian paintbrush." and "A golden eagle.", her spirit was first doubted, then deemed unreliable, and ultimately crafted into an easy joke.


Who was to say what Bill saw was more "correct" than what Ruthie saw? Why was her perspective not accepted as a valid possibility of reason? Over and over again, I see this scene replicate itself: girls and women live with no appreciation for their mind, while men, at their bare minimum, are applauded. What is considered a woman's duty is something a man is praised for.


There are Ruthies all around me. When a girl says something slightly obscure, she almost instantly loses her credibility to be believed, to be taken seriously. One wrong action, one unwelcome retort, she is no longer known for the person she is, but defined by the moment she had. After all, it doesn't take much to laugh at the woman who lives unconventionally, says what other people are thinking but won't say aloud, indifferent even at the expense of others' respect of her. To live in line with society rooted in patriarchy, she has to instead be calculated. She has to be careful. The world holds high stakes for a woman: she can make no mistakes. There is no room for them.


The more often and intentionally you notice these microaggressions against feminine humility and vulnerability, of course, the more quickly they reveal themselves to you (at least, they did to me). In Cat in the Rain, Ernest Hemingway writes the character of the American wife as too whiney and too lofty. She feels stagnant in her life, discontent with its trajectory, and searches for fulfillment in various forms. But alas, "[Her husband] was not listening." Even the person who is meant to be her most understanding equal, her partner, fails to hear her- and chooses not to. The wife, "so tired", turns to materialism to foil her feelings of loneliness and hurt from being failed to be cared for. She makes attempt after attempt to voice her unhappiness: "'If I can't have any long hair or any fun, I can have a cat.'" to which her husband responds, "'Oh, shut up and get something to read.'"


The American wife isn't asking her husband for much: only attention. Yet her husband's refusal, or inability, to notice her needs and desires, effectively suggests a certain masculine insensitivity, and a general lack of regard or sympathy for women.


I want to believe that this kind of power dynamic isn't relevant now as it was when Hemingway wrote these characters just under a century ago, but that just isn't the case. It's like when someone asks a couple, "who wears the pants?" Masked in lightheartedness, even this question has an implicit historical reference, originating from when women traditionally only wore skirts, equating men to be the decision makers. While this situation isn't monolithic, I know, it is far too often relatable for a woman to feel unheard, ignored, or disillusioned by the people (men) around her.

In Kara's blog last week, she commented that "teenage girls are vastly misunderstood." As a response, I wonder: does it get any better for women? Or, do we ever grow up?

Whenever my friend Stuti and I are met with the slightest inconvenience or hardship in any situation, we repeat one shared phrase:

Why do I have to run two laps around the track as a warm up? I'm just a girl!

I have a raging migraine, I'm on my period, and I'm hungry- why do I still have to be at school? I'm just a girl!

Why do I have to carry all of the weight? I'm just a girl!

 

Though I admit we use the expression in humor and ironically, underlying it is a tragic truth: the notion that women are so complicated, so dramatic, so much work seems to never leave us. It reminds me of a touching quote from Pachinko, my book club novel- though in a different context in regards to ethnicity, I resonated with it strongly in regards to gender:


“She could not see his humanity, and Noa realized that this was what he wanted most of all: to be seen as human.” (Lee 312).

Sometimes, I feel barely adequate. Like I've somehow managed to trick everyone into believing that I'm just basically competent. I wonder, would I be feeling this if I was of the opposite sex? Even now, I am hesitant in writing this and sharing it in fear that I'll be misinterpreted, that I'll be mocked. Am I being melodramatic? I try to tell myself that I shouldn't think this way, that I shouldn't question myself so much, shouldn't dig my confidence into the ground- I mean, to be fair, "drama king" isn't the common phrase, nor is there a female equivalent of BDE.


America Ferrera's monologue in Barbie (2023) puts it concisely: "I'm just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us."