It started small.

Don’t chew gum

Don’t whistle

It isn’t ladylike

So I’ll be quietly, uncertainly me. 

It got more complicated.

Don’t wear that, you’ll look like a tomboy.

But don’t wear that either, it’s tarty and you’ll be called a tease.

You should like this, girls like this. 

You shouldn’t be over there, that’s where the boys play.

You don’t want to be one of them, urgh, 

but of course, you want to be noticed by them?

But, I don’t, because I don’t like to be teased, or hit. 

But boys will be boys, so does that mean girls have to be targets?

So I’ll be plain, timid, concealing me.

Don’t say that, keep that to yourself, it makes other people uncomfortable.

We know that man shouldn’t be left with girls, so we tell the the girls not to go with him. 

No one tells the man to leave. No one says explicitly what would happen.

Keep your keys in your fist as a weapon, watch your drink, use the buddy system, 

don’t invite the attention of predators.

No one explains that most abuse is perpetrated by known parties not strangers.

So I’ll be modified and censored, silently, fearfully me.

Then it got specific, and society-wide.

Real women are tanned, pale, tall, short, thin, curvy, 

educated, not too clever, opinionated and meek.

They should have careers and no children, 

and also have children and make a home for them. 

So I’ll be contradictorily, false-steppingly me. 

It also got insidious.

Working as an intelligent young woman in a male-dominated industry. 

Am I here to make the tea? Yeah sure, but I also own your budget, you antiquated dinosaur. 

You can remember when women were only in the secretarial pool? Good for you.

No, I will not wear heels for this job. Do the men here have to?

Excuse you? Did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours? 

Is my pay packet lighter because my bra size is bigger, 

I know you noticed, you’ve been addressing meetings to my chest for a year.

Is my child-free choice an invite for extra overtime? I may not have spawn to chase, 

but I have commitments that are just as important. Maybe you need to manage your business better?

What? No, HR told me that without witnesses or recorded evidence I would be ‘making my work relationships harder’ 

and advised me to drop the issue ‘to support my future with the company’. 

So I’ll be frustratedly, simmeringly me.

It digs into your internal processes.

A man touches my face during a professional appointment without invitation or need, and I try to MAKE HIM more comfortable.

Afterwards, I blame myself. For his actions. Because I’ve had three decades being taught that I need to police men’s behaviour towards myself. 

So I’ll take responsibility for my actions, but not for yours. 

I’ll be clearly, accountably, me. 

Don’t be aggressive or confrontational, it makes others uncomfortable.

Even if you’re standing your ground against views that would see you literally lose rights. 

Don’t make waves. 

Don’t take up so much space, don’t take up the attention, 

like it’s a limited commodity. 

We have to make room for all viewpoints. Even ones that say because you like both girls and guys, you must be a child abuser or some sort of pervert. 

Don’t be so loud, so visible. 

So I’ll be apologetically, meekly me. 

And suddenly, very shortly after that, I’ll be angrily, furiously me. 

That’s when it starts. Actual change. So here’s a promise to Future Me. 

I’ll talk openly about my husband and our partners, and try to be patient with those who don’t understand that model.

I’ll have the hair I want, and challenge the coughs that sound suspiciously like the word *butch*.

I’ll wear the clothes I like for the body I have. 

I’ll be kinder to that body, it works hard for me, 

and I’ll ignore and shout down the whole industries who thrive on my insecurity.

I’ll be visibly, honestly, authentically me. 

I’ll use the privilege I have to make space for the voices next to me, 

rendered invisible by narrow-minded bigotry. 

I’ll build bigger tables and lower the fucking fences. 

I’ll be intersectionally, fearlessly me.

I’ll wear purple, burn the bra, march with the sluts, raise the cash and campaign for no outsiders or children left behind.

I’ll make and support the art, put myself in the way of the river of idiocy and make it flow around me. 

I’ll take the hits that come with doing that, I’m strong enough now I can weather most of them, 

and I’m lucky and loved and privileged enough that I can plan for, and recover from, the serious ones.
I’ll be boldly, proudly, vocally me.

I’ll listen actively, rather than just wait to reply, 

and hopefully educate myself to understand the viewpoints that differ from mine, 

and like any good scientist, I will adjust my hypothesis based on the evidence I see.

I’ll be critically, open-mindedly me. 

And where I find intolerance of my appearance, person, beliefs, practices 

or any other facet of what makes up me, I’ll listen again. 

I’ll understand where I can, educate where there’s opportunity, 

and in the face of true ignorance I will plant myself like a tree 

and fight that ignorance and fear.

We can be better.

We can do better.

We all have skin in the game, no matter the colour.

So I will be be definitively, confidently, fabulously, exactly, wholly, imperfectly, perfectly me.

And I double dare you to do the same.