Be the Pariah


Someone will hate you one way or another. Men will no matter what. And many women will too, but for different reasons. You’ll understand why when you figure out how to love yourself.

You were born free.

What have they maimed you to be? First break all your bones, then blow you back up, and paint your face back on. 

Stop defending men. Stop. Let them go. Shhh, no. Stop. Let their absence become a lifelong meditation. The silence is amazing.

What do you fear if you stop? What happens when you stop caring what they think? What happens when you stop propping up their egos and pandering to their emotional fragility? What happens when you aim like the sharp-shooter you are and take out the man in your head? Kill him dead. Don’t apologize. Kill him dead.

There is no theory to explain that revolution. 

You’ll feel it in your gut as your body comes alive. First will be all the agony for the times you wouldn’t let yourself feel. Then will come the rage, up like a geyser, as you catch your breath. And the joy, even at the fury, that you can feel at all. Be angry as hell. Let your eyes flame wild, your hair stand on end, and scream so loud the power of your voice knocks them all over in your path. 

Then love every piece of you with reckless abandon, fearless compassion, and staunch loyalty. Be your own soulmate. 

Sometimes it seems like I am screaming at you: That you’re too stupid. That you caused this. That you’re weak. That you’re not good enough. All I say funnels through the man in your head. Kill him dead. Don’t apologize.

You are brilliant. You didn’t cause this. You are strong. Your value is beyond measure.

I am screaming because I can tell you don’t hear me still. I am shouting for him to leave. You hear nothing because he is still talking endlessly in your ear, yapping yapping yapping. I know he is because you bring him up at every turn. Not all men. Not my Nigel. Not this man. Not my dad, son, brother. And when you don’t mention him, you are thinking of him. The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, Allah, Thor, Adonis, Ra. Rousseau, Nietzsche, Aristotle, Freud, Stalin. Huckleberry Fin, Aladdin, Johnny Depp, Shakespeare, your neighbor, the last guy who harassed you on the street. Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Elvis, Mozart, the first male you ever loved, Ru Paul. So what. Big deal. Swinging dicks.

In the commotion, I see you twist and turn endlessly, sister. It’s a familiar movement, one turned on itself, in a pain only women ever know. We have our own pain. It is ours and ours alone. Our pain is visceral, so deep in our bodies that its burrowed a hole there through to the other side. Our pain blinds our eyes and clouds our minds, cuts us off from our elemental power. Threads of women woven through seasons and life and death, surviving, still beating. Our vibrancy leaps out at the world and dances with her.

Stop giving it to men. Stop. Shhh. I’d take your keys. I would. You’re drunk on them, you are. You’re drunk. I know, it eases the pain. It calms the nerves. It slows you down and makes you stumble and fall. Stop.

You feel so alone and are so afraid.

But you have not yet even known what you are.

Ulali Mother Tribute to native american women

2011-10-31 3:29

9 thoughts on “Be the Pariah

  1. “Someone will hate you one way or another. Men will no matter what. And many women will too, but for different reasons.”

    Oh is this true.

    I became a pariah at thirty. And saw, eventually, what a waste of energy and focus a good part of my twenties were. If I could have told my younger self a thing or two…

    “Stop defending men. Stop. Let them go.” You can. You absolutely can except for perhaps your immediate supervisor. Until you find another job.

    “What do you fear if you stop? What happens when you stop caring what they think? What happens when you stop propping up their egos and pandering to their emotional fragility?” So much. You start to see them for what they truly are. Which makes it so much easier to let them go. (And harder not to kill them dead. Outside your head too.)

    And there oughtta be a website like the one at ‘What it’s like to be a woman in philosophy’ ( called ‘Not My Nigel: Revelations’.

  2. I cringe when I think of all the years I took up for my misogynistic husband. I went to bet for him with my family, all who hated him, with my children, who should have hated him and at work (we worked together) where every one but other misognistic men hated him. I was so damn blind and I finally walked out on his sorry ass after 30 years of emotional and sexual abuse. And my children and I are still healing and probably always will. At that moment I walked out, the patriarchal fog lifted and the revelation of ALL men came into my fragile mind! I heard my Female Voice and She undid all the lies that had been put there all those years! I fought even Her for a Time, but it didn’t take long at all. Monika, I understand your confusion as I too don’t want to feel this way about my son, but then I see what he does to women too, but look at what he had for a role model, but I don’t take up for him to anyone….I don’t make excuses; I call him out and I Must say he seems to be trying but he is a MAN for god’s sake. I hate them all! Not because I was an abused wife, but I can look back in my teen years and see how much I despised most men and their actions, thoughts, etc. I was a feminist when I was 15 years old, so how did I end up this this type of man? Who the fuck knows? But I am so free now, it is amazing! Thank you again for amazing and freeing words of affirmation!

  3. sorry to leave such a ridiculously belated comment, but this is exactly, bang-on what i needed to read. “thank you” is a wholly inadequate phrase, but it’ll have to do. thank you, thank you, thank you.

  4. Actually thank you so much for leaving this “ridiculously belated” (I’d argue the timing is always perfect when it happens) comment. *I* needed to re-read this today, so by commenting here, you brought me back to the post. The give-and-take of women is so synchronous :) So perfect. Thank YOU and you’re welcome :)

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