I’m an adult, grown as hell, handling my business. Nobody pays my bills but me; if I do something or say something wrong, I must own it. No one is going to save me or defend me if I decide to get up to some chicanery. I have to answer for everything I do.
And…
I’m a woman, all woman, every inch of me. My body is mine. It belongs to me. No one has any say over it, my femininity, or my womanhood. Nobody is going to tell me what to do with my breasts or my ass or my legs or my sex. No one is going to use my innate beauty as a reason to behave inappropriately. No one—neither man nor another woman—is going to run shit here.
While I’m at it…
No woman’s going to define my sexuality. No man is going to do it either. No woman can speak for me in terms of what’s best for me. No man can do it either. I wish a muthafucka would try to tell me what I must do or who I must be. I pay the cost to be the boss right here, and if I don’t own anything else, I own me.
And in case it isn’t clear…
This is my body. My house. My world; therefore my rules.
Politicians have blatantly shown their natural collective ass this election year. I’m not even about to list the offenders, but you know who they are. For the most part, I’m not fazed by election drama, because that’s all it is. However, this year has been markedly different because the rights of women are under attack; especially as they relate to the uterus. To hear that there is support for restricting birth control in this day and age wasn’t a surprise, but to know that these conversations are taking place within the walls of our government by men with no women present…that was a good old-fashioned wake-up slap.
I suppose I really shouldn’t be shocked. We live in a patriarchal society and men as a collective are selfish beings who once ran shit and want to keep running shit. Once upon a time, women stayed home and raised kids. Once upon a time, that was the sum total of our existence. Women who deviated from that were not viewed in a favorable light. But contraception liberated us (in more ways than one) and got us out of the metaphorical house. Once we were out in the world and loving it, there was no going back. I’m not knocking women who choose to be stay-at-home mothers. I think that’s fantastic. But it ain’t for every woman, and it may not be feasible for every mother. The point is that it’s our choice, and if the woman is married, it is a discussion she should have with her spouse, and it is nobody else’s business.
In my opinion, this whole mess is really about controlling woman and “putting her back in her place.” Said place being in the home with the kids, under the thumb of man and out of the eyes of the world. This life made men very secure. The woman was tied to him, dependent upon him, the chances were near-perfect that the kids she bore were his, and her duty was to him. He could do as he chose. I imagine for them, it was a very happy time. But that life, that time, that world, a world that many of these congressmen grew up in, does not exist anymore. The option of not getting pregnant changed everything, and I believe that these men are quietly terrified that the new world order isn’t going to have them at the top of the food chain. Why else would these congressmen be so adamant and insistent on vigorously expressing their views on birth control (and trying to control it) if they weren’t afraid of the power it gives women?
I can’t think of anything other than fear guiding this train of thought; a fear so pervasive that it clouds the discussion of such rational issues as overpopulation and the increased numbers of unwanted children; something that birth control directly impacts. Fear is irrational and illogical, and acting out of it can make people look ridiculous. Look at all of what’s taking place and tell me it doesn’t at least strain credulity. How do you shun women in a debate about anything related to their bodies?? Because last I checked, you need a uterus to carry a child, and by biological definition, men don’t have one.
Which leads me back to my original rant. My body is mine and my sex is mine. If I want to dress a certain way, I will. Put an unwanted hand on me and I will fuck you up. Don’t try to justify your behavior by saying I am dressing inappropriately and you “just can’t help it.” Because you'd better be able to help having your ass handed to you.
If I want to be a contender for Slut of the Year and have sex with anyone and everyone I want to, then that’s my business. If I make it my mission to fuck any man who side-eyes me, it ain’t no concern of yours. You can say whatever the hell you want, but you can’t do anything about it.
If I get pregnant and don’t want the child for any number of reasons, then I have options available to me…and it is MY decision on what option I pick. Mine and no one else’s. You may not like it and you may criticize me for it, but that’s your problem. I can do anything I want to do with what belongs to me and it is no one else’s right to take that right away from me.
To paraphrase Cee-Lo Green: “Fuck you…and fuck you, too.”
Maybe I’m crazy, but I thought we were done talking about this shit. But here, now, in 2012…apparently not.