How I should be

From time to time I get the feeling of disappointing someone’s expectations of how I should be. I’m not sure if these expectations are my own, but they are there, somewhere in my head. And I feel that society itself whispers to me (“Underachiever…. Loser…. Ugly little thing that is you…“).

From time to time I feel like I’m supposed to be this flawless, perfect image of perfection and flawlessness, but I fail to deliver.

Like you are supposed to be a goddess, but you aren’t even a properly standing human.

 

Society wants a woman’s body  to look like the body of a petite 16-year old girl. 

Unfortunately, I look like a petit 19-year old boy. My legs are a woman’s dream (= male legs). I have a fabulou amount of muscle. You  really should see my various strings of muscle stand out in when I move my calves….Oh, and my thighs, long-strong-wood-shaped strong featured muscle with  sweet blond hair… like a gay man’s dream.

I could leg-model as a gay greek god in a B-movie any time if it wasn’t for the scars.

 

Society wants my face to look younger and my nose to be smaller. 

Maybe I shouldn’t look in the mirror after browsing through H&M ads.

When I look in the mirror I feel old and tired. There is this thing about my not flawless skin, my not childlike face, my flat hair, my not so white teeth, about the deep hollowness under my eyes. How can you dare to exist, you ugly, old, weak, tired shadow of a human?

 

Society wants me to gracefully research the glorious case-law of Austria

I’m supposed to be Julia Roberts in this Grisham movie, a beautiful, determined young lady who stays in the library doing research 24/7. Steadily reading file after file, case after case, until she comes up with results. Thinking and writing and never tiring, rejoicing over the beauty of law.

Yet there’s this thing about my non-finished thesis and how I can’t push myself. There’s me staring at the computer screen, doing literally nothing. There’s my re-checking my e-mails, having the tenth look at facebook, having the twentieth look in the fridge (There is this very slight feeling that finding frozen youghurt in the fridge might lead to great research results, only that you haven’t bought frozen youghurt and that looking for frozen yoghurt the 20th time won’t change the yoghurtless reality….).

 

Society wants me to have a career

Look at this gorgeous young lawyer in her wonderful business clothing, marveled at by young law students. Look at the graceful way she moves, look how talks about her case, oh how fluent and clever is her speech. Her knowledge of law is deep, her authority unshatterable, her rhetorical skill excellent.

She could be you.

Only that you spend your days non-researching for a useless thesis, getting dirt on your casual clothes by little kids (Playing with kids is fun, but society doesn’t really think it makes your existence valueable), cleaning and cooking and carrying around toddlers.

 

Society wants your motherhood to be graceful. 

You are supposed to gracefully smile, to tend your kids in this perfect environment. Your kids are supposed to be little sunshines, ever so happy, their clothes ever so clean, their actions ever so sweet, their words ever so nice (“Mommy, I love you.”).

Why do your kids puke and scream and cuss and destroy things and kill snails and pull your hair? Why do your thoughts revolve around what to cook and how to cook while cleaning the kitchen while stopping kid 1 from scratching kid 2, aren’t you supposed to have food ready to give it to your peacefully smiling children?

Society wants to spit right in your face for not being a mother like you see them in advertisments.

 

Maybe society doesn’t care. 

I don’t know, probably society has no such demands from me and they are just my own. Which is because society doesn’t give a f*** about a male-legged tiredlooking non-researching unemployed toddler mother.