I’ve been punching out words on this blog for 8 months now, and in that time I’ve learned quite a bit.
A new blogger goes through certain inevitable stages along this journey we call “blogging” and those who stick it out for the long haul hope to see the rewards resulting from the fruits of their labor. And depending on what you consider rewarding, those lines are often indiscernible.
My life is a lot like this blog and for me personally, my goals from day one have, for the most part, remained the same. I want to get my message out to women just like me, who may be at different stages in their lives pushing themselves through adversity, who are struggling in search of their own self-awareness, and who can identify with being strong-willed and determined- because their life paths have forced them to be.
I wasn’t always this strong. It took plenty of work to get here. A lot of pain, sweat, broken promises, court battles, bad timing and terrible choices, countless douchebaggers, meddling nosy assholes, 500 nights of crying alone in bathtubs, hopelessness, reflection, utter loneliness, joy and prayer, and a set of balls I couldn’t get until after I fought my way through my own struggles a new person coming out the other side.
Since then the rewards are many. They are boundless and reach far beyond what I’d ever envisioned for me, that could be good and real. I am the person I am today- that I no longer hide from, that no longer sees herself as invisible, and I’m helping other women find this too, in themselves.
In my early 20′s and as a novelty, I visited a fortune teller and she’d laid out many things I didn’t believe at the time, that in the future, would prove to be prophetic. She told me that I would marry and that I would be extraordinarily happy in spite of a past filled with great sorrow.
Indeed, tumultuousness and irreparable sorrow have been in my lot a majority of my life, and from what I’ve read from you, my many readers, it has been in yours as well. But it doesn’t have to be that way, if you allow change to give way to how you should feel about yourself.
I’m a Feisty Woman because I am. So are you when you realize there no explanations, apologies or excuses needed to be who you are.
I Stay True to My Convictions and I Deserve Respect
The tides rarely change for me. In 33 years I’ve learned what works for me and what doesn’t, who I think ought to stick around and who needs to get out and when they should, and what’s truly important to me as opposed to what is meaningless.
I’ve also mentioned before that it’s no mystery that a lot of people don’t like me and consequentially, I’ve found that it’s those that do who are the only people who are truly worth anything to me. I have a choice- I could be a handful of unremarkable things to a million people, or I could be a million remarkable things to a handful. I choose to be something extraordinary among the few that are extremely important to me and to leave out quite a bit for the rest.
It took some practice, but for every asshole that tries to get a rise out of me, I learned to smile at him and the 5 other assholes standing behind him and move on my merry way. I realize life is short and I choose to spend my time the way I wish. And that certainly doesn’t encompass partaking in other peoples’ misery.
I get respect because I give it and I keep it by ensuring other people know when they are stepping over my boundaries. And if I can’t get through to them in the peaceful conventional ways that I find usually work, I’ll unleash the lashing tongue of ill-repute. I make my point known and I’ll try it with subtlety first. What happens second is your own fault.
I’m Not a Bitch
There is a misconception about a woman with strong opinions, convictions, a way with words, brains, wit, and an intangible curvature in her spine that makes people uncomfortable. She is often referred to as a “bitch” but I’m rarely, if ever referred to by anyone as a bitch. Simply because I’m not. There is a difference between a bitch and being a real woman.
Being rude is not gracious, being callous is not endearing, being a know-it-all doesn’t make you intelligent, and being conceited doesn’t make you beautiful.
A real woman knows how to be gracious, endearing, intelligent, and humble. The only thing a bitch knows how to do is to make sure she is none of these things, plus a whole lot more.
I’m a real woman who knows that being a bitch is no fun at all. So I’d rather just be a woman, who takes to being “challenging” like a brisk jog in the park.
I Seek the Approval of No One But Myself and the People I Love and I Am Proud of Who I Am
I’m not a good liar. Never have been therefore, I can’t act. I have trouble pretending something’s not bothering me and when it is, it’s written all over my face.
I was a courier at a hospital when one time, a snotty hag co-worker of mine, the same age as me now back then (I was 21) tried and tested the waters- how deep they ran, how cold they could get, and how cloudy they could become if enough dirt was kicked up around inside them.
I unloaded on her one day when she insisted that I pick up her precious package delivered fresh off Victoria’s Secret spring line from the post office since I was nearly out the door on my way there to drop off films. I was already having a bad day when she came in my office and tried spewing orders at me like she was my boss. I more or less told her to go pick up her own fucking package and it was a cold shitty day in hell before I’d ever be her personal errand runner.
From then on, I didn’t hear a word out of her that wasn’t cordial and pleasant. Except sometime later she asked me, “Melissa, is something wrong? Did I do something to make you mad?”
I smiled at her and told her frankly, “Nope. And if you had, I certainly wouldn’t let it fester.” Nothing more needed to be said.
She didn’t like me, I didn’t like her and that’s the way it was. But at the same time, I wasn’t going to put up with her shit and she understood that.
Sure, I could’ve appeased her and gone down to the post office and picked up her fucking package, but I figured the trouble I endured in telling her to shove it straight up her ass was a lot less costly than pretending everything was perfectly fine. And coming around to the idea that I’d get someone to warm up to me that I couldn’t particularly stand anyway just wasn’t worth it. The tradeoff? I finally got some peace and she got a piece of what she deserved.
I do what I need to for me, for my husband, my child, my dearest friends and what little immediate family I have left- not for condescending bitches like her, not for opportunist douches like the guy down the street, and certainly not for anyone who doesn’t extend me the same kind of respect they expect from me. Why? Because my life is easier that way. Life is hard enough as it is, living it to get right by other people never extends anybody any breaks.
Do what’s right for you, even if it means pissing other people off and making them piss their drawers. They’ll get over it and if they can’t, clearly it’s their problem, not yours.
In short then, what is a Feisty Woman?
She is all the things your goody-two-shoes grandmother told you not to be. She is the woman who opens her mouth at the right time, and keeps it shut when it’s not worth the hassle. She is the woman who doesn’t have to tell you you’re out of line because she doesn’t let you get there in the first place. She’s the woman who doesn’t give a shit what you think unless you’re one of the few who actually truly gives a shit about her.
She’s the woman you’re dying to be before you realize it just isn’t good enough living in the shadows of other people.
A Feisty Woman is you- as soon as you decide you’d rather be unafraid to be better off doing what’s right for you, no matter all the people in the world who just can’t deal with it.
You may also like:
- Sick of the Misogyny
- How to Tell If a Man is Ready to Commit
- The Independent Woman Part One: Self-Reliance
- The Independent Woman Part Two: Self-Satisfaction
- Who You Are is Who You Will Attract