“Women should be seen not heard,” Mr. Dare said, with lips that barely parted to give way to his words.

My mouth formed a grimace as I realised that he was talking to me. With hunched ten-year-old shoulders, I basked in a fleeting moment of shame. I was still a little girl, but I remember thinking to myself that I needed to be quieter.

That was not my first time hearing those words but somehow, that was the first time they registered in my brain. It was my first year in secondary school. That encounter is just one in… I dare say over a thousand if you give room for some good ol’ hyperbole.

Perhaps, all those little incidents here and there converged to create a very warped sense of the ideal woman in my head. 

Wait… Did I just say, “perhaps?” 

Scratch that.

I’m not some special creature. Like everyone else, I am but a product of my environment.

As a girl, I was shushed constantly. I was told to sit a certain way. I was told not to chew so loudly when eating chin-chin. If I stained my white top, I was naughty. I couldn’t play like boys. Boys were rough. They were allowed to be rough.

And yes, I do understand that manners maketh man (and woman). However, I would have appreciated it a lot more if I wasn’t constantly nudged to be quieter because being loud is considered unlady-like. Not inappropriate in general; just not appropriate for a woman.

When I was younger, I didn’t realise the damage. Instead, I stacked those words. I stacked up a long list of dos and don'ts, and I built an ideal woman in my head.

The ideal woman in my young mind was this ethereal being of fluid grace and mysterious elegance. She was proper in every way. She exuded class and commanded respect. Nobody shushed her. You could hardly guess what was going on in her coy mind.

In a bid to fight the system, I became its victim prey caught in a sticky web. I wanted to be different. I didn’t want to be the girl who people told long tales about. Don’t give them anything to work with. Lie low and they won’t judge you. Be a good girl by their standards and you’ll be fine.

I didn’t have a set plan in my head for how I was going to achieve all that. I just knew that I didn’t want to be a statistic and that’s how I got hooked.

You don’t realise when you begin to internalise those side comments. You don’t know when they creep into your mind and become your gospel truth. You think you have it all under control because you’re “different” but the entire time, you’re just like every other Jane Doe the system has churned out.

As a female human being, you are groomed from the moment you can figure out that two and two equals four, to fit into an imaginary mould. You are stifled every which way you turn. A lady does not do this, a lady does not do that.

This mould is not something you grow into. No.

You have to squeeze, bend, and shrink all that you are to fit into it. It doesn’t matter that it robs you of your childhood or even discovering who you are enough to determine what kind of woman you want to be.

Someone is always telling you what you should be, so often that you start to believe that’s the only person you can be to live well and be accepted. Everyone has a moral lesson for women in every tale.

Sometimes it feels like every story gives you a reason to live less until you feel like you’re just existing. Don’t do this, don’t do that. Well, what am I supposed to do?

Oh yes! I got hooked. I got hooked on a drug but they don’t call it that. They didn’t have a name for it. I just know that it made me feel good albeit temporarily, when I took a hit. I didn’t even realise it was a drug. I didn’t know I was addicted. At least not until it had stolen almost everything I was.

The mould, the drug, that-which-shall-not-be-named… THE MALE GAZE.

That whimsical and puerile gaze. So fickle and constantly changing but closely watching. 

There I was, running pillar to post in my mental palace trying to please His Royal Highness, who gave me an occasional high when I obeyed his rules. I was nothing but a clown in his court. My only purpose seemed to revolve around his approval and his entertainment. It didn’t matter how uncomfortable or ridiculous, every costume was a fit. I could make myself fit in. 

Look how something which seemed so harmless has grown into a tumour that now impairs my judgement. I swear to you, many would call me intelligent but look what his gaze has reduced me to.

“What do you bring to the table?” 

Immediately, I jump to prove my worth. I am more than a pretty face. I am something more. I can prove it. His gaze dripped with condescension, but I had something to prove. What exactly?

I was running away from disrespect only to end up disrespecting myself.

What consideration did he furnish?

Acceptance.

Now that my years of foolery are hopefully drawing their curtains to a close, I wonder how something so subtle could be so compelling. For such a worthless price, I let his gaze write my story. I let it determine my character development. Pitiful… that’s what it is.

What has acceptance ever done for anyone? The same people who praise you today can do the contrary just as easily if the conditions are right for ripping into you. Statistics? It’s a nameless and faceless person sitting somewhere concocting myths.

This is reality and women are real people with real feelings and real needs. We deserve to live how we want to. If the boys can roll around in mud like normal kids, why does this girl have to watch with longing as the boys actually get to be children in the real sense of the word. Why do I have to grow up fast because I am a girl?

Why do you rob me of my voice? Why?

I deserve to live too. I deserve to do more than just exist. More than just sitting around somewhere looking pretty or not ( since somehow, I’m never enough for his gaze. There’s always something wrong with something about me).

Who am I?

I am the girl reading this right now. I am the first born daughter in a household of boys. I am a mother of five. I am whoever I say I am. What’s it to you?

You got the message, right? That’s all that really matters.

There you have it, I told my story. I spread my undergarments out in the open. I showed you the naked truth. It might seem silly but at least I’m telling my story. I’m reclaiming my voice.

I AM TELLING YOU THAT I’M DONE BEING THE IDEAL WOMAN UNDER HIS GAZE!

#WM2024