No Different
a slice of feminine rage
During the various lockdowns, beyond sleep deprived and mothering two small humans 24/7, with no time or physical space to make music, I found myself writing thoughts into my phone notes to try and process things the way I usually process them with music. Usually around 3am, when my cortisol was shot through the roof from being woken for the fourth of fifth time since 10pm. Rage spilled out. Truth spilled out. It was cathartic.
One of those nights resulted in these words. I found it in my phone notes a few days ago and thought, you know what, I’m going to share this. It’s possibly ugly and too raw, but you know what? That’s the point. Being a woman is not a gentle experience, why should we write like it is?
“No Different”
She didn’t sleep much last night Hormones and body temperature dysregulated The familiar knowing as she sat up this morning The rush to the toilet The groaning, aching, gnawing pain Tired and wired and bleeding She drags herself to the bus stop Because she is no different She feels nauseous and unsteady as the bus hurtles along Trying to revise with a foggy brain and empty stomach Desperate to lie down and sleep But determined to meet her expected grade She sits in the hall Painkillers wearing off Back pain, pelvic pain, crippling cramps Halfway through the second essay She realises she’s bleeding through Thankful her trousers are dark But it’s no excuse She’s no different She cleans herself up in the toilet Then shuts the lid and slumps down Closing her eyes for a few minutes Tears of exhaustion rolling quietly down her cheeks Trying to regulate the whirlwind inside her body Breathing deeply in preparation For how much she’ll hold her breath for the rest of the day This scenario repeats in other exams, In sports, social events, work meetings. Block it, repress it, kill it Show up the same as the men You are just as capable Don’t act weak Don’t be different And when it meant more to him than you Hold it together Cry in the toilet And when your boss is sexist or flirtatious And you don’t feel safe Or a man claims your idea Or a woman ices you out Hold it together Be like them Don’t be emotional Excuse yourself calmly Cry quietly in the toilet Until the two pink lines Then it’s a different repression Hide the nausea Vomit quietly Don’t talk about it Show up the same (With no pain relief) Ignore those first flutters during a work call Push through the fatigue No excuses, smash the ceiling You’re not special No need to act different And then the tearing, searing life-changing pain... Oh, now you’re different Different enough to be the only one who makes milk The one whose heartbeat calms theirs Different enough to wake up just before they cry Every time Like magic Because you’re magic It’s all a miracle What a gift to everyone That you’re so different You somehow take on all the physical and mental exhaustion And still give love from an infinite well They are all in awe Of the difference Then it’s back to the rat race Just like he did months ago (Hero, the provider) But your empty arms ache (did his?) You wonder if they’re crying And if they are being held You’re leaking milk now instead of blood But still repressing, blocking, ignoring Show up the same Don’t complain No excuses Women fought for this (Did they fight for this?) Deal with it in the toilet Quietly On your lunch break Just like you always have
Since she became a mother, I admire my wife more than I ever have before. I don’t know how you women do it. thank you for sharing. That is a hell of a poem.
Love this: “ Being a woman is not a gentle experience, why should we write like it is?” It’s sooooo f’ing true!! Thank you for sharing your poem, I loved it!