“take a deep breath” she would say
every time she saw my soft, smooth hands
curl up into tight fists, every time she saw
my relaxed stance turn tense and ready
for  a fight, “no” she would say “you are a
lady and ladies do not fight.” She would
proceed to drag me away to ensure that I
would calm down, to ensure that I would not
fight because “ladies do not fight”.
I spent far too much of my time being
dragged away from people to prevent a
fight from occurring because no matter
how many breaths I took, the calm never came.
After realising that the breathing was not working,
she would threaten that I would never find a
husband, for men do not like ladies who do not
obey, they do not like ladies who are always
fighting. This did nothing but add fuel to my fire
for I did not need a husband, especially
when I was meant to obey him like he was some
sort of god and I a damsel in distress. This was not
the type of life I had envisioned myself living. But
per her will, I stopped the physical fighting. It seemed
she had forgotten that fighting could be in the form
of words and she never paid attention to mine. So,
my fighting continued, just not in the way I had hoped,
but it was enough to get the message across, I was not
his slave, I would never be seen as inferior to him for
I was just as he was, so why should he be superior?
When I was older I had asked her why I was wasn’t allowed
to fight, why she stopped me every time. Her answer, as
predicted was “you are a lady and ladies do not fight”
I proceeded to ask her how she was okay with being considered
inferior to him, how she was willing to be and do whatever he
pleased. I watched her closely, and as she said “it is a woman’s
role to please a man, to do as he wishes” I saw her jaw tick
every so slightly, I heard her voice grow sharper and I
knew then, she did not believe a word she had said but it was
a woman’s role to obey, as far as men were concerned. And obey
they did. I asked her why she did this if she thought differently,
if she believed differently. We sat in silence, not a word said. She
had no answer. When I got up to leave, she asked where I was
going as we had a visitor coming, some gentleman who was
willing to marry me. “stay” she said “you might never find
another who is willing to marry you despite your aggressive ways”
And what am I meant to do with or for this man, I had asked her.
Would I be considered his equal or would I need to obey him,
become his slave? She had remained quiet yet again and that was
an answer on its own. I proceeded toward the door, “do you know
how much is at stake here? Where are you going?” she asked,
clearly worried that I would not attend this meeting, she had all
the reason to worry. “To fight” I had said “I refuse to sit quietly
and twiddle my thumbs for the sake of a man’s pride. I am his
equal, not his inferior. And perhaps you’re right, Ladies do not
fight, so perhaps that means I am not a lady. But do you know
what my fighting makes me? What my desire to be seen as equal
makes me? What my disinterest in being obedient to man makes me?
It makes me a woman and women are fighters.”