As part of our Creative Writing Month, we’re sharing this post submitted by guest contributor Nicola Humphreys.
I know you’d rather not see me. I’m an inconvenience, pushing up your council tax bills to pay for my two lots-of-fifteen-minutes-a-day-care, whilst I swan around all alone in my half-million pound house that cost less than three months of your salary to buy.
I bed block the NHS because there is no-one to look after me but I’m too fit to go into a nursing home.
I’m the shuffling old woman, wearing a big coat and hat in summer, pushing her shopping trolley, taking an irritatingly long time to sit down on the bus. I’m grateful to get a seat. Not everyone will give them up these days. They all look at me with pity and horror. They’ll never be like me.
I was the woman who peacefully protested in the street for the right to vote.
I was the woman who was locked up in prison for a month without charge, kept in isolation, restrained and force-fed twice a day.
I was the woman who was a trained nurse and kept the night watch during the war. I put out fires, pulled people from the rubble, delivered babies in air raid shelters, told young soldiers that everything would be alright, whilst holding their hands as they breathed their last.
I was the woman responsible for the breakdown of society.
I was the woman who fell when the guns began firing and escaped by crawling under a pile of bodies, pretending to be dead.
I was the woman who wrote and painted under a male pseudonym to be taken seriously.
I was the woman who gave a man back his job when he returned from fighting.
I was the woman who sold her body to put food on the table for her children because her husband had drunk it all away.
I was the woman who fought for contraceptives and the right to choose.
I was the woman who was expected to remove all hair from her eyebrows downwards.
I was the woman who had to get her husband’s permission to spend her own money.
I was the woman who let herself go because I aged entirely appropriately.
I was the woman who had to undergo a virginity check before I was allowed to join the army.
I was the woman who had to leave her job upon marriage, because it was the law. I never had any national insurance contributions credited, because I stayed at home being a good wife and mother. My ex-husband had a very generous final-salary pension, but I was entitled to a pittance.
I was the woman who was publicly shamed for doing something consensual with a politician. He kept his job. I changed my identity.
I was the woman inventor whose name has been dropped from history.
I was the woman who should be ashamed for ruining a rapists life because I put him in jail for one mistake.
I was the first person to win this award three times, but ignored by the media in favour of the first man to win it three times.
I was the woman who was paid less than a man for doing the same job.
I was the woman who promised to obey so needs to shut up when told to by my husband.
I was the woman who was expected to nurture and care for her man and not provoke him into hitting her.
I was your manic pixie dream cool girl muse. Unless I have an opinion. Then I’m annoying.
I was the woman who was on a calorie controlled diet her entire adult life.
I was the woman whose natural bodily functions were dismissed as emotional rather than physical. I was told and made to feel that having period pains, being pregnant or menopausal was me deliberately making life inconvenient for other people.
I was the woman who was no longer considered desirable due to the changes to her body after it had made and fed three children.
I was the woman who refused to be ignored, talked over or have credit for her contributions stolen by men in meetings, so was labelled difficult to work with and an awkward bitch.
I was the woman who was blamed for being a bad mother because my son killed someone.
I was the woman who went back to work after two weeks maternity leave to be told I was heartless for leaving my child.
I was the woman who went back to work after one year of maternity leave to be told I shouldn’t expect my old job back and I had to start at the bottom again, because I’d been away for so long.
I was the woman who was expected to have a temper because I had red hair.
I was the woman who was a life model for over thirty years. One of my nudes is in Tate Britain.
I was Shakespeare’s sister.
I was the girl in the band.
I was the female football manager, pilot, doctor, athlete, explorer, who was told time and time again the only reason I couldn’t do it because I was a woman.
I was the woman who was told time and time again that the only reason I got the job was because I was a woman and they had quotas to fill.
I was the woman whose value was solely based on her looks. Once they began to fade, I was expected to dissolve and disappear.
See more on my blog, aramblingcollective.wordpress.com, where I write short stories and observations about connection, food and a sense of belonging.
This is a guest post. To learn more about submitting content to the blog, click here.