What kind of woman are you? she asked.
I am the kind of woman who will drive you crazy.
I am the kind of woman who wants deeper. Wider. Stronger. More. Scratching the surface doesn’t interest me. I’ll make you crave the light relief of something less than because of my demands on your spirit, and I am the kind of woman who understands that. I am the kind of woman who understands that the idea of her is more manageable than the reality. I am the kind of woman who won’t be mad at you for that, and the kind of woman who will not blame herself for it, either.
I am the kind of woman who cannot ever make herself small enough to be “managed”, but won’t fault you for trying.
I am the kind of woman who cannot maintain small talk for very long at all. I am the kind of woman who will put you at ease because I have learned how to ask the questions you didn’t know you’ve been aching to answer. I know people. Like people. Understand that you want to be seen, and heard, and recognized for exactly who you are – which is perfect and whole and enough.
I am the kind of woman who will love you.
I am the kind of woman who will make you love yourself.
But I am also the kind of woman who requires – pushes – that you reveal, to yourself, why you’re remarkable, and when you do that it will terrify you. Because when you know what you’re capable of it obligates you to rise to your own challenge – and doesn’t that seem like hard work?
I am the kind of woman you’ll call strong on a good day, and exhausting on a bad.
I am the kind of woman who you won’t always pick up the phone to. I am the kind of woman you need to be in the mood for. I am the kind of woman it’s natural to call in a crisis, but who you’ll have been quiet on for the six months before that.
I am the kind of woman who will love herself. Who knows that she’s a better friend, daughter, sister, lover, writer, stranger, for knowing that “no” isn’t bad, and that will dumbfound you. How can I love you and say no? Darling, it’s because I love you that I mustn’t always say yes. I love you by taking care of myself. It’s better that way.
I am the kind of woman who fetishises men who adore her – but suspects they adore her not because they want to be with her. It’s because they want to be like her.
I’m the kind of woman with more balls than most men.
I am the kind of woman who if you can’t handle at her worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve at her best.
I am the kind of woman who wants a family. Who is so terribly good at doing things for herself is easy to write-off as a lone wolf. What I really am is Mama Wolf, ready to fight to protect her pack, but I won’t baby you. Mama Wolf’s job is to make you the king of your own pack. I am the kind of woman who will do a phenomenal job at that. Who must.
I am the kind of woman who will leave you thinking. Who you’ll want to keep for yourself, and get jealous of when she won’t give you her full attention. I am the kind of woman who you won’t want to share, but won’t always have appetite for yourself.
I am the kind of woman who is difficult and stubborn, full of questions too laborious to answer. I am unknown and hard to pin down. Confusing. Contradictory. A pain in the goddamn ass.
I am the kind of woman who will never, ever apologise for being herself.