I don’t need you to tell me who I am, who I need to be, what kind of woman I should become.
I love my long, curly hair. I love the birthmark on my cheek. I love the chicken pox scar on my belly. I love the rough patch of skin on my middle finger, a writer’s curse.
I love my Midwest twang, the way I always walk with a purpose, the fact that I am continually doing 65 things at once. That is the person I am.
And I am proud of her.
I am a woman. And whatever shape that should be, I don’t care. I do not need to fit this female mold, the ‘should be, ‘supposed to be,’ ‘right’ kind of woman. I have no interest in being the right kind of woman.
I don’t need you to tell me that I should dress my age, that I need to grow up, that my belly button ring is suggestive.
I don’t need you to tell me that heels are for girls that are ‘asking for it’ and that drinking wine from the bottle isn’t classy.
I don’t need you to tell me that I should stop lifting weights because a girl that’s too muscular isn’t attractive. I don’t need you to shake your head at my legs. Tell me they’re too thick, too strong.
A strong woman is a feared woman. I hope your knees shake when you see me.
I am a woman of words, a woman of thoughts, a woman of plans. I know where I’m going and I’ll get there my way. My choice. My decision.
I don’t need your approval to be the woman I want to be, the woman I am.
I don’t need you to tell me where I should live, what I should spend my money on, who I should love. I don’t need you to tell me that you know me better than anyone else. Because you don’t.
I know myself.
And I know that I love my baby face. I love my muscular calves. I love my open, but strong heart.
And I don’t need your approval for who I am.