I Bow Because I Want To

Woman?

I bow down in front of you. Sink to my knees. Dirt, stones prick into my soft skin.

Bow down.

This is something we did for kings. Our ancestors, hard-working, resilient through life and death. Following order. And in the Church of course, our Holy Father.

Kneel.

My hands touch the earth, trace its coldness. My breath is deep and calm. So luxurious that I can feel it wandering through my whole being. So vastly different to the early twenty-something me, sitting next to my then boyfriend who was annoyed and frustrated by me and my anxiety. What a good guy, though, that he had stayed with the mess I was then. Well, that is until he fucked his housemate and didn’t tell me, but that is another story. He did, in fact, do some good things, like informing me of my shallow and fast breath.

No wonder you’re always so squeamish, he said, when you are breathing like that.

Breathing like what?

I hadn’t even noticed. Never had.

Of course not, no one taught me. I was taught, though, to be nice and polite and to smile. Even when sex hurt, I stayed either way. Shame prevented me from talking too much about that. Well played, patriarchy. Well played.

So damn that man, but yes, I am grateful for that new glimpse into my bodily functions I had until then successfully dissociated from.

I want to write what I desire. What feels good. What nourishes. Just like my breath, that I have finally gotten to know. Years. I am aware it will take more to weave this grounded feeling into my waking up, walking the streets, working emotionally demanding jobs. Right now, it is easy, all by myself in my room. It is safe. It is my reality and it is dream.

Me kneeling in front of an unknown woman.

Of many.

Of all.

I kneel because I feel small. Because they were so much larger than what was allowed them. Because someone has to remember that.

Uninteresting, boring, too dramatic.

That was the verdict. On all of it.

As if wanting to show me exactly how, my doctor and I found my severe iron deficiency. Have you felt low in energy lately, she asked, her eyes attentively on mine. Yes, I nodded. And the hair loss. I thought it was stress. Me, wanting it all. She smiled at me, and the compassion was overflowing her eyes.

On the ground, I wonder. How did I not look into my iron levels before? As a bleeding woman? Then, my friends, my sister, the friends of friends. Suddenly I hear it all, everywhere. This is just normal, it’s reality. Yeah, they’d say, I have a chronic iron deficiency, too. Piece of cake. It was lovely chatting with you, but you know, my next appointment is waiting, I have to run now, see you next week, right?

Iron deficiency. Swallow some pills. Ignore the side-effects. Be patient. Just look at your specific situation. You’ve got a copper IUD some time ago. Heavier flow? Longer? More painful? That explains the iron deficiency, alright. So swallow those pills and you’ll be alright.

My eyebrows rise high. I am shaking my head.

Contraception. Again. Messing with my quality of life.

Hormonal contraceptions? All those damn years zero libido and I had no idea of what I was missing, because which doctor would talk to a 15-year old about identity, zest, lust, fun, internal experiences? And I was 15. Of course, I did not know my body and how it is supposed to work.

Shame. Self-blame. Stress. Same spiral. A little desperation, add it to the mix, because of course I blamed myself for the low libido. All those months, years, nights when it was dark, alone and confused, or worse, not alone yet silent, in search for answers but too afraid to ask. Must be my fault. Something is wrong with this body. With me. Of course. And of course I could have, should have, managed my life better and maybe all is psychosomatic, have you considered that?

I am getting fucking tired.

But I kneel.

I slow my breathing. I bring it down, let it travel deeper. I know this calms me down. So good at managing anger, aren’t we?

I am kneeling in front of fierce women who fought their entire lives. Many of them while blaming themselves, many of them not being believed, not being listened to, and all of them against a system that was not designed with them in mind.

I bow because I want to feel close to them.

Somehow, I am asking their permission to stand up. I want them to support me. Knowing that they are there. That they have mastered how to stop being the good girl, stopped playing that role, and took up that space. Hush, I know, it is me who has to give myself permission. A sly smile on my face. I know.

But I like the idea of not being alone.

Of hands protecting me, eyes watching over me. Others nodding when I wade through just another layer of intergenerational pain, of shame, and of glass-ceilings alike.

And yes, I know I am not alone.

That is another reason why I am here on the bare ground.

My forehead touches the earth now for I am grateful. This feeling is so vast, so all-encompassing, it travels through my body, and then flows into the air.

Alive.

The ground holds me while I close my eyes.

Thank you for having brought me here. Us here.

I know.

Most of the time, I live my life, I do the chores, I socialise, I read, sing, write. But in some moments, short ones like this, I need a little step aside. For years, I drowned these overwhelming feelings in overeating, in binge-watching, in going out with friends and drinking all weekend just to be too hungover the next day to really feel anything at all. Then grind, work. It’s too normal to be called out.

Me dreaming of kneeling?

That is considered weird.

While it is just me, sitting in my room, breathing consciously.

Sometimes this world scares me.

It scares me to see how some of the people close to me are doing. It scares me how the political climate shifts and how the climate crisis escalates.

I am angry at how unfair it all is. I am shocked how privileged and at the same time discriminated against I am.

For now I write. Occasionally I sing while watching in the mirror.

But other times are coming.

Maybe, one day, I’ll let it all burn.