A Woman Reduced

Brethren, what does it imply when a woman is reduced? Well, to me it means a number of things which I am sure are not too far from the real meaning if at all. To me, a woman who has been reduced refers to one who has been stripped of all her femininity or simply, all that identifies her as a lass to whom the jungle rule of attraction applies. This to me is a woman whose has lost her confidence, her dignity, her grace, her radiance even if it’s only on the inside. If you are not a woman, you probably might find this strange but no matter of what caliber, every woman has undergone this phase at one point of her life. It could be when her friends in school distanced themselves from her for one reason or another, or when the man of her dreams cheated, or when she lost that beauty contest or even a brains contest and from then henceforth thought everyone else was more beautiful or could see through to her porridge like brain, it could be when her husband of some years, a man she had sacrificed to be with and admired despite his shortcomings decided she was no longer a worthy enough woman to be his wife… the list continues. Yes, been there myself, done that, fallen face down, reduced to the level of dust. But one thing I have found consistent in my life is my ability to stand up once again no matter how hard, to dust myself up, take a shower, apply some Vaseline, shine brighter than the sun and smile like I owned the world. It is definitely one of the hardest things to do, but really without a choice.

Today I am a sad woman, sad indeed. Sad because after all the failures, I seem not to learn. Bitter because after so much struggle, I have given leeway to God’s creation, made like me, to reduce me, to push me so low, I can smell the dust. I am a sad woman today because instead of growing, I have been reduced to a lesser woman compared to a year ago. Yes my dears, I have been beaten once, twice and the third time, I had to display my shameful face here with the hope that the degrading nature of it all will teach me a lesson or two.

Today a colleague of mine tried to apply her non-existence knowledge of psychology on me. Her theory was that I must have been mistreated as a child and the desire to have that pain continue is what makes me allow that person to hurt me. Of course, she couldn’t have been more wrong! And I am too caring to disappoint her from her ignorant reverie. I was brought up by my grandparents, at least most of my life I was. Not only were they capable, but they raised me with a  lot of love and adoration. It is no secret in that family that my lil cousin and I are my granny’s favourite. So hell no, no pain was inflicted on me and I have no desire to have pain inflicting males in my life. To be frank, I have tried severally to follow that trail of thought, you know, to link my current behavior to my upbringing and I only can tell you what I lacked and what I need. I was brought up partly by my grandparents and partly by my mom. I know for sure that my dad love(d/s) me to a fault. But thanks to the dictatorial system adopted by my granddad, I barely knew him. He was forbidden from visiting lest his feet be slashed, and coming from my grandpapa, be assured that was no mere threat. To this day, my dad has tried to mend that relationship but I can tell you, it is too damaged to be glued together using superglue. I’m unsure of the kind of intervention that would salvage that. My grandpa was also not the type of man who mingled with kids, to this day I cannot have a conversation of longer than two sentences with him. By now you can figure out what I missed. That’s right! A father figure is what I lacked. So yes, I find a similarity where I like men who are not just big, but men with authority. That is clearly what drew me to Ben. He had this authority and ability to look at me like a stupid child with no idea of how cruel this world is, despite the fact that I am a grown ass woman who has faced more cruelty of the world that she cares to remember. He of course did not understand this. So despite him making me weak at the knees, he messed badly. He was cruel, unforgiving and definitely one who is happiest when I am sad. Let me put it this way, while my imaginary manfather will be stern and full of authority, he will love me to bits. He will spank me hard when I miss the way, but then be the one to fetch the ice to place on the swelling and be the one to carry me to the hospital and be the one to spend sleepless nights with me if I am in pain. So yes, while I loved Ben to bits because he was a man of substance, he lacked a key ingredient which is love. He loved to see me in pain as opposed to peaceful, and would go ahead to inflict me with the said pain. Looking back now, I have never been more sure that this guy has never loved me for one second. Who loves and causes pain intentionally? Who loves and does not forgive? Who loves and blames the other for their mistakes? Maybe he also lacked something in his young life and is looking for it, but clearly what he lacked and what I lacked are not complementary. That said, I do not see any problem with wanting a man with authority in my life. It would be disturbing if I had psychic cravings for a man who would inflict pain on me.

On the current happenings, my lil cousin who has been with me for a long long time and offered me a lot of support is leaving the country. All I can wish her is a life with limitless opportunities. I wish her a life so broad, every time I think of her departure I imagine her life in form of a beam of light. Where the source is small but the space it illuminates keeps getting wider and wider. Blessings girl, I am so so happy for you, but your departure adds to my sadness like a stone attached to an already overweight luggage.

See you around dears