You swear you’re nothing alike,
like petulant preteen siblings who want nothing to do with each other,
but your resemblance to your father gives you away.
There are subtle nuances, of course,
but there’s no mistaking your origin.
You both say that I have worth.
Of course you have worth.
What would we do without you.
You both value my worth
at about 78% of what it could be.
But that percentage doesn’t affect your worth.
Your worth isn’t fractionalized.
You are every bit as worthy.
After all, as Orwell once said,
“All animals are equal…”
…I forget the second part.
(It’s that “some are more equal than others.”)
You both insist that how I handle my family and career are the most important things about me.
Whether I forsake one and cling to the other,
or cling to one and forsake the other.
But with both of you, there must be a dichotomy.
And with both of you,
my worth is tied to how I handle that dichotomy.
And to you both, my body is a valuable commodity
whether it’s a treasure to be buried—
and don’t you dare dig it up—or a jewel to be displayed,
or a priceless pawn to be played
for political purposes.
Either way,
my body, you say, isn’t mine.
It’s simply a talking point for both of you.
You both insist that sexuality is my greatest weapon.
That beauty is my obsession.
That somehow my identity is tied
to my relationship with a man,
whether that’s my wholehearted devotion
or my ability to subdue.
You both suggest different ways to handle this power I have,
but to you both, it is my greatest power.
And you both say that I am accepted in your family…
…as long as I stay in line.
You both say that I could be your favorite sibling…
…as long as I stay in line.
As long as I stick to your talking points.
And look right.
And act right
And vote right.
And make family my god.
Or make career my god.
As long as I follow the script on
Individuality
Family
Sex
Abortion
God
Work
Beauty
My role
My being.
As long as I accept myself the way you see me.
As long as I am who you say I am.
You swear you’re nothing alike.
You each swear you’ll set me free from the other.
But you are exactly alike.
And I only know this because when you have heard one voice for long enough,
you get really good at recognizing it.
You swear you’re nothing alike,
but you have three things in common:
You look and sound and act the same.
You both insist that your brother is the problem (or that I am the problem), and you the solution.
I am not your sibling.
Because I have a Mother…
Who has spent a lot of nights with me, sitting on the couch, shouldering my sobs.
Who has spent a lot of days bandaging up wounds.
Who has spent a lot of time saying “I know…I know…I know…I understand.”
Who carried me, birthed me, fed me, clothed me, protected me.
And no one—no one—else can make the same claim.
I have a Mother
Who insists that before I was anything,
I was a child.
I was a person—
I was a PERSON—
That I have a purpose.
That I exist, not as a means to an end, but as an end.
That I exist not to prop up, but to work together.
That I exist not to follow a script, but to write it.
That I exist not primarily to do, but to exist.
That my worth doesn’t lie in my body.
That my worth doesn’t lie in being a woman.
That my worth doesn’t lie in the 78%.
Or in the other 22%.
That my worth doesn’t lie in where I find my worth.
My worth lies in the fact that I am created.
That I am loved.
You disagree with me.
You say that my Mother should have difficult standards for me.
That being part of my family should be hard.
You say that I don’t have a Mother this soft.
Or that I don’t have a Mother.
Or that I don’t have a Mother who is a Mother.
And all I can say is that I only can say what I know:
That I have a Mother.
Who is good, and tender, and genuine, and just.
Who places the most difficult standard on me of anyone:
to look like Her.
And to bear resemblance to at least a fraction of Her goodness, tenderness, truth, and justice.
And to do it as me—the person as was created,
and not as someone else.
You swear you’re nothing alike.
That you look nothing alike.
But I don’t care who you look like.
I care Who I look like.
