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It’s Difficult To Celebrate a Mother Who Never Cared

It’s International Women’s Day, and all over social media and here on Medium, I’ve seen posts from friends, family, those I follow, and celebrities alike touting their love, adoration, and feelings of astoundment for the phenomenonal women in their lives. Mostly their wives and mothers.

Apparently I read a lot of male writers.

I do follow quite a few female writers as well and have read their posts about the day. Those have been more along the lines of pushing for a change in the disparity between men and women in the workplace, and the world at large. Acknowledging what women bring to the table everywhere they go.

It’s intriguing to me, the differences in the way each gender chooses to acknowledge the day.

As usual, I’m going to be the odd ball and go off book completely. I guess, as a judge in the show my husband and I recently binged liked to say, I’ll split the baby. (The show was Power by the way, quite interesting )

I was not raised by strong women per se. My mother was extremely abusive and a raging alcoholic. She tore me down every chance she got. My paternal grandmother was sweet and kind, but was a doormat. I don’t say that to be mean, it’s just the truth. She did exactly what she was told, because that’s how she was raised, and quite honestly, she could not function without that structure. My maternal grandmother was a member of a cult like church and I was not around her much, thankfully. The little bit that I was, I have okay memories, except for the church parts.

My education, strong will, and intelligence comes from the men in my early life. My grandfather and my father. It was not until I was an adult that I was lucky enough to find female role models.

And this is where I’ll split the baby.

When I was in my late 20’s, I got sisters. Obviously not biological. But they are my sisters nonetheless. I was brought into a family by chance and it contained some of the strongest, most independent women I have ever met in my life.

These women helped me learn what it means to be a strong woman. That it’s OK to stand up for myself. That I don’t need a man to be a good woman, but it’s OK if I want one. To say fuck the status quo, that being the black sheep is more than OK. They are some of the first people to truly accept me for who I am. When I wasn’t even sure who the hell I was.

It took me until my late 20’s, and meeting this amazing group of women, and men as well who are my brothers, my family, to get to the point where I am now. Where I know it’s OK to be me. To know that I can tell others my stories and hopefully help them to see that it’s OK for them to as well.

On this International Women’s Day, I have no mother to praise, and I’m OK with that. I praise my sisters, I praise the women writers who I’ve drawn inspiration from, the women who are out there still fighting to get out of the situations I’m finally free from, the transwomen fighting to be who they know they truly are, and finally, the woman I’ve fought to become.

And most of all, every single woman that’s here. Thank you.

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