It’s the 8th of March today and acknowledged globally to celebrate women.
I woke up at my usual waking time - an hour snooze after my alarm beeps. Right away, I checked my work team chat and tried to quickly pull my self together. Got some tasks up my sleeves. So I clocked in some hours, working on some design which was exciting, on the international women’s day nonetheless. The day rolled out quickly, rather intense, I managed to take a break for my usual 12 minutes meditation, kitchen cleaning and brewed coffee.
At 4pm I finally had my first meal, took shower and stretched my legs.
All the while, social media and group chats buzzed with the greeting: happy International women’s day. Look at this women who done this done that… Look at ourselves, so fierce and powerful, slaying in red lipstick and heels. The many colors, layers and hats that we wear. Look how far we’ve come!
I’m a f*cking tired woman. And I hope I revisited this piece in the coming years without regret. This woman right here is apparently very salty in terms of celebration.
I know we’re celebrating women’s achievements, there’s no denying that we are so much, we are a lot. But in the tiredness of it all, I just want the world to stop pointing at what we do and instead respect as for who we are, women. I just want a day for my self to feel enough without the need to show the world that I’ve-done-it-all-smile behind my bruised heart, broken bone and dark circle under my eyes.
I took 3-hours nap today. I got up, fixed up my CV, sent the job application and made my self a dinner. Maybe a glass of rose later. Sorry girlfriends, for not feeling that festive, not even up with the colorful dress and turban. It’s one of those days.
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