When is the moment when a girl becomes a woman?
Some thoughts about the responses of interviewees to the question, “When is the moment when a girl becomes a woman?”
When is the moment when a girl becomes a woman? By Emma McHugh
Is it during her ceremonial cutting? When the sexual desires are ripped away with a dull knife and muffled screams when she turns 8, 9, 10? Committing to a life far from promiscuity as she presents herself now prepared for marriage - perhaps to a man 18, 19, 20 who has also just made his own journey into marriage eligibility.
Is it her first bleed? The biological announcement of becoming a master incubator for creation of life itself?
Is it when she notices the hair on her arms, legs, armpits, and upper lip as an insecurity? Seeing that her baby soft skin is gaining a layer of growth - like a man, not a young lady. A layer she must mow, rip, pluck, burn, bleach, or laser off.
Is it when she trades climbing trees, laughing about fairies and playing pretend while running in circles with untamed curls for a ladylike cup of tea paired with gossip during a pedicure? Later painting her nails and face and hair and body to maximize her beauty, constantly fearful of a change in weather ruining the facade.
Is it her twelfth or fifteenth birthday at her bat mitzvah or quinceañera? When she’s wearing a beautiful dress, surrounded by friends, family, food, music, and merriment. Announcing to the world - she is officially a little lady.
Is it when she notices her hips growing wide and her stomach pouch growing out, wondering if (no matter how harmful) a diet or exercise or pill or some ancient contraption can preserve a youthful, polished form? Realizing she must exhaust all means necessary to preserve an effortless teenage body regardless of anatomy’s inevitable desires.
Is it when she marries? Stepping into role of homemaker, doormat, sex piece, and heir producer. Man’s commandment of submission, service, and support.
Is it when she gives away her virginity? To the man who takes her innocence, dignity, purity, precious flower, and prize with pride in three seconds of confusing discomfort. Whether it be by choice, by force, or duty.
Is it when she gives birth to her first child? Finally producing the offspring her body exists for. Leaving any bits of childhood, girlhood behind as she steps into her role as WOMAN — nurturer, educator, milk bank, and spit up holder.
Must it be when she no longer recognizes the person the world has maneuvered her to be — one that has decided her existence is less than. pre-determined. “for” men. bothersome. a liability. When she has lost all connection to the girl who once reigned the tree tops and seashells, far and wide?
Or,
Can it be when she floats — hairy, stretch marked, and naked in the ocean, feeling the layers of pressure to conform and be ‘just so’ peel away like a snake shedding skin? When she laughs with her belly amongst other women? While staring at the stars and twirling to the hums of Mother Earth, just as she did long ago a child of the moon. Becoming one with her soul instead of one with the world.
Might it truly be when she returns to herself?
