Why I'm an Unapologetic Angry Woman Right Now (AND THAT'S OK)

Because before I got pregnant, everyone tried to put a baby in my womb.
Because when I got pregnant, everyone claimed ownership over my body. They touched my belly without permission and asked inappropriate questions.
Because when I had a C-section, I was told it was the “easy way out.”
Because when I didn’t want to breastfeed for reasons that are my own, I was shamed for it by doctors, nurses, and other mothers. Formula is a perfectly good option to feed a baby.
Because when I got pregnant with my second child, a girl, people pitied me. They said “sorry you didn’t get your boy.” I WASN'T SORRY.
Because I was expected to “bounce back” after having babies. As if my former self, physically, or emotionally even existed anymore. My body was irreversibly changed by motherhood and instead of it being accepted, celebrated, and represented, it was shamed. IT STILL IS.
Because older men in the grocery store would tell my husband to get a shotgun to protect our girls. Reminding us all again about the underlying truth: MEN CAN'T CONTROL THEMSELVES.

Because rape culture. And rape apologists. And rape jokes.

Because when I was a teenager, boys and men didn't stop when I said "No." And I thought I deserved that. I thought I was lucky to have them wanting me.
Because when I was healing postpartum my husband said, “If you were a good wife you’d have sex with me” and “just do it anyway.” Through the pain. Through my haywire hormones. Through my own depression and misery I was expected to perform sex for him.
Because a car salesman asked my six-year-old daughter why she wasn’t smiling. She hid behind my hip because he made her uncomfortable. I had to explain to the man that she doesn’t need to don a non-stop smile to make him feel good. She’s probably bored, focused, or daydreaming. SHE'S NOT HERE FOR YOU.
Because people make assumptions about my daughters and hate them because of their Middle Eastern last names. Because of the travel ban that keeps our family permanently separated.
Because I live in fear of getting the phone call that my kids school has been shot up. Because America’s gun obsession and so-called second amendment “right” is more important than my child’s right to live. Can’t you hear a mother’s cry? I don’t want our kids to die!
BECAUSE CHARLOTTESVILLE. And white supremacists. And Nazis. 
Because I fear for my friends who are moms of black boys. And have black husbands. Their lives are not protected by the very people who claim to do so.

Because I sometimes think I shouldn't have brought kids into this world. To endure suffering. And I feel really guilty about that.

Because my rights are being stripped away. Because my right to have an abortion, could be taken away from my daughters. Because I remember what it was like to practice safe sex and end up pregnant anyway. And know that I’d be shamed for being a single mom. For being on food stamps. For not having a father for my kid. And my kid would be shamed. At least I spared the child. But either way, I GOT SHAMED.
Because no one showed me it was OK to be angry. Because my mother and grandmother will seemingly never admit they’re angry. And some of my girlfriends won’t admit it either. Because they wear the fact that they’re not angry like q badge of fucking honor. Like not getting angry about female injustices somehow makes them float above everyone else. They don’t realize that it’s called privilege. And delusion.
Because I’m called “too sensitive,” “difficult,” “cold,” or “shrill” when I don’t stroke a man’s ego. Or when I’m not agreeable.
When I’m not a ray-of-fucking-perpetual-sunshine. FOR YOU.

BECAUSE YOU POLICE MY FUCKING LANGUAGE WHEN I SAY "FUCK." And tell me I'm not smart. And I'm not lady-like.
Because I’m told “I’m on my period” when I do show anger. My anger isn’t taken seriously. It’s not valid.
I’m angry that sometimes, I have nothing left to give. And I get shamed for that.
I’m angry that you want me to shrink. Take up less room. Have less voice. Less power.
I’m angry that you beep at me while I’m walking on the street. Because you just had to tell me something “nice.”
Because I’m tired of preaching. I’m tired of teaching. I’m tired of being the so-called “nag” I just want a partner I don’t have to prompt, and people that I don’t have to school on Humanity 101.
Because some moms have judged and shamed me, and not helped or supported me. We’re all trying our best, and our best is different for everyone. Your internalized misogyny is maddening. Your lack of empathy makes me weary.
Because all of you who label me as “crazy” and the “angry woman” fear me. And you only fear me because I threaten to take back what is rightfully mine in the first damn place.
I’m angry about being angry for so long. I want to be free from so much anger. I want my daughters to be free. I WANT FREEDOM. I WANT PEACE.

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