About That Girl…

I used to be afraid to be “that girl” – you know, the nag, the bitch, the one who took things too personally, the not nice girl. I don’t know why exactly. I don’t remember anyone telling me that, I just remember I didn’t want to be seen that way.

I wasn’t going to be like so many of the ones I saw controlling, manipulating, being mean to men. I just wasn’t.

So I became the other type of girl. The one who laughed off sexual assault. The one who never reported the uncomfortable touches, the overt sexualization of me and other women, the one who laughed at the jokes…

I became the other kind of girl.

I let men say things to me that made me uncomfortable. I let them speak to me in ways that didn’t feel good. But I brushed it all aside. I played the game. I became the player. I wasn’t “that type” of girl. I was the one who could have fun, not be too serious, the one who gave wrong numbers, slipped out before the daylight, never asking for anything, not giving anything either.

It was interesting how they chased me. When I chased them, nothing. When I pushed them away, everything. I became that type of girl.

Even after I was married, unhinged comments, dick pics, inappropriate messages that I laughed off. Said it was fine, it didn’t matter. But it never felt good. But I pushed it away. Because I wasn’t “that kind of girl”.

As I smashed the walls I had built, the fortress in which the real me lived, I wasn’t intending to became “that other kind of girl”, it just happened. One day I laughed at the jokes men made, the oogling my male friends and coworkers did, the comments, the messages… then the next I heard it differently, felt it in my soul as I tore down the walls that blocked me from the truth.

I heard the disrespect. I felt the beratement. I witnessed the abuse. I was ashamed of myself. I was ashamed of all the times I brushed aside, said nothing, looked away, swallowed it down that I had in fact been that kind of girl.

I didn’t stand up for women. I didn’t stand up for myself. In an effort to not be ‘that kind’ I became an even worse kind. I became the type of woman who silenced, perpetuated, ignored the ugly truth. I became the type of woman who let the disrespect grow. I became the type of woman who silenced herself and her friends, who stood by and watched silently as a culture of disdain, abuse, assault swirled all around me.

With the walls down I could feel the truth about what I was fuelling, allowing, tolerating in my own world and the world, in general. And I unleashed a fury of years, decades of conditioning of the silencing of myself and so many women who think it’s better to smile and nod and laugh off when a man sends you an unsolisiticed dick pic, when a man sends you inappropriate messages asking if you want to fuck, even through your status says married (and so does his), when a man touches your ass in a coffee line up and asks if you liked it or grabs your tits while you’re walking through a bar…

I unleashed the fury of an over conditioned, a stupid, too domesticated and too tamed woman who had put blinders onto the fact that she didn’t owe anyone secrecy or being fucking nice. I was tired of being nice. I was exhausted from being fucking nice. I was niced the fuck out.

So when a former one night stand who had been sending me inappropriate messages since college, that I always laughed off and let go, messaged me he got the fury of decades of silencing of myself and the thousands, millions of women who were too fucking nice for their own safety and too fucking nice for their own good.

I unleashed the fury of every single time I hadn’t spoken up for myself and other women.

I was tired of nice.

I was tired of playing games.

And I became “that woman“. Not a girl anymore. Not someone who has been over domesticated into thinking a man’s needs or indiscretions are something to laugh off. I don’t owe him a god damn thing.

And neither do you.

Interestingly enough, it never happens anymore. I get the rare message from a dirt bag who sends me messages asking “so can men come in the woods for the wild women weekend?” “How wild do you get”.  And you knooooowwwww what they mean.

But the messages and experiences have virtually disappeared.


Because our vibe tells people what we will tolerate. I’m sure I had an aura that said “you can say whatever you want to me and I won’t do anything about it”… that now says “I’mma cut a bitch if you get in my personal space, which includes my fucking inbox”.

Women have been tamed, conditioned, and taught to tread softly, to not make noise, not draw attention, not cause a scene.

Those days are fucking over.

I’m not that girl anymore, but I have grown into that woman.

Stay Wild,


4 thoughts on “About That Girl…

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