Contradictions

By: Belén Zorilla

The author (left) and her friend Regina (right) during their college years.

I used to hate that I was a girl.

Not because I didn’t feel like one, but because I felt like one—or at least what society expects one to be. I didn’t have a voice in my own home. I felt powerless and pushed aside. It was great that I played with dolls (“she’s going to make a great mom”, was said about me at age four), but I couldn’t make the dolls play monster trucks in the dirt, that was crossing a line. When I expressed liking “feminine” things—fairytale storylines where the princess is rescued by a prince, or wanting a pink swimming cap or goggles for swim practice—my mom supported it, while my dad made me feel ashamed and weak. He would tell me it was great that I liked girly things (“boys will like you!”), but that it wouldn’t make me strong. It wouldn’t help me succeed in school or in swim practice, it would only slow me down. It was hard to watch my mom try to teach me the beauty,strength, and complexity of womanhood while I felt that my dad was constantly tearing it down.

At heart, I’m a disruptor of injustice. But after hearing contradictory language on femininity and the gender binary for so many years as a little girl—and so close to home—I was exhausted. So I gave up and became who I was expected to be as a woman: accommodating. I accommodated my dad’s feelings and didn’t express mine, even when I was disrespected. I accommodated my mom’s feelings, who always begged me to stop arguing with my dad so much, and stopped fighting for equality in my own home. I did so because I was told over and over again that my outrage was misplaced, that I was just an above average hormonally emotional teenage girl who believed every book she read as long as it contradicted my parent’s beliefs. I was told my they were on the verge of divorce because of my “moods”. So I came to believe that the rage I felt towards the constant disrespect from my dad and his oppression of my self-expression was a delusion; it was just typical female behavior that is acceptable to dismiss.

With this constant accommodation grew an abhorrence of overt displays of femininity in my adolescence. It was a painful reminder of the constant passivity and misogyny my mom, sister, girl friends, and I had to face only on the basis of our gender. I made sure not to wear paraphernalia of the Jonas Brothers or One Direction, because that was too much “girliness” on display. I never got my hair or nails done, unless my mom forced me to for prom, and I openly mocked my little sister when she got old enough to go to the salon. I carried this animosity outside the home as well. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing pink in any shape or form. If my girlfriends talked about the makeup they bought this past weekend, I’d proudly boast about not owning or ever wearing makeup. I involved myself in sports and made it my personality. I would make it known that I had more guy friends than girlfriends, because girls are too “dramatic and problematic.” I was aggressive in conversations, with the jokes I’d make, and in my relationships. The more people would associate me with society’s understanding of what masculinity is, the safer I felt. I don't mean physically safe (the physical dangers of being a woman are another subject altogether), I mean emotionally safe. I thought that if people perceived me as masculine and tough, they wouldn't belittle me for something I liked that is perceived as feminine. I thought they would be too afraid of me to ridicule me.

What I didn’t know at the time is that the armor was not selective. It had served to protect me from liking feminine things so that I didn't have to justify why I liked them, and I wouldn't need to defend myself if I was belittled and threatened by the traditional binary system of gender stereotypes. It quickly became my second skin, growing thicker once I started coming more to terms with my sexuality in college.

I had become the biggest contradiction of all: a closeted bisexual from a conservative machista household. I was anti-patriarchy but also anti-“femininity”. It became less of the armor’s job to protect me from the gender battles of the outside world, and more to protect me from the ones raging within me. This new contradiction in the shape of bisexuality had entered my life and I didnt know how I felt about it or how to act. It didn't fit into my carefully cultivated view of myself through the bullshit gender system I had let control my life. I filtered out love in all shapes and sizes, even in my friendships. I stopped caring about school or work. I stopped loving exercise. I stopped seeking out connection, and I let the few friendships I did have wither. I was vicious, protective, and mean; people knew not to mess with me and I felt proud of that. I was proud to have people fear me and to be perceived as the cold, calculating friend. I was even more pleased to be known as the fierce friend who also secretly tucked you into bed after a night out and had coffee and a continental breakfast waiting for you in the morning. I accepted and came to love that I could only be vulnerable secretly. I finally achieved a persona that would protect me forever, and I was incredibly depressed.

I carried the tough girl persona throughout college, but by graduation I didn’t hate being a girl so much. Starting off freshman year however, my armor made me feel disconnected from reality for the first time in my life. Nothing was real to me and nothing mattered. It was my first real experience with depression and all the classic signs were there: I missed all my classes, I was flunking out of one, I slept until 3 pm every day (even if I had managed to be asleep before 2 a.m.), and I avoided seeing anyone outside of my dorm. But I was lucky—I had three roommates in college that helped me a lot during that time, making sure to include me in plans, making me food, and going with me to the gym. More importantly, they also unknowingly helped me evaluate and eventually transcend my own preconceived ideas of the gender binary. We were three women on varying ends of the gender spectrum, one more feminine than the next, and one a closeted bisexual, Hispanic, Israeli, and white (and at one point we had a German roommate, she rocked.) Oddly enough, I ended up spending more time with the most feminine of all: a mini Miami born Gal Gadot. I had met fierce women before, but they all looked and acted like I did—tough, mean, no bullshit, no warmth. But Regina was like a hurricane in motion—intelligent and fiercely protective of her loved ones—if the hurricane had just gotten out of her weekly hair and nail appointment. She was always caught up on all the latest clothing and makeup trends. Even if she was just running to Walgreens to get me some cold medicine, she was impeccably dressed- and it looked effortless. She was my friend and also my mom away from home; she showed me the value of taking care of myself. Not just in a basic survival way (like I was doing before, emulating most men) but in celebration of yourself, to highlight your best features, physical or mental. She unknowingly helped me start shifting my view of beauty from vain and shallow to one of strength. I learned that beauty isn't bad, it is your prioritizing health and it became acceptable to me. Applying sunscreen, using face lotion, accessorizing, and wearing clothes that fit me well and make me look good everyday are not a sin. They don't make me weak—they make me feel good, so I can fight the battles I have that day.

Through Regina and for the rest of college, I sparingly began to uncover my dormant feminine side. I started buying my own makeup, reading more into beauty brands that are healthy for you, and started caring about my appearance. I started liking things with more color: where before my gym outfit was black on black, it now had a pop of pink or blue here and there. I gave up trying to keep my school supplies monotone and started getting pens with flowers on the end simply because they were pretty. I didn't feel vain or stupid, like I had previously felt about women who cared about these things. I started having so much joy in my day-to-day life, with simple things like a car fragrance or a flower blanket for the colder auditorium classes. For the first time in so long I felt both beautiful and strong. I felt my strength returning and my outlook on life was on an upward climb.

At twenty-three, I didn't hate being a woman anymore, but I had a sadness that took root the day I first became depressed in college. It followed me around and became my closest friend for several years, lying underneath all my interactions with the real world. In hindsight, part of my sadness was a direct result of suppressing my femininity for so long. I had shaped my life with choices I made that weren't true to who I was, because for so long, I didn't know who I was. But I was ready to explore that uncertainty. My dip into the femininity pool during college had brought me back to a lot of things I used to love, including art and writing, and I felt more powerful than I had since I was in elementary school. One thing I did know for sure at this point was that I wanted to have children and raise them to be kind, accepting, fluid human beings. All I had to do was get through medical school (my “dream”). But out of nowhere, the sadness grew into full-on depression, brutally and more intense than the last time. It came during a time in my life that should have felt like achievement and joy. Instead, it was Monday morning of the second week of my first semester of medical school, and I stopped paying attention mid-lecture to google what else I could do with a biology degree. The thought of living the rest of my life as a doctor made me not want to be alive anymore. This intense desire for non-existence was new to me and it sent me into a panic. The work I had done to pull my armor down didn't matter at that point. I was in full on survival mode. I reverted back to the feral, cold creature I had created to go along with my armor. And the yearning for non-existence only grew.

After years of feeling this way, I made changes to keep myself alive. This time, thanks to Regina and my brief encounter with femininity during my undergraduate years, I knew what I could do. I meditated hard and sought refuge with all of my most feminine influences: friends, movies, books, candles, incense, yoga, art, makeup. The more I focused on trying to heal my unused reflective, sensitive, vulnerable side—one allowed to blossom through femininity—the more clarity I had on where to take my life next. I knew I had to blow up my life so I could rebuild it in a way that made me happy. I left medical school and moved out of my parents house (basically apocalyptic actions in my family’s view). I hadn’t remotely healed my issues with femininity and I didn't really know who I was, what I liked, what I wanted out of life, or even what my goals were. But for the first time since I can remember, I was not afraid and I felt capable of greatness.

I turn twenty-seven in a month, and I'm so in love with being a woman. Despite my recent health diagnosis that causes me physical weakness, I feel stronger than ever. Allowing myself to grow my feminine muscles, thus exploring my emotions, fears, traumas, and regrets has allowed me to flourish and it shows. I'm not trying to be vain—several life-long friends have told me how much happier and at peace I look, and I genuinely feel that way. Don't get me wrong, life is an absolute mess (contradictory yet again). I quit my cushy work-from-home corporate job (with excellent pay and benefits) without a plan in place. I got my realtor license and worked two weeks as a realtor before I realized I would prefer to drive Uber. I impulsively drove to a new city three hours away from my parents house to visit my boyfriend at 3 am and never left. I got a new cushy work-from-home job (once again with excellent pay and benefits) and got fired after a month, because they tried to accommodate my disability but in the end they could not. Now, I’m making pizza deliveries for Marco’s pizza and DoorDash. And I feel so at peace. My days are full of joy—my boyfriend waking me up with a kiss as he leaves for work in the morning, our cats playing tag in the background, being but one of a very long list. So despite my life being in “shambles”, and having to work like a dog for the next few months to get by while I finish my tattoo apprenticeship—I feel ready to take it on. I’m strong enough now because I’ve made peace with my contradictions, and have embraced my femininity and masculinity as one.