Yes, Women Are Out Of Control, And It’s Fucking Beautiful
“Women are getting out of control.”
Have you ever heard anyone say that, to you or around you?
I’m sure you have.
It’s usually a man, isn’t it.
“Women are getting out of control… they have too many rights now.”
They say it like it’s a bad thing. Outraged that women are no longer being treated like second-class citizens, are able to make their own decisions, and are paving their way towards true gender equality.
Women can own their own house today.
Women are getting out of control.
It is now law in many countries that men and women be paid equally for doing the same work.
Women are getting out of control.
We have the right to vote.
Women are getting out of control.
We can choose who we want to date, and kiss, and fuck, in whatever order.
Women are getting out of control.
We have access to birth control, and are no longer forced by default to get married and have babies.
Women are getting out of control.
Men in positions of power who use and abuse women used to be able to cover their tracks, but are now being exposed and punished.
Women are getting out of control.
You can no longer legally rape your wife.
Women are getting out of control.
Women are fed up of the way things are, and the way things always have been. And finally, our world is changing; ever so slowly, but it is turning.
Yet, we have a really long way to go. So buckle up patriarchs, this road is going to get wild.
You’re right. We are getting out of control, and it’s fucking fantastic.
You are no longer in control of what we say or do or wear. We no longer exist for your pleasure, to satisfy your need for a pretty thing on your arm and something submissive and warm in your bed. We are not your property, to be handed down and passed over from one man to the next. You do not get to make more money or have more rights, just because you have a penis. You do not get to use us like a punching bag for your misdirected rage; and you do not get to rape us to temper your insatiable—but entirely controllable—hunger for a release.
We no longer have to pretend we didn’t feel your hand grabbing our ass when we were 13 sat in science class minding our own business; and you were a middle-aged teacher, supposed to be protecting and guiding us. We no longer have to ignore the whistling in the street as we walk to work; the leering in the supermarket as we look for the perfect punnet of strawberries; or the grabbing in the club as we’re dancing with our friends. We no longer have to extinguish our dreams, or lower our career expectations, or take home a smaller pay check than yours, just because we have a vagina. We don’t have to pretend like we don’t bleed for a week each month, just so you can feel more comfortable swimming in your ignorance.
Welcome to a world where women have gone wildly out of control.
We’re breaking free from the chains you’ve bound us in for all these years. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
You’re trying your best, I know you are, but you won’t win. You won’t get your way, because your way is not right, it’s not just, and it’s not what the divine powers want for our earth.
And by no means are we there yet. By no means are we done.
There are still endless stories we live each day as women, that we often don’t speak of. Stories of sexualisation, misogyny, sexism, abuse and oppression. Stories we know would terrify and rile the good men in our lives. So we self-edit our day when we get home, and we’re eating lasagne with a glass of rioja, and catching up on what’s new in our worlds since we kissed goodbye. We carry those stories with us, even though we know it’s not right.
But we can feel the air turning around us. We can feel the subtle shift in our world.
Slowly, day by day, women are getting out of control. And it’s fucking beautiful to watch.