I've finally come to understand why I find it difficult to "lean into my feminine" in traditional romantic relationships. I have never seen femininity modeled to me in the way that others frequently define it online, not because I don't want love, gentleness, or mutual support. Softness was not a luxury enjoyed by the women who raised me. They had obligations, people who relied on them, and daily lives that required them to be strong.
I saw the women in my life take care of everyone around them for a long time. They would get up early to make sure the house was tidy, the uniforms were ready, the beds were made, and the kids had eaten. Before leaving for work or to hustle, there was always one last thing to check. "Kamo, cela ukhiphe isishebo," they would yell as they continued to mentally go over a list of things that had to be done before they left. They were always keeping an eye out for mistakes, making sure that everyone's demands had been satisfied and that nothing had been overlooked.
The fact that their work was never ended is what now impresses me. Physical strength was the most important requirement for many of their jobs, even when they weren't at home. These weren't occupations that required them to spend all day in front of a computer. They worked physically taxing shifts, carried heavy objects, scrubbed hospital floors, and stood for hours on end. Some had to remain calm when customers yelled at them, replying courteously even if they were mistreated. “Sisi ngithe cela uSize 6 weNike !!”. They rapidly discovered that it was frequently necessary to swallow your frustration and keep going in order to survive.
After that, they would return home and start a new shift. Homework has to be checked. Someone needed to wash school socks. Dinner needed to be prepared. Someone had to see to it that there was bread for the following day. Someone needed to find out if the isishebo had been taken out. The majority of the time, the response was no. Thus, they would also do that.
The women who birthed me were never given the chance to express what social media today refers to as "feminine energy." It just didn't fit there. Nobody was coming to their rescue. Nobody was helping to lighten the burden. Nobody was there to share duties on a regular basis. The only thing that existed was necessity, and necessity produces a different kind of woman.
It produces a woman who foresees issues before they happen. A woman who bears the hardships of others without complaining. Experience has taught her that waiting for someone else frequently results in disappointment, so she knows how to get things done. A woman who has no other option except to survive.
They served as my inspiration.
My family is matriarchal. There was never a father figure in my life. I learned how to navigate the world from women. Women who put their own needs and those of those around them first. Women who taught me that life continues even in the absence of a man. I learned perseverance, independence, and self-sufficiency from women who set an example rather than just saying things. I never learned that men are terrible. It was that they are not necessary for women to exist.
My beloved women never sat me down and told me outright that I didn't need a man. They were not required to. That message was sufficiently conveyed by their lives. I observed them carrying whole households on their backs. I observed them resolving issues on their own. I saw people persevere in the face of fatigue, heartache, and disappointment. I unknowingly internalized the idea that reliance was risky and that I should complete tasks on my own if I wanted them done correctly.
After that, I started dating.
Regretfully, several of my encounters served to confirm what I already knew. I learned from men how dangerous it may be to depend on someone else. Promises were not fulfilled. There was uneven effort. There was no assurance of reliability. Every setback seemed to reaffirm the lessons I had learned from the women who came before me: that, in the end, you can only really rely on yourself.
Therefore, I believe the answer is frequently far deeper than individual personality when people question why certain women find it difficult to accept assistance, trust a spouse, or give up power. It can be generational at times. It can occasionally be a learned behaviour. It might sometimes be the outcome of growing up with women who were forced to become everything to everyone.
Ironically, I may need to painstakingly unlearn the same lessons that let the women who came before me survive in order to thrive. Not because they were mistaken. Not because I was let down by them. However, the abilities needed for intimacy are not always the same as those needed for survival.
The same strength that keeps you from being disappointed might also keep you from feeling supported. Vulnerability might be frightening because of the independence that sustained earlier generations. It can be challenging to let someone else carry anything at all if you can do everything on your own.
Maybe my journey isn't about losing strength. Maybe it's about realizing that being strong doesn't have to mean working alone. Maybe it's about realizing that being competent and receiving care are not mutually exclusive. that intimacy and independence may coexist. that my strength is not diminished when I trust someone.
I'm attempting to understand what it means to let go of some of the weight for the first time in generations. I don't want to carry everything by myself anymore, not because I know do not have to always handle it.