Kiran Speaks

I grew up doused in shame, its flames consuming the entirety of me as I stared in the mirror, looking at my own body. I looked at the parts of me that looked different than my younger brothers and felt the seething humiliation run its course through me. I could never figure out what was wrong with me; why did I feel the emotions I felt? Why did I feel so ashamed of just being? I trace it back to the women I had seen growing up, suffering at the hands of their fathers, husbands, and even the little boys they loved the most—precious sons.

Automatically, from the moment I exited the womb, I was a tier below those who were one chromosome different than me. I felt like I was less, and I was constantly reminded that I was. Sometimes it would come through their words, the small aggressions, “girls shouldn’t do this,” “look at her, who does she think she is?” But most of the time, it was through their actions. The girls would be called to the kitchen to help serve food while the boys played games as their plates were brought to them. The times when boys were loved and praised for being themselves and how stubborn they were despite their tantrums, when on the contrary, the girls were chided for saying no and for not giving people what they wanted because they were only loveable when they were agreeable or submissive.

I knew I was in for a rough ride when another honour killing popped up on the news and our community celebrated. “She got what she deserved,” “she was just asking for it,” when her only mistake was that that young girl had the audacity to make her own choice and choose her own love instead of being forced into an ancient ritual. I knew that life would be tough when the moment I walked the stage, the conversations began: “You need to get married soon,” “Next year, you’re options will go down; you’ll be a year older.”  It became less about what I wanted as a human and more about what they expected of me as a woman.

Woman.

“To be a woman is to be weak.” For a long time, I believed that. The root of my shame came from feeling like no matter what I did, I would never be good enough and would always be a step below because of the coin flip that decided my biology. The powerlessness that ingrained itself within me as a child unconsciously followed me into adulthood, even when I saw the world for what it was. Even when I noticed the double standard and hypocrisy when people compared men to women, I let their voices flood into me despite my education.

But over time, I built resilience.

Because everything I had ever endured, the challenges and adversaries, forged me into who I am—a weapon, no—a warrior.

I think back to the women I admire. Women who fought against systems designed to keep them down, even when it meant their self-perseverance was at stake; women who created and invented but never got credit for their contribution; women who survived forced marriages and went on to create a better world for other victims; women who held me in my darkest times and told me that I would be okay—that we would be okay.

To be a woman is to be me—a woman who wrote a few words and that spun into a story at the fingertips of the world.

No longer do I feel shame. I am proud.