I am a woman!

So what?
I get into an argument with a man.
He slaps me—my cheek burns with pain.
Yet I am told I provoked him.
I should have been quiet.
I should have been patient.I should apologize to him. I get into an argument with a man.
I slap him.
Suddenly, I have no respect, no home training.
Again, I am told: I should have been quiet.
I should have been patient. I should apologize to him.
Because I am a woman, I do not have the right to be angry.
My innocence is measured by my silence in the face of oppression.
Because I am a woman, my husband cheats—and I am told to tolerate it to “save my marriage.”
The excuse? “It is in a man’s nature to cheat.”
So I must slim down, dress better, cook better, pray harder, and smile more—just to keep him.
But if I cheat?
I am a whore. An abomination.

An irresponsible mother.
I am sent packing from the home we built, my possessions in a tiny box on my head. I may be allowed to leave with the baby suckling at my breast, but never my older children.
Years later, even that child will be labeled a “bastard.”
Now, my new name is After-Three. Because I am a woman.
He is 28, running a company—
and they call him successful, hardworking, brilliant.
I am 28, running a company—
and they say, “She is unserious, money-loving, and can’t set her priorities. Why not go and get a husband?”
Because I am a woman, my achievements are questioned.
My brilliance is dismissed. My independence is mocked.
If I rise, they whisper: “She must have opened her legs to get there.”
A man loses his wife, remarries within a year. He is praised for moving
on—“life is for the living.”
A woman loses her husband, remarries after four years—
and they say: “So early? She must have been with him while her husband was alive. She killed her husband. She is a witch.”
Because I am a woman, this truth will be called controversial.
They will try to correct me, to silence me, to shame me.
But do not forget: I am a woman— and it does not make me less human.