I will be the first to admit that I was this girl. I grew up in a neighborhood full of older boys. I spent my days trying to prove myself to them. I would show them that I could run as fast or faster than them, that I could jump as high as they could on the trampoline, and that I could do that same skateboard trick on their make-shift ramp. I did all of this to prove that I wasn’t like ‘the other girls.’
I wasn’t a sissy. I didn’t mind getting dirt on my Keds or scraping up my knees. I didn’t like the color pink. I didn’t want to be a ballerina. I loved my light-up Batman sneakers more than most of my belongings. My hair was always in a ponytail once it was long enough. I hated it when my mom curled my bangs and made me wear frilly socks to church. All of these were things that ‘other girls’ liked.
My older sister was (and is) my hero. She was the oldest of all of the neighborhood kids, and we all looked up to her. She could play any sport. She could run faster and jump higher than all of us. She had broken bones and had suffered more cuts and bruises than most of us. She wasn’t like ‘the other girls.’
As I got older, I still felt this overwhelming need to prove to others, especially boys, that I wasn’t like ‘the other girls’. I would point out that I didn’t like drama and conflict like ‘other girls.’ I didn’t need to always look perfectly put together like ‘other girls.’ I didn’t require grand gestures of affection like ‘other girls.’
I would brag that I had more guy friends than female friends because females brought gossip and drama with them wherever they went. I didn’t squeal when I heard a Justin Bieber song like ‘the other girls.’ This isn’t to say that I didn’t partake in activities that were/are considered ‘girly’. It isn’t to say that I didn’t have interests or hobbies that were/are considered ‘girly’. It is simply that I was not very outward about those interests and activities. I loved playing with my Barbie dolls and stuffed animals when I was little. I loved that neon, glittery pretend jewelry and putting on plays with my best friend dressed up in my mom’s old dresses. But, these are the parts of myself I did not openly talk about or display.
I didn’t talk about my more traditionally feminine qualities because I was ashamed of them. In my mind, tomboys were cool and ‘girly’ girls weren’t, and my experiences verified that. From a young age, I learned that “You throw like a girl!” was an insult. As I grew older, I learned that boys didn’t like girls that were emotional or dramatic. Even now that I am in college, I know that later when I work in my career, it is likely that an equal male counterpart will make a higher salary than me. Although I am aware of this fact, there is something else I have learned in recent years that is more important.
I have learned that it is OK to be like ‘other girls.’ There is nothing wrong with being a girl, and there is absolutely nothing insulting about being called ‘girly’. Being a girl is a powerful thing. Girls are so much more than we have ever been given credit for being. Girls are complex.
We are bright and passionate and full of fire. We can also be delicate and tender-hearted. We can be bossy and stubborn. We can be emotional and we can be unapologetic. We can be feminine and we can be masculine. We can be nurturing and we can be tough. We can wear lipstick, heels, and curl our hair, and we can be bare-faced, wear sweatpants, and throw our greasy hair in a ponytail. We can be athletic and we can be artistic.
We can tell you how a car engine functions and we can tell you exactly which highlight to use to make your cheekbones glow. We are smart and we are still learning. We can lead and we are most definitely a force to be reckoned with. So, the next time someone tells you that you do something ‘like a girl’, or that you’re just like ‘the other girls’, smile and say thank you, and know that that is the greatest compliment you could receive.
