This is one sappy post written one sleepless night; emotions in the paragraphs below run amok.
Any set of ovaries in the world recognises free will as a beautiful yet intangible prosepect. The idea that decision can be a unilateral expression is kept at that bay: an idea. When it comes to execution, or rather the painfully-impossible-while-humiliating process of materialising the idea, we’re told we can be whatever we want to be if we will it to be, dismissively and moronically enough. Setting aside how that is, in fact, bollocks, the normalisation of sacrifice by women in order to gain basic human rights is nothing short of barbaric. If a woman doesn’t compromise a main component in the make-up of her life, she’s lazy, she’s too comfortable, she doesn’t want it bad enough. If she doesn’t cut off a leg to get a bike, she never really deserved it. And in that ill-perceived manner of hard work and reward, she’s forced into an either/or scenario, and the alternative is defeat.
It is true that to gain something you must lose something, but when you comfortably fling that inspirational quote around, how much does it weigh? Is it 5 kilos around the waist? Is it an antique that never really fit the room? Is it a 2009 Toyota Prius? Is it reputation? Is it family? Is it love? Is it safety? Is it livelihood?
The stakes are too high for your regular heels to reach; the elements of sacrifice are inconceivable. Not every woman has the luxury of disposal, not every woman has the courage to stand alone, not every woman is self-destructive enough to gamble it all away. But we are all women, ordinary, sub, and extra. What we need is for the margin of sacrifice to narrow, so that our transition towards self-actualisation is not leaps of faith, but stable steps free of shame, loss, and anger.