We love our body with its wide and narrow shapes, our sour and mellifluous voice, depending on the mood, our fragile hair in the cob season or full and healthy as a horse’s mane. We love our imperfect and sincere skin, and, you might not believe it, we even like our cellulite and all the “ites” that people want to foist on us as ugliness. We are our body, we are also a body, there is no way to escape it.
However, much more than a body, we love being women because we are aware that we carry our ancestry behind us. All the women before us who sacrificed themselves, who were humiliated and who fought so that today you can be a Woman, with a capital letter. If for many centuries we were considered a second-rate human being — and in many countries we still are — and were led to believe that there is little to be lovable in us, the time has finally come to love ourselves completely, with the flaws and qualities that nature has given us. Because all women are lovable in their own way, worthy of self-love and the love of others.
Being a woman is not having a vulva; being a woman is something that comes from within and that can have another body and express itself in different ways. All modes are valid. We love being women, we love all women. It is time for us to explain to our daughters and to all the girls in the world that being a woman is something big, worthy of pride, that they can wish to be whatever they want and that the world must stop being an insecure place. It is time for us to make it clear to the women of the present and the future that destiny belongs to those who hold the reins and that our hands are just as valid as those that have guided History until today.
We discovered late in life that women are admirable beings, it took us a while to love other women and to love ourselves. We grew up believing we were less valid and brave. We were injected with eye poison during our growth. It was other women’s gestures and books that cleared our eyes and taught us to read the world. We were blind and didn’t know. It is sad to have to know, but rather the sadness of disillusionment than the joy of ignorance. And we finally have our eyes open, women. Eyes that face the mirror, that face the landscape. We love being women, we love women.