I’m going to say it: I didn’t become a woman until I was in my 40s.
I started my period at 12, had sex for the first time at 27, and had a baby at 33. By all social definitions I’ve been a woman for a while. The summer after I started my period my aunts did a woman’s circle ceremony to welcome me into “womanhood.” While I know they did not buy into the adage, “If she bleeds; she can breed,” this ceremony seemed a bit premature. I was horrified. I was still a child. I cried over a stupid nickname the other kids called me. I slept with stuffies, and needed my mom for everything. I was in middle school, and my days were dictated by adults. I was not allowed to make my own decisions on most things. I wasn’t even old enough to drop out of school legally. My body had changed, and so in some states I was legal to be married off, though in others I wasn’t yet legal to have sex with. Neither was I even close to ready for sex. I had started my period, but I was not a woman yet.
In my twenties, I gained some amount of agency. So it could be said I became a woman then. But my choices were dictated by societal expectations (or my rejection of them) and my upbringing. I was so insecure, and I behaved and reacted like a child. I was impulsive and defiant and took risks. It was fun, and I have no regrets, but I was not a fully formed woman. Everything I did was in reaction to something. My life and choices were not wholly mine alone.
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