Who Am I Before This Conversation Begins?
Sometimes I wonder how a newborn baby, freshly untouched by culture, patriarchy, “society” or WhatsApp university,would react if they were told—
What do you think of a person who bleeds every month, survives the pain of breaking bones to give birth, and is entrusted with the survival of an entire species…
but isn’t trusted to decide when they want to leave their house?
What to wear on their body?
Whether they want to give birth at all?”
No context. No gender. Just logic.
And I think, in my head, the baby would blink, yawn, maybe even poop a little, and then say:
“Bullshit.”
Because that’s what it is. Bullshit we’ve been fed since the day someone decided strength belonged to one gender and kindness was a synonym for submission.
And yet, here we are.
I’ve spent a long time watching the world spin its gendered fairytales. Some were subtle (like the pink aisle at toy stores). Some were sharp (like that one boy in class who said “you’re smart for a girl” and actually meant it as a compliment).
Some were just… sad. Like watching grown men choke on their own feelings because no one ever taught them how to cry without apology.
I write because I feel too much.
I write because someone, somewhere, once told me that women talk too much, so I turned it into my best trait.
But now, I want to write a little differently.
Over the next few weeks, I’m starting a new mini-series.
No, it’s not going to be a “men are trash” rant.
And no, I’m not here to decode masculinity with a PhD I don’t have.
But I am here to ask why men have never figured out what being a man means.
And why, in that confusion, women have paid the price.
We’ll talk about the little boys who were soft and kind—until they weren’t.
About how girls learned to shrink just to feel safe.
About masculinity, control, vulnerability, culture, classrooms, and all the messy in-betweens.
And if I write it right, somewhere in this, maybe you’ll find your story too.
So, who am I before this conversation begins?
Let’s just say I write like I’m whispering secrets in a crowded room.
Not here to be understood by everyone—just the ones who lean in.
And if you’re reading this, maybe you’re already leaning.
Let’s talk.