American Girl

And what being a woman means to me.

Stupid head asshole Piers Morgan had me on his show the other day, and apropos of nothing, other than the fact that he really doesn’t seem to understand the answer to this question, he asked me to define what a woman was. Because of Fucking course he did.

Piers is a piece of shit professional windbag with the charm of a cum sock, who thrives on picking fights like a schoolyard bully who never grew up. His entire shtick is rooted in being as insufferable as humanly possible, spouting opinions no one asked for with the conviction of a “man” who’s never been told to just shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down.

An absolute bellend of the highest order, Piers is the kind of gobshite who could start an argument in an empty room and still come out looking like a proper muppet. He’s not just a stupid-headed tosser; he’s the full-on wanker trifecta—loud, wrong, and convinced he’s God’s gift to banter. If being a knob was a national sport, this plonker would be knighted for services to being a colossal arsehat.

Nonetheless, he thought he “got me” with his ridiculous fucking question, largely because as everyone knows, he doesn’t let anyone who disagrees with him finish a fucking sentence.

Narrator: he didn’t “get me.”

And with yesterday being International Women’s Day, it’s all got me thinking about what it truly means to ME to be a woman.

I don’t give a fuck about what Piers motherfucking Morgan “thinks.”

You see, when I was a kid, being a girl really pissed me off. It was all about what I was TOLD I “Couldn’t do.” What I was TOLD I “Should” and “shouldn’t do.” It was all about stupid rules that made no sense and never seemed to apply to boys. Stupid rules for how to act, how to think, how to talk, and how to look.

I suck at following rules. And I sucked at being a “girl.” Or so I had always thought anyway.

Why couldn’t I wear my Communion dress to play kickball with the neighborhood kids on the dead-end?

Why couldn’t I be a wide receiver when we played football in gym? Why did I have to be a cheerleader? I hated cheerleaders and frankly, they hated me.

Why did I have to help the women cleanup after family dinners while the men smoked cigars, sipped Arak and played Backgammon?

Why did I have to be quiet? Why did I have to be nice? Why did I have to “behave”? Why did I have to be “humble”? Why did I always have to “wait my turn”? Why did wanting to make people laugh mean I was a “clown”?

Why did having strong opinions mean I was “difficult”? Why did pushing bullies back mean I was “wild”? Why did catching frogs in the neighbor’s pond mean I was “weird”? Why did knowing every NY Rangers stat make me a “tomboy”?

I could catch a football better than most of those boys. I knew that. The boys knew it too.

I could make people laugh with ease. People were happier when they laughed. And focusing on getting them to giggle helped me to think less about all the things in my life which made me sad. It gave me power over my reality in a way that nothing else could.

I didn’t want to be quiet. Some people didn’t deserve “nice”. And “behaving” was boring; a constantly moving target I could never seem to hit.

I liked frogs and snakes and mud and muck. I liked dirt under my fingernails. I liked making bullies run away. I liked sharing what I thought about anything and everything, especially when I thought someone was wrong, and I was right. I really, really liked being right.

*that’s me in the front

Being a girl seemed to be a barrier to all the stuff I wanted and an inescapable tether to what I didn’t. But I just didn’t understand what being a girl meant or how to do it.

I liked boys, but they didn’t like me. At least not in the way I was told I was “supposed” to want them to. Other girls tolerated me, but I was never THAT girl. The girl all the other girls gravitated to.

I was always a “problem.” I was always being “dramatic.” I was always “a lot.” I was always a “brat” and a “big mouth.”

And because I was labeled that way for so long simply for doing the things I wanted to do, and for saying things I wanted to say, and essentially for just being myself, I got to a point in my life where I no longer trusted that I was who I thought I was.

And then I began to abandon it all.

And then I was lost.

I tried to be what I thought others thought I should be. I thought I was supposed to be dumb. I thought I was supposed to be sexy. I thought men sleeping with me meant I had value. I thought I was supposed to accept them putting me down and beating me up. I thought I was supposed to be everything I was criticized for not being before.

I thought losing sight of my own hopes and dreams and taking up the full-time support of someone else’s even to my own detriment meant I was “good.”

I didn’t know the first thing about being a “woman”, or so I thought. What I understand now, is that I knew it inside and out when I was that loud little girl catching footballs and frogs.

Having an abusive mother who left us when I was four only to weave her special brand of soul-crushing narcissistic manipulation in and out of my life for decades didn’t help matters much either. The roadmap to who I was as a woman in this world was chock-full of self-destructive land mines to say the least.

I spent decades floating around myself without ever actually BEING myself. And it was in the space of those years that I drifted so far away from who I was that there was nothing left inside at all.

I looked at my very own young daughter, the most amazing little girl in all the world, and I feared that I offered her nothing. That my roadmap for her was non-existent. A blank piece of paper with nothing to guide her. She was watching me, looking to me, waiting for me to show her what a woman was. And I couldn’t.

I gave up on me. That little girl who once punched a bully in the nose while her brand new school’s principal watched in disbelief, had disappeared.

Or so I thought.

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.” – Harriet Beecher Stowe

Because when Donald Trump came down that dumb escalator and said what he said about Mexicans, something deep, down inside the depths of me, flickered. Something, SOMEONE, I had truly believed was long gone, was not.

“She remembered who she was and the game changed.” – Lalah Delia                     

I was still in there after all. I wasn’t so much lost as I was asleep. I had been dormant. But I was waking up. And every time he did something abhorrent, I woke up a little more.

Until over time, often by teeny tiny steps, but sometimes in great big leaps and bounds, I began to change my life. I began to trust myself. I began to remember that I was smart. That I was brave. That I was funny. That I was resilient. That I was strong. Not just that I “could”, but that I would.

I used to think the question was who would let me do the things I wanted to do, and say the things I wanted to say, and live the life I wanted to live, and now I think — who’s going to stop me?

I think, ‘Well let them try to stop me. Because whenever anyone tries to stop me from being who I am, and saying what I want, and living how I choose, I go around them, above them, or straight the fuck through them. But I do not stop.’

I spent so much of life fixated on what I couldn’t do, I didn’t do anything I wanted to do. I only saw the doors that had closed, not the ones that had opened. I saw pain as a shackle, and now I know that it’s from where I draw my strength.

Now, I focus on what I want to do. On what I KNOW I can do. Not on whatever it is that might impede me from doing it. And then I go out and I do it.

What I once saw as an obstacle, I now see as endless opportunity. I am so proud to be a woman because I know what we are made of. I know what we can endure. I know how we can triumph. I’m damn proud of the woman I am today because I walked through fire in becoming her.

This is what American women do. We walk through fire and we emerge from the flames forged in steel.

Think of all of the things we have accomplished despite everything men have thrown in our way.

This is who we are. Some of us have to dig deep to remember those fearless and free little girls inside of us, and some of us never lose sight. Some of us make our own way, and some are bolstered by others at every step. Some start when they are young and some of us take a little longer to get there.

But no matter how we arrive, the destination is so often the same.

Change.

Empowerment, independence, opportunity, autonomy.

From the suffragettes to Kamala Harris and every woman in between and beyond — this is who we are and who we have been.

And this moment in time, this challenging, threatening, troubling moment in time, when we face being dragged backwards, when all we have fought for and gained could be stripped away, we continue to show ourselves and the whole world, that we will not back down.

We will not be quiet. We will not behave. We will not be humble. We will not be nice. We will not wait.

We are once again standing tall and fighting hard. We are going around and above and right the fuck through all that stands in our way. But we will not stop.

“They'll tell you you're too loud, that you need to wait your turn and ask the right people for permission. Do it anyway." —Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Our children are watching, just as we watched those who came before us. My daughter gets to see her mom standing up for what is right. Fighting for what is right. She gets to see her mom believe in herself and in what she can and will do.

And then she gets to see her doing it.

I want to give my little girl the mom I didn’t have. I want her to see that she can do hard things. That she will make mistakes. That she will triumph. That she is a beautiful warrior who can do anything she wants in this world. I call her my “Hurricane”, because that is what she is.

She is an American girl. And we are formidable.

This is what is in my heart and in my soul every day I have the privilege of walking this earth.

And that is why when the amazing Tara Setmayer sent me this video, I cried for the better part of an hour. It is why I cry every single time I watch it. It is why I cried watching it WITH my now 11 year old force of nature baby girl.

I told Tara when I first watched it, that it was the best political ad I’d ever seen, but I realize now that it’s so much more than that.

It’s an anthem. It’s a fight song.

It’s an acknowledgment of who we are — where we’ve been and how we have triumphed. And it is a nod to every brave, fearless woman who has come before us, and to every warrior goddess who is standing and fighting right now. And it is a promise to every young girl out there, that we will make damn sure the world we leave them will be better than when we found it.

But when I look at my daughter’s beautiful face, and I see her million watt smile, and I imagine the life full of possibilities she could have and should have, I am also reminded of what is at stake for her if we get this thing wrong.

And that is why we fight. We fight for ourselves, for our children and grandchildren, we fight for each other, we fight for their futures and for our freedoms.

It is a strange and bitter pill to swallow, isn’t it? That we live in a world where the highest office in the land, the so-called pinnacle of leadership, has been occupied by a predator who casually boasted about violating women’s bodies. A man whose words and actions have emboldened a war on women, waged not in shadows but in broad daylight, from the halls of power to the streets we walk every day. And yet, we persist. Still standing. Still fighting. Still laughing in the face of their attempts to diminish us.

Because here’s the thing they don’t understand: Women have always been underestimated. They’ve tried to silence us, shame us, legislate us into submission. But we are louder than their fear. We are fiercer than their hate. We have endured centuries of oppression and come out on the other side, not broken, but unbreakable.

We’ve marched. We’ve voted. We’ve demanded better. And we will not stop. Because for every door slammed in our faces, we’ve kicked down another. For every attempt to diminish us, we’ve grown taller. for every step backward, we’ve taken two forward. For every insult, we’ve created art. For every law against us, we’ve birthed revolution. They can try to hold us down, but we’ve already learned to rise—and we’re just getting started.

The Seneca Project’s incredible “American Girl” video reminds us so powerfully about who we are, how far we have come, and how much further we can go.

I’m so proud to know fellow JERSEY GIRL Tara Setmayer. I’m so proud to be in this fight with her and her amazing partner Michelle Kinney. And I’m so blown away by how amazingly good at this shit they are.

Here’s what she had to say about this unbelievably inspiring and beautiful video:

“American Girl honors the fierce historic battles fought for our rights as women but also highlights our incredible strength and perseverance. It’s more than an ad. It’s an anthem.”

Please, watch the video - share it with every woman you know. And donate to the Seneca Project if you can.

Love you guys.

Stay safe, stay strong, stay away from wankers like Piers.

❤️Jo