Previously On…

After our zoom class, I would say almost a lightning bolt struck but not exactly. But after Dr. Zamora’s talk (which was super helpful) it gave me some more insight of the type of direction I should aim towards. Immediately after class I got to writing. I decided first that I want to draft up a couple of different essays on the exploration of womanhood and what it means to me. But also including things I have gone through being a woman. I know all woman have a story (trigger warning ahead), here are some of the essays I want to touch base upon and write before I center around my thesis;

  1. The first time I was touched/ groped
  2. The man who plotted to rape me
  3. The man who stalked me
  4. The man who called me a slut
  5. The time my mother said it was my fault based on my outfit

Those are a couple essays I want to draft up first as I share my experiences in intimate stories. Then I will most likely need another brainstorming session with Dr. Zamora. But for now I do have a good start of where I want to get this thesis going. I am looking forward to the workshop next Tuesday as I can get guided a bit more and know where exactly where to start my research.

For the meantime, here is a sample essay I wrote to kick off the creative process and get in a zone:

The First Man To Disappoint Me 

If any man in my past thought they did damage to me, they have not. My father was the first man to disappoint me. 

I remember being a kid, sitting on the floor of the living room next to my mom who was sitting on the couch. I can remember her praying out loud “please don’t let him come home drunk. Please God protect him on his way home.” I silently put my head down as I pray in my head alongside my mother. Silently in my head I asked God, “Please God, don’t let him come home drunk today, please don’t let them fight today.” When I was a kid God didn’t seem to be too real because I thought when you pray he was supposed to make your prayers come true. But prayers are not wishes. 

My parents fought badly when I was growing up. From microwaves being thrown out the window, to my dad leaving to look for a new place only to come back at night. I took on a role for my mother. To be her support system, and when she couldn’t be a mother, I tried my best to be one. 

Growing up all I ever heard was “wow, you’re so mature for your age” or “you have such an old soul.” But these kinds of comments are normal for women, it’s almost an expectation to be more mature compared to boys. But the thing is, I wasn’t a woman. I was only a child. The “compliments” are not really compliments at the end of the day when all you want to do is be a kid. Not one that is dragged between every fight your parents have or every mental breakdown your mother has where all she can talk about is committing suicide. Trying to take on every role but the only real role I had was just to be a kid. But I failed at that one. 

I say my father was the first man to disappoint me because it was hard to find that thin line. All I could see was the damage he was causing my mom, I resented him for it. While I never showed it and outsiders thought I was a daddy’s girl, I had a few moments where I strongly hated him and wished he never existed.