Reflections on Being a Woman: My Journey and Revelations
Recently, one of my best friends said something that hit me deeply: “I go to therapy, so others don’t have to go to therapy about me.” Honestly, I couldn’t agree more. I’ve been in and out of therapy since I was 15. It's essential for me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been proactive about my self-awareness and personal growth. Maybe it was my upbringing, or maybe it was life’s challenges, but I had to grow up mentally pretty fast. My life wasn’t bad—I loved it then, and I still do—but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had to work through some things. And let’s be real: the reason I first went to therapy wasn’t even for myself—it was because of someone else who should’ve been in therapy long before I came into the picture. Now, I only go for myself. I credit therapy for a majority of my "survive-to-thrive" transitions, and I encourage everyone to check in with an objective third-party professional who can give productive, honest, realistic, unbiased advice on the options of your life. It really saves me some energy as an overthinker. Anyway....
So, why start a blog now? Because I’m turning 35 on December 15th, and for the first time, I feel like I have something to say that’s authentically me. Not my family, not my close friends, not society, and certainly not the media. Just me. What does that mean? A lot of things—but for now, let’s focus on one of my favorite topics: the experience of being a woman.
This is my perspective, so don’t go thinking you know every woman because you read this blog. We’re all different. But I’ll tell you what I know—being a woman has tripped me up over and over again, and now I’m finally ready to unpack it.
Phase One: I Thought I Was Special
Growing up in a small town, I noticed early on that adults were, well, kind of strange. They’d say things like, “You and your best friend will get married someday,” even though we were seven years old. They told me to "marry rich" or ask how many kids I was planning on having. They’d buy me baby dolls when I was clearly asking for action figures or something from the “boy’s section.” They'd allow my BABY brother to do things I couldn't. They called me "boy crazy" but I just wanted to be active like a boy, and boys were around those activities so they became my friends. "They" is not my parents by the way, It was the town. Everything they expected of me seemed to be based off of some reasoning of what would get me a guy. At the time, I assumed all adults knew what they were doing. Spoiler alert: they didn’t, they still don't. I'm an adult, I hear them talk, and none of us really know what the heck we're doing.
I thought they were in awe of me because I was talented, smart, and interesting—and sure, I was all those things—but I later realized their admiration was rooted in something simpler: I was an agreeable, obedient, pretty little girl. That’s what they valued. I believed I was different, unique, special. But eventually, I moved away and learned that while I wasn’t as unique as I thought, I could still embrace my weirdness. It turns out everyone is special in their own way.
Phase Two: I Hated Being a Woman
I grew up a tomboy with a little brother, a rugged dad, and a powerhouse mom who shattered traditional norms. My world had a masculine filter, and I honestly didn’t realize I was seen as a “woman” until I moved to Florida. Maybe a few times, but it didn't bother me then because my friends would defend me, tell me pay them no mind and I was amazing. I had to start over in Florida with no friends. Everyone was meeting me at present in my life with no background reference. Also, my examples of women consisted of my superhero mom, her best friend and army companion Carol, who was basically a female Mcgiver (and that's underselling it), and my matriarchal grandmother who certainly didn't take any crap. So women were legit to me, and could do anything, and that's what my women taught me. What was the problem!? Back home, I was just me. But in Florida, I was suddenly labeled a “weird woman.” Comments like, “You’re a woman; why would you do that?” started rolling in. For the first time, I felt underestimated—not because of my skills, but because of my gender.
Trying to challenge these stereotypes turned me into someone I didn’t recognize. I became defensive and combative, thinking I was standing up for myself, but really, I was spiraling. The weight of those labels felt suffocating, and for a while, I felt trapped by the assumptions others placed on me.
Phase Three: Women Became My Saving Grace
For years, I didn’t think I needed women. I bought into the clichés: “Women are too emotional, too dramatic. Guys are just easier. Women don't like me, and I don't know why." I thought I was the exception—“one of the guys.” But when I realized that guys, and girls! were saying the same dismissive things about me behind my back, it was a rude awakening. I was so confused because I made myself so small, how could I still be inconvenient? I did all the things. I learned all the stuff. I said all the words. I was smart... right? I did my job... didn't I? The thoughts were less confident. My inner dialogue started changing. Maybe they... were right? Too much. Too confident. Too loud. Dramatic. Needy. Strange. Too positive. Too negative. Too ambitious. Not experienced. Too relatable. The only thing that kept me sane is that secretly, behind closed doors, EVERYONE, except for one or two party poopers, absolutely frickin loved me. My coworkers. The students. I just wasn't getting anywhere in Corporate America because my spirit was out of the norm, and I've made peace with that because...
One day, I had an amazing day with a woman in my class who asked me about my confidence and admired how I spoke to the men without being mean but still expressing my boundaries. She said, “You’re really good at navigating male environments; you should share this with others.” Little did she know that what she saw was surviving, not thriving. Maybe she did know though, and that's all she was looking for...That one comment shifted my perspective. I started a club for women called Loud Ladies, thinking I was helping them. In reality, they were helping me. These women supported me, shared their brilliance, and taught me what it means to build a community. I realized that comparing myself to men was holding me back, and I started appreciating women—including myself—for who we are.
Phase Four: I Became The Feminist
Fueled by this newfound appreciation, I dove headfirst into feminist literature. I wanted to educate myself and everyone around me. At first, my passion came off too strong—it overwhelmed people. But over time, I learned how to share my insights in a way that was relatable and engaging. I now have some of the most productive and deep conversations of my life with women, men, and all allies and genders about understanding each other's journey due to society's stereotypes. In many ways, relief was just a conversation away, and I even defused a couple of high-risk scenarios just meeting people where they were.
One of the most impactful books I read was “Feminism is for Everybody” by Bell Hooks. If you’re looking to understand feminism in a simple yet profound way, I highly recommend it. Feminism isn’t about competing with men—it’s about equality and mutual respect. And what I learned along the way is A. Out of all the women across the globe I am EXTREMELY privileged, and I still struggle and hurt even with some of the best resources. Hurt people, hurt people, and if we all stay hurt no one will be able to heal. I'm humbled by the gentle journey I have had, and this provides me with extra patience to explore how I can give the same safe environment to other women, and honestly, everyone, because I also learned... B. Most men don’t align with the harmful stereotypes we pin on them. Many men, like the ones who raised me, want to support women—some just haven’t discovered the ideal way for them yet.
Phase Five: The Crash
And then, I hit a wall. My passion for feminism became draining, and I found myself frustrated and resentful when women I reached out to didn’t want to collaborate or reciprocate support. At first, I thought I’d stumbled upon the “dark side of feminism.” But here’s the truth: it wasn’t feminism at all. It was the patriarchy’s twisted version of feminism—the kind that pits women against each other and keeps everyone distracted from collective progress.
Oh no! She typed the “P” word. Can we not? Please, give me another term for a male-influenced society designed with little regard for women beyond objectification and submission while also forcing young men to choke on outdated ideals of masculinity. Got one? Great—until then, I’m sticking with patriarchy, and I know a lot of dudes who acknowledge "patriarchy" and are uncomfortable by its potency, too, so let’s move on!
Society pits women against each other, making us compete for resources and validation. Whether it’s gender, race, generational differences, class divides, or choosing co-occupancy with a bear or a man, these barriers are the effects of the design. We are distracted and divided. Confronting this felt like fighting an uphill battle. I was exhausted, and I needed to pause, realizing having the means to do so was a privilege in itself. I returned inward to reflect on whether or not I was living my life by these new learned standards of human respect I learned through my feminist academia. All in all, I'm down for having patriarchy and feminism, I mean, this is America, isn't it? Can't we just have it all!? Regardless, I wasn't going to get any more answers in the manic state I had worked myself into.
Phase Six: Doing the Work
And that’s where therapy came in—again. I had to take a step back and focus on myself. Through reflection and growth, I realized that understanding ourselves and others is a lifelong process. The work is never done, but it’s worth it.
Today, I’m learning to embrace patience and curiosity in this journey. It’s about loving who I am while striving to grow—not just for myself, but for the people I can impact.
To Be Continued...
This blog is my way of sharing what I’ve learned and continuing the conversation. It’s about my journey through the complexities of being a woman, a human, a teacher, a listener, a friend—not just surviving it, but thriving in it.
What I’ve learned is that the pain I associated with being a woman didn’t come from my gender—it came from my lack of confidence in who I was. I didn’t see examples of success that looked like me, so I didn’t believe my path was possible. But here’s the thing: the person your passions push you to be? That’s exactly who the world needs; that's why when you try to escape your authentic self, you feel like poo. And, indeed, you may believe the person you are trying to be doesn't exist... but what If the first person to be like that Is supposed to be you? Others are most likely waiting to observe your path.
The world needs the real you, unapologetically. Sorry, not sorry. Here’s your sign. Love, Natalie P.S. - If you’re looking for a community that celebrates this energy and all others of good Intent, check out Women Who VYBE:
on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/92599880/admin/dashboard/ on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/womenwhovybe/
Here’s to growth, truth, and the undeniable power of showing up as your authentic self. Stay tuned for more revelations!
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