I am sitting in my bathtub. The water is running over my feet and when I'm not writing these words my arms are stretched above my head, resting against the pink bathroom wall.
I should be doing dishes, or laundry. I should be planning tomorrow's post, or at least an outfit. Shaving my legs. Working out. Worrying because it's 9PM and my boyfriend isn't home yet.
My cat is staring at me; he thinks I'm crazy. But I am not crazy. Right now, I'm not even his owner.
I'm also not a modern housewife, or a fashion blogger. A twenty-something sex object or a health-conscious woman. I'm not eco or sustainable or worried about my boyfriend, who I'm sure is able to get himself home after 9PM on a Thursday.
I'm just a woman, sitting in my bathtub.
Feminism has taught us that we can be anything. It has also taught us, unintentionally, that we have to be everything.
The lover, the friend.
The shoulder to lean on.
The tiger in the bedroom, the intellectual raptor, with smooth skin and a flawless face...
And we wonder why there are quarter-life crises, why more upper- and middle-class women turn to drugs. We wonder why so many self-help books promise happiness if we'd just "give it all up" and go on some retreat to an island where people don't have the choice to "be it all," let alone the first world problem of having to.
So, instead, I am sitting in my bathtub. My skin is pink and soft, and I'm not worried about a goal weight. The litterbox needs changing, but that and the dishes can wait. I'll wear jeans tomorrow, and I'll feel no guilt for ignoring that skirt I should have hung up to dry, or the fact that a client might see me dressed casually on "casual Friday."
Because right now, I am not the breadwinner, or the "dog mom," or barefoot in the kitchen.
I am just a woman, sitting in my bathtub.
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