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#on womanhood
girlfictions · 7 months
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can’t stop thinking about this excerpt from an interview with emily wilson (x)
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feral-ballad · 1 year
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Roaa Abaza, Into Womanhood, Through You
[Text ID: “For Ophelia doesn’t know / how to stay tender / with that much blood / in her mouth.”]
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reformedfaerie · 1 year
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one thing about biblical womanhood posts that I’ve noticed is that when it’s talked about, they still strive to emphasize the aspects that were remarkable situations— they leave a faint taste of feminism in my mouth because they focus on Deborah, the woman raised up to lead because the men wouldn’t; they focus on Jael, the woman who kills a man with a tent spike; a woman dropping a stone, Rahab smuggling Israelites and defying authorities—
And all of these are raised up and praised as the Biblical woman with just a hint of look!! We’re strong!! We’re in the thick of it!! We’re not submissive doormats!!
In one sense, this is true. These are great, godly women. They are our examples.
But in all our striving to remind people of biblical women’s strength, we cannot forget who else are our examples.
We cannot forget Ruth. Ruth who humbled herself and remains loyal with Naomi, submitting herself to God and trusting in His provision. Ruth who lays herself at Boaz’s feet and who sacrifices possibly being a widow soon again for the sake of Naomi’s care and God’s provision.
Martha— one who serves and who desires to serve
Mary— one who sits at Christ’s feet to learn and desires to hear the words of her Lord
Lydia— who insisted on hosting and serving the Lord’s messengers; who would be possibly sacrificing her wealth being a part of the church in Philippi and serving the church
Mary— Jesus’ mother who submitted herself to God’s will, submitted herself to the scorn of her peers, who trusted the Lord to fulfill His promises and whose soul was pierced with a sword
The strength of godly wives who submit though their flesh and curse is contrary— the strength of women who order their homes, are humble, are helpers, are mothers, are servers, are menders, are teachers, are caregivers, are sellers and makers, are students of our Lord.
Don’t confuse gentleness for weakness; nor tenderness for a lack of strength.
Women are strong.
And it’s not because of tent spikes.
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mdemn · 19 days
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YOU’RE A MOTHER, MA. YOU’RE ALSO A MONSTER. SO AM I.
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IT SEEMS NO MATTER HOW I TRY I BECOME MORE DIFFICULT TO HOLD. I AM NOT AN EASY WOMAN TO WANT.
my mother believes in my marriage and this shows me her heart can forgive even years spent dancing alone - kayleb rae candrilli, mafia: definitive edition - dev. hangar13, daughter - beyoncé, —, mafia: definitive edition, —, mafia: definitive edition, on earth we’re briefly gorgeous - ocean voung, mafia: definitive edition, my mother believes in my marriage and this shows me her heart can forgive even years spent dancing alone - kayleb rae candrilli, nikki giovanni
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thanataes · 15 days
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lamb teeth by @thanataes
wild boar, cardiff castle, photo by martin beek // jen mazza "peripety" // peter goodfellow
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mirthridatism · 1 year
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Lyrics: Paris Paloma. “Labour” (2023)  || Artemisia Gentileschi. Judith Slaying Holofernes (1614–1620)  || Caravaggio. Judith Beheading Holofernes (1599–1602)
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theoptia · 2 years
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Simone de Beauvoir, from The Second Sex
Text ID: Woman is not a fixed reality but a becoming;
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cynicbeauty · 2 years
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on woman existing only through man’s desire
life of the party, olivia gatwood / cosmonauts, fiona apple / me and my husband, mitski / fleabag: the scriptures, phoebe waller-bridge
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“the feminist’s first adversary is also her first love: her father.”
“Often father and daughter look down on mother (woman) together. They exchange meaningful glances when she misses a point. They agree that she is not bright as they are, cannot reason as they do. This collusion does not save the daughter from the mother's fate.” - bonnie burstow
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birthed into the flames of girlhood,
you were always taught docility, softness —
pliability —
to let honey drip from the corners of your mouth at the end of every sentence.
you’re told to keep your opinions to yourself.
// bite your tongue in two so long as you don’t make a sound //
but god, aren’t you so full up of rage?;
the kind of anger that draws salt up
through the soil into bloodied pillars.
your hands tremble with it,
blood singing armageddon through your veins.
stars colliding in your chest.
don't you think it's about time you stop being nice?
your jaw opens vicious. closes —
don't you think it's time you stop holding back a scream?
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capbrie · 1 month
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happy birthday - e.m.
i’m about to be twenty and all my scars are fading; no more reminders of childhood pets or the imprints they left behind.
i could make new scars, but it all feels childish now, like a salve that’s gone off and should’ve been thrown out already.
i’m in my third year taking first year classes, ‘no, probably not this year, but hopefully next.’ i’ll graduate eventually, but then what?
i’ll be twenty-one years old with my bachelors degree, no actual life lived, just texts and keywords forever imprinted in my mind. yes, i could explain the effects of postfeminism in the media, no, i do not know what it is like to love someone and be loved back.
i’ll spend my birthday alone and end the night crying about how i spent my birthday alone. no, i did not make plans for a party, yes, maybe i would have liked one anyway.
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feral-ballad · 1 year
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It is men, men who harm me with their weapons. Men I mothered without birthing, wife without fulfillment of the flesh, sister without brothers, daughter without rebelliousness. It is the men and only them, made of better clay than mine, whose greed was greater than the need to hold on to me. I was sold at least, because I became so worthy in their accounts, that I was of no worth for their tenderness. And if for tenderness I'm unworthy, then I'm worth nothing... And it's time to die.
Dulce María Loynaz, from These Are Not Sweet Girls: Poetry by Latin American Women; "Last days of home"
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bougainvilleae · 1 year
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naturalborndevil · 3 months
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Edible, by me, 2024.
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tirzahstears · 2 years
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this world is intimidated by girls who know and like themselves, so i am given no choice but to be both of those things.
i spent my life- as long as i can remember- being told that i am too much. i am too loud, too big, too smart, too emotional, too fucking much. and for the first seventeen years i took it as an insult- let it crush every little bit of hope that resided in my chest, let it claw its way in to stamp out the every little bit of light that the world decided to leave for me.
but the world pays attention to girls who are too much.
i hope i intimidate you when i speak too loud for the room we are in, when i shout to my girlfriends who are three feet away from me. i hope i intimidate you when i lean back in my chair, kick my legs out in front of myself, let you know that i am here. i hope i fucking intimidate you when i correct your answers because god knows this world fears nothing more than a well educated woman. i hope i intimidate you when i cry, and laugh, and smile, when i dare to fucking exist as a person.
you look at my body and recoil- in disgust? in shock? in fear that, if you don't keep an eye out, you too might end up looking... like me? with my hairy legs and my bright blue cane and acne prone skin and big nose that i finally don't want to get rid of, you see my thick eyebrows and shitty fucking mullet, my short chipped nails and the stomach and thigh fat that hell, i worked my ass off to get- you see that i am a human fucking being and you run screaming from the goddamn building because you are afraid of girls who are not afraid of you.
but i am not afraid of my humanity anymore. i am not afraid to look like a person, to move and take up space like a person, to think and speak the way all of you were granted permission to do so at birth. you are afraid that i like myself- but i've always liked girls who are a little too much.
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liliesbythewater · 1 year
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Giovanni's Room, James Baldwin
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