You are six, and you body is quick and sleek and identical to your friends’, whether they be boys or girls. You can run around in the ocean without anything but pants on, you can undress and dance under the rain whenever you want to. People look at you kindly, you want to try out makeup and hairstyles but it doesn’t matter the moment your friends call you to play in the sand with them.
You are nine, and now you’re a bit more grown up. Your hair is longer, your features are a bit more defined, you get curious. It’s still easy to talk with boys and sometimes you still can run naked if you want, you put on tiny tops and tiny shorts, and it looks cute, not revealing. But you get interested, what does it feel like to have breasts? What does it feel like to feel pretty? You want it so badly, to be a woman already. Nobody tells you the truth.
You are twelve, and suddenly your favourite skirt is too short for you. It’s still comfortable, but your aunt won’t let you wear it, even though it’s hot as hell outside. Your breasts start to grow and for the first time ever you realise, that it can hurt. But being called a ‘slut’ by your classmate hurts more. Being told that ‘boys will be boys, ignore them’ confuses you even more than bras and lingerie. You get your first period and deal with the fact that this will go on for forty more years, and suddenly your life is divided into two parts. Nobody warned you about it. It hurts, it gets messy and dirty, but you can live with that, you think. The disgusting part about periods is that you’re forbidden to talk about it out loud. It’s shameful and gross and embarrassing. You have to live with that now.
You’re fourteen, and you don’t want bras or makeup anymore. You want to wear black baggy clothes and call yourself a tomboy, because being a girl suddenly became unbearable. Not at all what you thought it would be. While boys still played Legos and ran around chasing each other, you had to think about whether you have blood on your pants, your dress code violation, the news about a girl being raped you saw yesterday. Yes, you learn one more thing about being a girl. It’s not only weird and shameful, it’s dangerous. Don’t go out too late, don’t talk to strangers, don’t go to parties with your boy best friends, carry a hair spray with you, don’t make eye contact with men. Ignore their looks, remain polite. A man approaches you and tries to take you out. You say ‘no’. He follows you for two more squares. Being a girl is scary.
You’re sixteen, and you start realising the bittersweet feeling of it all. You find the pride of being a woman, you find inspiring female creators around the world, you raise your voice to speak against rape and sexual harassment, you apply makeup sometimes if you want to. But you’re the lucky one, because many girls can’t go outside without foundation on, starve themselves to the point of bulimia and period problems. Girls get slut-shamed and fat shamed for their growing bodies, but still try living up to the standards of femininity. You choose a career you want to pursue, it’s your passion. But you’re a girl, and you can’t do it, you’re told. Why? You have a vagina, you’re meant for marriage and childbirth. Coming to peace will all of this, learning to ignore comments about your future and punching boys in the face for rape jokes takes time, but you discover the glory of being a woman after all.
Growing up is difficult for everybody. But boys will never know the struggle of growing up a girl. How cruel and confusing the world becomes, while your boy friends can still be children.