Quitters Never Prosper
When I was four years old, my mom wanted to put me in preschool, but she couldn’t afford it.
She was concerned that if I didn’t learn to behave in a classroom environment, listen to a teacher and engage with other kids, I might have difficulty acclimating to kindergarten. So she talked a local dance teacher into letting me join her 5-year-olds class.
I was a boisterous, outgoing child. I was “well-socialized” by virtue of attending church my entire life and fearlessly engaging with grownups around me as well as older kids.
But ballet was different. I enjoyed it – but I was painfully aware that I was “different” from the other girls because I hadn’t started school yet. I was small. I got teased by some of the girls for being “little.” And I just couldn’t figure out for the life of me how to do a Pas de Bourree.
As “luck” would have it, my studio was performing a live Nutcracker Suite for the community. That meant that not only was I (as a mere 4-year-old) expected to learn a handful of positions, steps and their names – but I had to memorize an ENTIRE choreographed dance that I would have to perform with the other girls in my class in only a couple months’ time – since ballet started in the Fall and the performance was scheduled for the Christmas season.
It was TOO HARD. I told my mom I wanted to quit. The girls were mean. I struggled to “pull up and tuck under” and I just COULDN’T master that pesky Pas de Bourree.
My mom took me aside and said, “Hillary, if you still want to quit after the winter break, I will take you out of ballet class, but your teacher and classmates are counting on you to be in the dance for the Nutcracker. Your teacher choreographed that number for your entire class and that includes you. So, you are not going to let other people down just because it’s a little hard right now.”
Grudgingly I continued to practice – especially my Pas de Bourree – and eventually – I got it! Then the Nutcracker performance arrived. I got into my costume. My mom put thick stage makeup on my face, pinned my hair into the tightest bun EVER and I waited backstage for my dance to start.
The music, the lights, the applause – the older dancers in their elegant tutus dancing on pointe shoes – suddenly I understood what ballet was REALLY about. And my heart just EXPLODED with joy. I wanted to be one of the dancers on pointe shoes leaping and spinning in a solo number across the stage someday – and I knew the only way to get there was to NOT quit.
I realize not every person has had the same opportunity to learn that ethos. And you find, as you go through life, those that were permitted to start and quit things repeatedly in their lives.
Sometimes they quit jobs, sometimes they quit marriages. But only recently has it become not only accepted, but celebrated to “quit” your GENDER.
WTF?!?
I know so very many millennial women who no longer want to belong to club. They’ve tendered their resignations, turned in their pronouns and they hiss at you to defy them when you slip up and say, “Looking extra adorable in those shoes today, chica!” like you have hundreds of times in your shared past.
“I don’t go by that anymore!”
Half of them don’t go by their names anymore.
None of the ones in my life have “transitioned.” They still look and dress every bit as feminine (or not) as they did before, when they were still on my team – on my side – part of our female collective choreography.
But now they fancy themselves “theys” instead of “shes.” “Thems” instead of “hers” – as if by changing a pronoun and renouncing womanhood suddenly they’ll be seen and treated differently/better by the world at large.
Many of them have other emotional/mental health issues on TOP of their Gender rejection. When someone innocently fumbles in failing to acknowledge their unique self-perception as something “other” than female, it only intensifies their feelings of frustration, victimization and despair in life.
To me, it’s like they decided to quit the class – after decades together as friends – and countless rehearsals for the next big number. My entire life I’ve worked to be treated with respect as a woman. Having hit the work place as a 15-year-old girl in the early 90’s I “came up” in a world that was still openly sexist - sometimes in very creepy ways. I’ve fought at times to overcome sexual discrimination and harassment in the workplace. I’ve entered into predominately male work environments and struggled until I made a name for myself and earned the respect given to my male peers – always believing in my heart that I was part of this unified team pulling together with me – 50% of the planet breaking molds and take our places beside our male counterparts with valued contributions and increasing success.
And now fewer and fewer women appreciate the ground we’ve gained. Instead of staying in the fight – they now want to be called a birthing person instead of a mother. They think “Latinx” is better than using the actual gendered languages of Central and South America (talk about “colonizing” language…)
And they have handed in their jerseys for our team.
You know what? YES! It’s HARD to be a woman!
You strive to stay looking young because “fertile” women are of higher value in the world of dating, but then coworkers and peers infantilize you and pass you over for advancement in favor of more “distinguished” looking people. You do and say all the “right” things to show a guy you’re not too clingy or crazy or emotional – only for him to dump you a couple months later for a younger girl who is TOTALLY clingy and crazy and emotional. Still – you pay your own bills, negotiate your own pay and raises, and inwardly groan every time you have to attend a training or convention where they expect you to stick a “My Name Is” sticker somewhere on, over or near your right boob. And, of course, it NEVER stays stuck there…
So WHAT if you enjoy things that are “traditionally” masculine in nature?
No one gives a single rat’s ass.
Your pronouns aren’t even FOR you. They are FOR the people around you trying to refer to you easily in ways that others casually observing can understand.
NOONE CARES ABOUT YOUR PREFERRED PRONOUNS!!!
And no – I’m not being “transphobic.” Even if I WERE (which I assure you I’m not) it doesn’t apply to you because by your own admission – YOU’RE NOT TRANS.
You might not want to hear it – but you’re just a quitter.
Come back to the team. We could still use a few good women – even with quirks, same sex preferences and masculine fashion sensabilities. Some of us fought our asses off for womanhood to encompass this entire range of manifestations and experiences – and when you cut and run – the dance just isn’t the same…