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Thursday, April 12, 2018

Woman.

The term woman slides right off me and leaves behind a girl.

I've never really felt like a woman, not even when I got married, not even when I was giving birth. The word sounds like a tribe I don't want to join. Maybe I'm a Wendy, delaying her return from Neverland and her vacating the nursery. But will I change much? I don't feel immature, but maybe I am. If I asked my mother, she would tell me the truth.

I don't feel as if I'm in my 30s. I still marvel at the fact that I have to buy butter and tin foil. I'm amazed that I'm someone's mother. While I've accepted most aspects of being an adult, I still look in the mirror and see a girl.

I know I am often self-absorbed (my 10th grade English teacher kindly called me introspective). I feel the need to examine, prune, and nourish myself. I know I'm different, and I know the work is and will be difficult. Can a girl manage that? I think so.

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