I’m that woman I think. But I can’t know for sure not having the luxury, the privilege, the curious experience of seeing the world, and specifically me, through your eyes. But I’m that woman who must appear to “have it all together.” I only think so because I was always the girl and then the young lady with “so much potential.”
And from the outside it–I–look good. No, I look great. Degrees. Career. Home. Family. Friends. Body (body for days!). Success. Success. Success.
But what? If you look closely you can see it. The storm brewing in my eyes. My discomfort at moving in the world. My uncertainty at belonging here at all. And if you aren’t looking closely but happen to be nearby when I’m distracted by all of this internal uneasiness while struggling with my toddler to dress or eat while he fidgets and plays, it will be crystal clear to you that I am in fact not THAT woman when you hear me sharply say, “No I don’t want Spider-Man on my fucking back.”