Dear Pussy,
It’s taken me around 18 years to say your name. I mean, you go by a lot of nicknames: Mom called you, “my downstairs”, Dad never called you anything (because he pretended you didn’t exist), my doctor calls you, “vulva”, that older boy on the bus called you, “cunt”, and my president calls you, “pussy”. But none of these people know you, because you are very intimate part of me, a part of me that I only share with those that are special. Let’s be real Pussy, we didn’t even know you were that special until recently. Because as I got older your names still didn’t feel right. Only now it was men I didn’t know who referred to you by name and they only did it to degrade or objectify you… how was I ever to know you were more than that?
I’m sorry for those years. They weren’t always the happiest but they were filled with moments of growth! Remember that time in 7th grade History class when we were learning the mashed potato?! That boy, oh that lovely boy, leaned over to tell me that there was something on my pants as he politely looked in my eyes and not the puddle of blood that sat in my seat. Or later that summer when I really began to know you! We had briefly talked before; sometimes when I would sit on a stool or swim past the pool jets at the right angle. But those were just brief hellos, we hadn’t had a real conversation together until that night. I should have gotten to know you more, understand you more, before I introduced you to someone else 2 years later. I wish I would have known how special you were then, but I didn’t. I wore as some false empowerment. You were something that people were attracted to and any attention you brought I welcomed.
I would be lying if I said we were best friends now. You know we’ve had our fair share of issues. Sometimes you embarrass me. I’m not always sure if you are pretty enough and sometimes you make the weirdest noises when we are passionately discussing with friends. But most of all you can make me angry! Pussy, when we really met for that first moment you were suppose to enhance me; you were supposed to make me a woman. But once a month you allow my insides to be ripped to shreds, you funnel out the casualties as if it were your only job.
Although we’ve been through a lot together, the good, the bad, the ugly, they say I won’t really know you until one month we don’t have that fight. Apparently, we won’t really get truly close until you help me create something big, but I’ve never been much for crafting and that process takes three to tango. So, I’m going to just take that one slow and get to know you on our journey there. I can honestly say, you’ve earned to finally be called a name I understand and respect. So I chose to call you this name, Pussy. A name that everyone calls you with contempt, but now you and I know when we hear your name it means something else to us. It means all the beauty in our friendship, all the opportunity in our future, and the pain of our past. I’m reclaiming my pussy!
Warmest Regards,
A Woman