Although screaming and trying to understand what was happening, none of us were born bitchy. Or should I say none of us women were born bitchy because, as we all know, bitchy is a term used to describe females. I could go on about this, but this is ancient history and I refuse to beat the horse.
Bitchy is an acquired, not always desired, state. There was a time when I wouldn’t have said shit if I had a mouthful. It was a long time ago, back when I was a shy late bloomer who looked too young for her age and was easily taken advantage of. It was before I had to deal with doctors who didn’t take my medical concerns seriously, and before I had chauvinistic bosses like the one who once told me to take the day off and get my hair done. Plus, I suffered from severe PMS before people, including most doctors, knew it existed. PMS and chauvinistic bosses do not mix well. Stories (or rants) for other days.
Life has taught me that the only person who could take care of me was me. To do this, I had to open my mouth and stand up for myself. Once I accomplished this, the cork popped and I vocalized my viewpoints freely. Any woman of my generation, who appeared strong and voiced her opinions, especially with volume and emotion, was often called a bitch, and not just by men. This still happens today. Let’s hope, not as much by women.
I am now retired, happy to leave a day job that I didn’t always like. On the downside, it has been almost a year and I feel as if I might explode. Retirement is making me cranky and sometimes depressed. I thought I would handle it better. I had intentions of writing another book, something that isn’t going as well as I hoped. Yes, I like to read and garden and knit; but these are not enough. I crave relevance. I still have opinions and obsessive loops of thoughts in my head. They need a home.
So I am going to embrace my bitchiness because it means that I am a strong individual and an independent thinker with passionate opinions. This is my definition of the term, and I plan to share it with anyone who wants to read my words. You don’t have to be over sixty to do this. Feel free to follow along or pop in again as I comment on a variety of issues in my sometimes bitchy manner.
Thanks for reading. So glad you’re here.
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Photo Credit: Geddy Images – Not me, just imagining possibilities for 70.