To the Patriarchy, who is a hater

I know I’m not supposed to think any of the below, let alone say it out loud, but fuck you patriarchy, fuck you!

My little body is just wonderful. I love her. For the last little while I have been treating her super nicely, feeding her vitamins and minerals she needs, making hot breakfasts in winter with mushrooms and tomatoes and sauerkraut in them. I’ve been taking my little legs to the gym to pedal hard and fast, to sweat out the frustrations of the day that stop my poor brain from sleeping. My little legs are getting strong. My head feels clear.

Sometimes my body hates me for it, because it is cold and bed is warm. Because those first few pedals are harder than the ones that follow coz of the achy muscles. We get through it not because my little legs deserve to be punished but because those muscles actually secretly love getting strong.

Sometimes I stay in bed. That’s fine too. Being good to your body is about resting when you need to rest, I think.

The Patriarchy is all “but Guilt and Despair! And you ate that thing and now your hard work is all gone and you can’t talk about how hard you worked because you failed that one time! You’re never going to be able to go any faster that this! And your legs still have bits that wobble when you pedal really hard! Don’t you know how silly you look?”

And I’m all, “fuck you, dude.”

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