Medea did not know her own power when her soft hands drained the life out of her creation.

There is a Medea within me. She has ingested the forced subservience of her strong ancestors. She is pushed upon by a volatile force, a strength that she was taught to repress. It haunts her until she is able to face it. I am forced to reckon with her power when I raise my voice to ask for what I need, and my tongue struggles to form the words. A woman is marked by the times that she has been turned away and called in. She creates a new version of herself each time she transmutes the pain of her rejection. 

When I was little, I was taught to cover my skin. I dress how I want now. I was taught to speak less and never before my elders. I still over-explain. I was taught to not step out of my house after a certain time. So I occasionally ran away. If a boy ever called my home, my heart would drop in despair. I learned to sneak around. I learned to avoid using the word “period” in front of others. I don’t talk about my menstrual cycle openly. I hide my sanitary pads while taking them to the office bathroom. I was taught that women who talk back are too needy. I still struggle to communicate my needs to my partner. I am often burdened by the weight of the apologies that are yet to escape my mouth. I want so much to provide you with inspiration, but I still have so much to grieve. I grew up terrified of being a woman. This is why I must reclaim my femininity every day.

I do not blame my creators, they only wanted to protect me. They did their very best. I blame what they were protecting me from. A lurking evil that waits hungrily for an opportunity to present itself. The ghosts that wish to possess the most precious commodity, feminine power. What is more powerful than having ownership over the very womb that creates life itself?

Devi! You worship Goddesses and kill women. Devi! You watch “item” songs and lock your daughters up in their rooms. Devi! You want your wife to be your mother. Devi! You want me to be useful and silent, a prop in your medieval home. Devi! You want me covered up and showing no skin, I must never tempt you to harm me. Devi! You want me waxed and hairless, I must show no sign of my wilderness. Devi! You want an image of me, but not my full self. You want to take me home, but you will never create a home with me. You hate women and you worship a goddess, a देवी (devi). 

Sharmila Tagore and Soumitra Chatterjee in Devi (1960). 

In 2022, an average of 90 rapes a day were reported in India. In 2024, my country was colored by the blood of a trainee doctor in Kolkata. She was brutally raped and murdered for no reason other than being a woman. We worship Devi’s in India.

How can I talk about my womanhood without talking about the loss that I have witnessed - the loss that every brown woman has witnessed? I still think about the playfulness that was stolen from our youth before we could even understand our desires fully. The innocence with which we craved to be loved and liberated, turned against us on its hilt, fed to us as shame instead. We are taught that our femininity is something to be feared. Something that can get us killed if we do not hide it well.

They wanted me safe. I wanted to be free. 

Every time a young girl is told to not express herself, she is taught self-rejection. Every time a young girl is told to navigate the world with fear instead of excitement, she is taught self-betrayal. To free myself, I had to unlearn every single thing that I had been taught about myself. I chopped off the umbilical cord and detached myself, shooting out the void into a dangerous world, unprepared and uncertain. The only thing I knew was persistence, I must continue. 

I have come too far to stop now. 

I am a woman. Scarred and wounded and still so strong. Wanting and desiring with my open heart. Loud. Passionate. Learning. Mothering my own self. Elemental and instrumental in the creation of my own life. Nurturing and sensitive. My empathy is my greatest strength. Alchemical and magical. I am mine. 

I lay my Medea to rest and stroke her face lovingly. I close her tired eyes. I tell her softly that there are no more tears left to cry. I will love you into liberation. I will teach you how to live on your own terms. Our insanity is our veiled passion. I am unafraid now, because I have accepted that I am a woman. I was born to create life where none exists.

Pictured above, yours truly.

References

Krishnan, M. (2024) Has rape become normalized in India?, dw.com. Available at: https://www.dw.com/en/sexual-violence-in-india-is-rape-becoming-normalized/a-68443032

Zargar, A.R. (2024) India’s doctors refuse to end strike over brutal rape and murder of trainee at Kolkata Hospital, CBS News. Available at: https://www.cbsnews.com/news/india-rape-case-doctor-strike-murder-of-trainee-kolkata-hospital-protests/