Transforming From Woman Into Warrior

Each morning, I wake before sunrise and open eyes that are no longer fully mine. There is crust towards the inner edges, and I gulp some water to wake them up, to bring me to the precipice of awakened being. When the world started falling apart more visibly (2020, for me), I slowly began a transformation into a woman that would be more fit for the new realities that would emerge, the dystopian landscape of our civilization's demise.

In the beginning, I called her Towanda, a nod to the powerful feminist alter-ego of the main character in Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. I mentioned it in passing to friends, to my partner, only as a humorous poke at myself, but even without external validation (who needs that), I felt her growing in me as time and seasons passed. In my core, I felt her stretch within me, occupy spaces that were previously soft, unsure, underdeveloped. I felt her behind my tongue, pushing out from the depths as I let out primal screams. I felt her grasping the chainsaw as I took down invasive overgrowth and dead trees on our property. She began to speak for me, sometimes, when I needed aggression or assertiveness. Over time, I outgrew my previous self and shed unnecessary parts, leaving them behind me, like old skins.

Well, you are thinking, she has quite the imagination, this one.

I'm smiling, because that thought means that you haven't quite accepted my transformation yet. It means that you are ready to listen.

There are many roads one can take when the world around begins to implode, and rights get taken away, and taking a break from the distractions of modern life means opening your eyes to what seems like a bad acid trip. The path that interests me is the warrior's path. The dangerous bliss of letting ourselves be remade by the darkness we enter. Survival always requires adaptation, and adaptation requires a shedding of the skin. I made a choice, then, to let my self be transformed into an animal that can thrive in newer, more challenging circumstances as they come. I want to evolve into a creature that was built for resilience.

The metamorphosis is changing me, more than surviving the trauma I endured as a child and an adult; more than any other accomplishments or trials. It is making me whole, and confident, and full of fire. It is as if I have been under the influence of an insidious trance, a brainwashing of all of us, a tool to keep us oppressed, silent, superficial. You might call it the Patriarchy, but it is deeper than that, darker. It is a cavern filled with spiked brambles and poisonous things, threats that make women crawl to avoid the pain. But the pain of what women endure in the world is unavoidable, and it cannot be forgotten. This oppressive cavern is a place that seems to have no escape—but there is one.

I found it when I stood tall, even with the dangers, moving through the spiky dark depths and eventually, towards the light. And what I realized when I looked up to see the sun high above was that I was strong, and marked by the fight; and it shone on my skin like a warrior's tattoo. It was then that I knew it was time to reenter the cavern with new eyes. This treacherous darkness, it wants women crawling, it wants us afraid and submissive and unable to fight. Through the darkness I go, and I use the tools and skills I learn along the way. I chop down brambles. I stare into shadowy eyes without blinking. Each time I do these things, I feel as though I am growing wings. Each time I fight the expectations of what society wants women to be, I feel stronger, more capable. And I know that this is just the beginning.

"The people

who consider you weak

have not yet noticed

the wolf hiding

behind your eyes,

not the flames

inside your soul.

Let them think

you are weak

and do what

wolves and fire

do best."

—Nikita Gill