A remarkable woman knows her worth, believes in her dreams, and dares to chase them.
-The She Saga began eons ago—on the very day I was born.
My first cry, sharp and unyielding, echoed through the room, announcing my arrival. “I was born like chiaroscuro at dawn,” a blend of light and shadow, full of promise yet destined to face challenges. My grandmother, overjoyed at first, cradled me in her arms, only to have her joy diminish the moment she learned I was a girl. Her dreams, like so many others in my family, had been centered around a “he” to carry on the family lineage. Instead, they received a “she,” and their expectations crumbled.
But my mother harbored dreams of her own. She envisioned me as a woman of substance, undeterred by societal constraints. As a child, I was content with simple toys and rag dolls, but my real treasure was books. My voracious appetite for reading and a sharp memory soon made me the apple of everyone’s eye. The praise from outsiders fueled my confidence—until the birth of my brother.
He arrived, a golden-haired cherub, and the family’s attention shifted. Suddenly, I was invisible, my accomplishments overshadowed by his mere existence. At school, I thrived, excelling academically, but at home, I withdrew into a shell, lost in the shadows cast by my brother’s glow.
Adolescence brought with it a storm of emotions. Hormonal swings made me a stranger to myself—angry, restless, and vulnerable. Reading became my sanctuary, my escape from a life dictated by rules. Unlike my schoolmates, whose lives buzzed with excitement over crushes and first loves, mine was defined by restrictions: no night outs, no boyfriends, no clothes that challenged modesty. I was a “she,” expected to adhere to the rigid societal norms imposed on women.
In the pages of Austen, the Brontë sisters, Louisa May Alcott, and Georgette Heyer, I found solace. These women of literature became my companions, guiding me through a phase of life where my own story seemed unremarkable.
When the time came to choose a career, I initially followed the path laid out by my parents, selecting medicine. But working on cadavers quickly revealed it wasn’t for me. I shifted my focus to research, determined to excel in a field that would bring me both accolades and fulfillment.
“There is no limit to what we, as women, can accomplish.” – Michelle Obama.
For a while, my life seemed to sail smoothly, directed by my ambitions. I secured a promising position at a research institution and was in a happy phase. But soon, the familiar societal and familial pressures to marry surfaced, and I reluctantly stepped into the next chapter of my life—the She Saga of marriage.
My mother-in-law, who had initially welcomed me with rose-tinted glasses and sweet words, soon revealed her true colors. She morphed into a domineering presence, spewing venom and ruling the household with an iron fist. I found myself shackled by patriarchy, my voice stifled, my autonomy stripped away.
Once, I had dismissed the notion of patriarchy, believing that educated, progressive minds would never stoop to such levels. But how wrong I was! Even the educated could be bound by outdated ideologies. Yet, I recalled my mother’s teachings: to face life’s vicissitudes with courage and resilience.
“She understood that the hardest times in life to go through were when you were transitioning from one version of yourself to another.” – Sarah Addison Allen.
I was a “she” who refused to surrender. My career, once my pride, had been put on hold for family demands, but I wasn’t one to sit idle, twiddling my thumbs. I decided to resurrect the ambitious woman I had once been.
Determined to reignite my professional life, I sent out resumes to various research institutions. But the world had moved on—digitalization had transformed the landscape, and my skills no longer matched the industry’s demands. The initial rejections stung, but the “she” within me had awakened. I would not be stopped by setbacks.
I enrolled in a computer course, determined to arm myself with the tech skills that had eluded me. Simultaneously, I unearthed a hidden passion for creative writing that had been dormant for years. Equipped with both technical know-how and a revived sense of creativity, I began exploring opportunities to write.
A golden opportunity to contribute to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series came my way, and when my first story was published, I was euphoric. Alongside this victory, I secured a remote proofreading job with a publishing house. It was my first taste of liberation—a sign that my journey toward self-reclamation had truly begun.
“A woman with a voice is, by definition, a strong woman. But the search to find that voice can be remarkably difficult.” – Melinda Gates.
With newfound confidence, I began sharing my thoughts on various platforms, experiencing a catharsis after years of confinement. My writing, public speaking, and participation in open-mic events filled me with purpose, allowing me to inspire other women still bound by societal expectations to break free, to rise, and to discover their own voices.
Now I ask:
“Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?”
No, the “she” in me had awakened, and like a phoenix, I rose from the ashes of oppression.
“She believed she could, so she did.” – R.S. Grey.
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