Here’s to strong women. May we know them.May we raise them. May we be them.

Here’s to strong women. May we know them.May we raise them. May we be them. 

  I read this quote on tumblr not too long ago and I've done some research but couldn't find who wrote or said it. But as a matter of fact, it doesn't really matter because it's not something smart or poetic. It's just something right.It's something that we should say everyday before we eat instead of a prayer. 

 I'm just kidding, of course. No one has the time or the patience to do anything when he has food in front of him.


 Whatever.
 

 After I read this post I saw this picture by accident still having these words on my mind. I still remember that day even thought I don't remember a lot of things from my childhood. It's at a place my family owns near the beach in Rhodes. My mom drove as there to have a picnic and she is the one who took the picture. From left to right, is my grandmother, her best friend and dress maker and then it's little me. 

 I can see how different things are now.


Most of this place is swollen by the sea.


And my grandmother is really sick.


And her best friend is sleeping.


And I don't wear pink anymore.


This post isn't a sad post though. Wait. 

 
 I grew up with strong women surrounding me. And truthfully speaking, I'd never met as a child a strong man. My mom raised me all alone. She protected me, she supported me, she worked hard and managed to be a mother for me, a father, a guardian, and most importantly a friend. She is the proof that a woman is capable of working and raising a child all on her own and be perfect at it!
 

  And I have wrote about my grandmother and her dress maker on my blog before, but for those who don't know, these women are the reason I am who I am and the reason I love clothes. 


 My grandmother grew up in Egypt in a school for princesses. She knows how to speak 5 different languages! A #girlboss or what?


 I've learned from my grandmother that I have to talk about my opinion and my beliefs not because I'm someone important for anyone else but because I have a value as a woman I should respect myself first before respecting others.That perhaps, no matter how wrong I am, I can always be the right one. And that it requires inner strength and the right vocabulary to achieve that. I've learnt from her that true friends hardly exist, because everyone loves themselves in this world a little bit too much. She taught me that I should't get into situations that I would prefer myself to stay out of. She told me to never take a candy from a stranger and to always have good manners, be classy and dress for myself.
 

  Her dressmaker taught me that a woman is capable of being good at math and making patterns without the need of being a mathematician, and that if I want to dress other women, I have to be a freaking boss on it. If I didn't know how to sew, having an idea wouldn't mean anything. And that sentence can be understood in a variety of different ways.
 

  So as you can imagine, growing up, I never thought for a second the fact that I might be wrong when I was begging my mom to go to school with a puffy, fluffy, glittery dress. I never understood how math or grammar would make me a better person and helped me with my future when I already knew that I wanted to be a fashion designer since I was 5! I didn't understand why kids where making fun of me when I cut my hair like a boy when I was 8. 

 As I grew up and became a teenager, I never really thought about the fact that I had to shave my legs, until the day a boy made fun of me on the bus. Dressing up was always my kind of expression. But I was wearing things my own way, and a lot of my teachers hated it.
 Once, one of my teachers told me to stop wearing that skirt because he's not only a teacher but he is also "a man". And I never got why he would ever see me in any other way besides his student since 1)I was 14 years old, 2)I didn't even have boobs or something! I was a child! and 3)Was I the one who had to stop wearing that skirt or was he the one who had to stop having these thoughts about a kid?!
 

And as a matter of a fact, I never understood why that day when I was still 14 years old the principal of my school after many conversations about how she didn't like the way I dressed, felt the need to take me in her office and tell me that the way I dress is so provocative that if anyone ever tried to rape me, I wouldn't have the right to resist! 


  For me it was pretty simple: I was just going through a Taylor Momsen moment. I haven't even properly kissed a boy back then. It's not that I didn't have crushes but I was so freaking shy that I swear I thought I was gonna die if anyone tried to kiss me.
 

  But after everyones comments and concerns, something started cracking inside of me. My step father and mother fully supported me because they knew me, and they knew that my intention was just self expression and having fun with what I wear, but the next year my mom sent me to buy "special clothes" for school that wouldn't be a problem to the view of anyone. So all the boys could keep having saint thoughts about girls, watch porn on the school breaks and go masturbate in the bathroom. Like doing that was O.K. I mean, they are boys! Boys are boys right? They are allowed, right? What about raising boys to be men with manners instead of raising girls to hide what is called their effing body? Wouldn't that be a better idea? 


   Next year I started thinking about what I was going to wear, and how I was going to wear it so everyone would be ok with it and stopped judging me. And I started "realizing", that if my thighs weren't too big, my clothes wouldn't look "sexy" on me but cute. So I decided that I was fat. And with some help with pro-Ana and Mia blogs, I started counting calories. And counting calories. And counting calories. Doing ABC diets and fucking counting. (That's another blog post so I'm not getting into any details for now).

 
 Do you know how fucked up it is, to be raised to love yourself, by women who have taught you, that you are more than enough, by women who have taught you that you don't need a man in your life to support you, to love yourself since the day you remember yourself, and then one day everyone else decides FOR YOU, that YOU are not good enough? Well after going through the rebellious phase, parts of you start dying and new parts are being born wondering if the other people are right. That maybe, well, you don't know yourself well enough, that maybe your skin isn't your own decision to make if you want to show it or not.
 

 And enough with the drama. 
 I grew up.

 
 I went to a therapist.

 
 I talked about how I let people tell me who I was and how it bothered me. 

 And talked about it and cried, and talked about it a little bit more.


 And I found my style and who I am. I realized that I don't really like wearing short skirts anymore. The black eyeshadow was replaced with a winged eyeliner. The lace tights found their way into my bathroom trash. 
It didn't take me a day to achieve this but I did it.


  And you know what the funny part is? That it was going to happen anyway! I didn't need their comments and fake concerns. I was going to change because I was growing up! I grew up. The only thing they achieved was to leave me with a social anxiety that my 6 year old self would find totally ridiculous.


 After a while I fell in love, and I realized that I might not need a man to support me in life but everyone needs someone to tell them that they are worth to be loved. And I am. I am worth being loved and being accepted with all my ups and downs. With all my stretch marks. 

 
 I finished high school and I promised to myself that I won't have to speak or see these people again. That the only thing I have to work on is make me proud! 


 That the opinion society has about me doesn't define me, but them!


  And look at me now! I'm in New York. I'm taking an internship in the fashion industry, and I'm planning to get into my dream university.

  
So what? I failed to get in on the first place. I gained some weight. So what? I'm missing home. I find it hard to find inspiration for my portfolio. And I find it hard to speak to people, I barely made a friend. So what? What now? I'm here to try. I will try again if I have to. That's what. 

  
A lot of people ask me how I found about what I wanted to be.


  A lot of people tell me that I'm lucky because my parents support me.

  
But the truth is, that it was me who told them that I wanted to do this.


  It was me who told them I want this and that and fuck everyones standards.

  
I never wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer or a teacher.

  
I was always a failure in my school years.


  And if it wasn't for me wanting this, there was nothing that my parents could do 
that would make me something more than a person with a job that I hate paying bills for the government.

  
But hey, here I am, writing on my blog when I had teachers telling me that my essays weren't that good.


  So yes it might be my parents who support me,


 but I work hard too, and at the end of the day it is all about me.


And this is what I say every day to myself when I have to deal with everything I wrote about earlier. 

If you are wondering why I just told you all these thing, here's why.

Here's to all the people from school who ever doubted about my beliefs and future as a person, just because they didn't like what I was wearing or the idea that I hated studying about what they were teaching: 

  Dear Math teacher,

I'm sorry I wasn't trying enough to find the x,y,f or wasn't bringing a ruler with me in the class. You will be happy to now, that on the internship I'm taking, I'm on a computer most of the time making spreadsheets about prices and sales and percentages.  And I hope you smile when I tell you that I can sew a skirt with the only help of a measure.

  Dear Greek teacher,

I'm sorry my essay was shitty, or the fact that I hadn't even started it.  But I hope you understand that I really wasn't interested on the subject. I also hope you see my blog one day and realize that I wasn't so bad after all. 

  Dear School System, 

I’m sorry that I’m the one filled with so many apologies. 

You should be sorry that I feel the need to apologize for who I am.

You should be sorry for making students believe that their grades should come before their lives.

You should be sorry for your lack of education and awareness of psychological diseases and how kids can be different. 

Not everyone wants to have a job that requires straight A's.

Raise your kids knowing equality, instead of teaching girls how to hide their bodies.

Feminism isn't against men.

It’s not your job to toughen children up to face a cruel and heartless world. It’s your job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless.

To the teachers who supported me, to these two people:

Thank you for using your power to make things better and not worse. Thank you for hearing me.

  Here's to all the men who don't respect women because they think their penis is more important than that value of the other half of the planet:

 It's not my job to tell you "be kind to women because you have a sister, a mother and in the future you will have a daughter."

 But the next time you think about your penis first, remember who that thing is fucking. And respect that person. 

And if you feel the need to insult a woman with broad hips or a big tummy, take some time to remember your birthplace. 

 Here's to the men that I've met in my life that respect women, support their rights, and know what equality means:

 Dear society, thank you. 

 Dear family, thank you.

  Dear step dad, thank you for loving the female body so much you feel the need to paint it without beautifying it. Just letting it be in it's purest form of art.

  Dear boyfriend, thank you for respecting my body and loving it when I hated it so much I felt the need to cut it. 

Here's to the girls who read my blog and feel insecure about themselves: 

  One day, you will wake up in the morning, will look yourself in the mirror, and realize how much you worth every little tiny piece of happiness in your life.

  

 Cheers to Sophia Amoruso and Lena Dunham for being the main reason I'm writing what I'm writing on my blog. 

 Cheers to all the women who have taught me that I have the power to be a girlboss.

 Cheers to the women who are doing what they want when they want it.

 Cheers to me for trying and for writing this post.

 Cheers to you for reading it. 

AND

 Cheers to the people who open the door for me when I have my red matte lipstick on. You should open the door for me even when I don't though.

 Cheers to the people who make me hide my septum because it's unprofessional. One day my CV is going to be so good that my septum and tattoos won't have the power to define me.

 Cheers to the people who ever told me that I can't. You can now kiss my butt.

And most importantly, cheers to strong women. 

Yes, the ones who can find the power inside of them to rule the world.

May we know them.

May we raise them.

May we be them.

xx Faidra