Generation
By Erin Deborah Waks
Decades ago, a generation of girls was raised with the staunch idea that, one day, a man would come into your world and save you. The knight in shining armour would ride in on a horse, scoop you up as a damsel in distress, and magically fix all your problems and create a life for you filled with tiaras and dresses and rubies.
It’s in everything; from Disney movies to romance novels, little girls are always shown princesses elevated to the rank of queen by a man. Wet-wipe female figures so weak they barely even seem able to pick up the books they dropped when bumping into said hero, whose worth seems to be tied to their looks, and ability to play the innocent, naive but pathetic character men supposedly want.
I think, then, that the next generation of girls saw how damaging that mindset could be, and so fought against it - even if the message persists. A generation of girls striving to be corporate ‘girlbosses’, type-A workaholics whose worth is innately tied to productivity, ability to handle your shit entirely alone, and academic and career success. She is emotionally and financially independent to the point of refusing to be vulnerable with anyone else.
But that makes it impossible to just be. There’s enough false positivity to go around to combat that, but the reality is, if you’ve spent your life being congratulated on these things, it’s almost impossible to undo them.
‘I admire how you’re so independent,’ subtly reinforces that it’s better to be able to do things entirely alone, without a helping hand.
‘I love how you travel by yourself to places that are scary,’ ignores the fact that I often do so out of a need just to prove I can.
‘You’re amazing because of how smart, how hard-working you are,’ neglects to recognise that one is worthy because of their internal value as a person, not because of what they can accomplish.
And while these are good things, compliments, praise, they do make it so much more difficult to allow yourself to, sometimes, fail. Be scared of things. Hate being alone. Worry about things not working out. Be still. Rest. Rest properly. Want someone to please, just once, look after you for a little while. To allow it, without feeling guilty or pathetic for it.
Most of the time, it’s pretty easy. I wake up in my apartment that I pay for myself. I grab a coffee, sipping it as a little moment to myself. I go to work, my big-girl job, which I earned all by myself. I come home to a social life I’ve curated through intentional effort and commitment, all myself. And I go to bed at night, knowing I’m loved, knowing I’m safe, knowing I’m happy.
So someone explain to me why, sometimes, even little things become so, so exhausting?
A generation of girls raised not to prioritise looks and male saviours, yes. But a generation scared to admit they’re not okay, or need help - is that better?
