Confession: I am Not Nice

As a woman, I am very aware that I am supposed to be nice. I am supposed to be warm and giving and understanding; according to my very Church of Scotland upbringing I am also supposed to be a wellspring of calm, quiet compassion. No wrath, no hysteria (though this is deemed to be understandable due to the naturally delicate temperament of women). I am, in short, supposed to be ladylike. Feminine... and, if at all possible, graceful. The problem, lads and lassies, is that I am very few of these things most of the time and none of them very often.

In fact, I've been told my temper can sour the mood of a whole house, that a real argument with me (which, to be fair to myself, is rare) feels like being mauled. I've been called callous, aggressive. A fucking bitch... and I'm not sorry.

I could tell you, friends, that I had to be hard or certain family members would have been wearing my pelt as a coat (which is true), or that mental illness required me to toughen up and become spiky to survive (also a fair point). I could tell you that a bad relationship made me quick to burn bridges and slow to apologise, but I won't. Here's why;

I am a bitch by nature.

Don't rush to comfort or console me, and don't give me platitudes. I know it's true, and I don't believe it's a bad thing.... and I don't believe I'm a bad person, but the truth is I often have to work hard to be what anyone would call pleasant and, forgive me for being biased, I've decided that makes my niceness, when I can muster it, more authentic.

More than that I've come to believe the phrase "it takes all types" really is true. While its not necessarily seen as a positive or desirable trait in women aggression has its uses. And yet women are the only female animals we expect it in.

Make that math work. As a wise, but sadly forgotten in my scrambled brain, person said; a woman is a female mammal that sweats and grunts. Why should dogs and lions have all the fun; why can't I bite a motherf*cker and get away with it?

I'm joking, of course... but only just.

I enjoy my aggression.

Maybe this is a flaw I should rectify, but I really do. It's nice to know that I work hard to be soft and friendly and far more comforting to know I can let the bitch slip the leash when I need to. I wonder if this is how men feel sometimes - but mostly I wonder how much further I could have gotten in life by now if I had been born a son. I think I'd have been a menace if I got my dads height and build, so while it would be nice to reach the top shelf with ease and wade through crowds like an ice breaker I'll thank the Gods for the limitations they gave me, because I'm a bitch at heart and someone had to slow me down.