Death to the “Good Girl”

I was “good,” I was really good.

I didn’t raise my voice too loud or ask too many questions. I didn’t probe or pry even when my curiosity wanted just a taste of the truth. I was always nurturing. Always ready to fix the broken thing. My flat chest would swell with pride whenever I heard someone refer to me as “the good girl.” I knew it would mean that I was revered. It meant that more effort would be put into the pursuit of me. It meant I was special.

What I didn’t know was that it would be a cage, a trap, and a way for others to not see the full spectrum of me as a woman. Years ago I killed the idea of myself as a “Good Girl,”

and it has been the most freeing decision of my womanhood.

You played yourself

I played into the idea. I wasn’t particularly voluptuous or well-dressed, but I could be good. I could people please until everyone fell prey to my kindness. I tried on the label like makeup, thinking it would enhance me in some way. I found that the act of being a good girl helped to place me on a pedestal in the minds of boys whose attention I was desperate for. It also meant that I would have a longer distance to fall once they realized I wasn’t perfect. I allowed myself to be trapped in the ideas that other people had of me. This meant that cursing was not acceptable; modesty in the way I dressed was expected, and I always needed to be gracious even when wronged.

But ooooooohhh Chile, I got real tired of feeling like a couldn’t stretch the length of my personality, thoughts, dreams, and desires. And I realized that CONGRATULATIONS I had played myself all those years that I performed as the “good girl” because I was so much more than that label. I’ve allowed myself to be defined by a phrase that never captured the truth of who I am.

Peeling back the layers of the mask to reveal my truth underneath it has been shocking for many. I say FUCK now. A word that so clearly captures my mood but one that I just allowed myself to write and speak. I wear clothes many people think of as scandalous and I feel powerful in my sensuality because of it. I am not a “good girl.” I am the best contradiction you could ever hope to experience. Mellow and fierce. Shy and sensual. Soft and powerful. Trap yet contemporary. Introverted but assertive.

Most of all…I am a real ass woman, with real ass needs, wants, dreams, and feelings.

I shed the good girl label like a bad wig because there is no box that could hold the magnitude of my existence.

Take a STAB at it

The first stab came with my assertiveness. The second with my opinions. The third with my self-awareness and actualization. No one likes a mouthy “good girl” who challenges things and knows herself well enough to know that “good” and “girl” don’t come close to describing who she is.