This is for the moments I hate girls.
For the times I’m at the mall and I roll my eyes at their short skirts and tri toned hair.
For the times I see a pretty actress get a lip job and publicly denounce her as the worst.
For the times I log on to Pinterest only to see a place for white, rich, skinny girls to repin chevron thongs and designer bags.
This is for the times I overhear yet another broad telling a concerned audience just how fragile she is.
“I have low iron,” she says delicately, as if carrying a rare form of cancer.
Newsflash: just eat more spinach.
You know where this is headed; that every time I’m hating girls, I’m really just hating myself. I’m hating my one too many self portraits, one too many pity-me rants, and a very unfortunate history of tanning beds. I’m hating the times I’ve told a concerned audience that I’m anemic or repinned overpriced chevron thongs.
I’m hating that one time right after college when I named a photo album on Facebook “Upside Down Under An OverPass.” What does that even mean?
We can be dumb. I can be so dumb. But this is to remind me that we need to have each other’s backs. That even if you take a picture with duck lips, I should forgive you because you probably think you look sexy and maybe you need that today.
This is to remind me to stop pointing fingers at my own sex and start patting backs. To stop criticizing my fellow women’s poor choices and start lifting up their great ones. This is to remind me that girl on girl sabotage is a heinous crime. Who cares if your friend fake bakes and posts pictures of her honeymoon bed? Give her the thumbs up and move on. Don’t waste your time judging.
I’m talking to myself.
As hard as I try to have an open mind, girl hate still creeps in during my weakest moments and this is to remind me to stop. To lock it up. To remember it’s not worth it. We are warriors, every single one of us, and we are all fighting the same battle. Let’s be on the same team.
This is my prayer today.