No Box Fits me.
No Box Fits me.
I do not find my name in the drop-down menu.
I do not find a box to tick that describes me.
Why don’t I exist? Why isn’t my name there?
Is it because I am a woman —
a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife?
Does that not count as something?
Does that mean I don’t exist?
I scroll through boxes and titles —
but none of them hold me.
They are too tight, too narrow, too clean.
As woman, many of us struggle to say what we do.
Not because we do not know,
but because language has not yet caught up
with what it means to be a woman.
A woman has no single form or shape.
she cannot be contained in one thing, one word.
her work lives in the in-between -
in the unseen and the unheard - in her silence, her patience,
her wisdom and in her intuition,
forces that cannot be measured,
cannot be named,
cannot be put in a box.
A woman is like the empty space in a cup —
shapeless, formless, unseen —
yet it is that very emptiness that holds.
That makes room for life,
for others, for love, for meaning.
They ask me, What do you do?
And I go silent.
I say, nothing.
Because what I do has no name,
and maybe that is its beauty.
Maybe that is my freedom.
D…