November 7 2010: “The Pressure at Sea Level”

It’s November, it’s Buffalo, and it’s cold. What more do you expect? Well, I would expect that my ice-scraper would be under the front seat in my truck, but apparently I forgot to move it from the bed. It made for a delayed ride home tonight, that’s for sure. I spent the better part of my weekend nursing Tom, who started with a sore throat and has now moved to severe congestion. We did, however, get quite a bit of things sorted out for Glasgow. Yes, we’re going to Glasgow come January, woo! As exciting as that is, it also is time-consuming and certainly not effortless. There is so much to do before we leave, and so much to take care of to make sure that our stay there and our studies there run smoothly. And that’s where I’m at right now, juggling a 21-credit curriculum, study abroad preparations for two, a relationship, nursing a sickling that is half of said relationship, and trying to find some time to squeeze in for sleeping, music, and blogs.

It always makes me wonder how I’m supposed to be everything all at once. I can’t speak for men, I don’t know the pressures they undergo, and I am by no means a feminist (much at all, really), but being a young woman is full of pressure. When I say pressure, I am mostly referring to social pressure, but academic applies as well. Think about it, during a typical day, what is expected of a young woman?

It is expected that you’re a perfect (or near-perfect) student. After all, Honors Colleges don’t just accept anyone, do they? And they will kick you out if your GPA drops down, it’s part of the deal. And even ignoring the Honors aspect, what about all the Engineering classes? Those classes are 80-90% male. Males have an advantage, they have a majority in those classes. In order for you to be taken seriously, you have to be just as good and mostly better than the boys. Competition dominates the air academically, and if you can’t keep up, if you can’t exert the effort, you lose. You flat-out lose.

It is expected that you’re the perfect, loving, goodie-two-shoes daughter. They’re paying for your education, they raised you, they’ve protected you, they’re trying to learn how to let you go out on your own, they’re trying not to worry about you, but they’re your parents. They love you, they miss you, and you’re their baby girl. They still see you as five-years-old and needed a kiss when you fall down. Leaving you alone at college tears them to pieces and they cherish every phone call because it tells them you’re okay. They simply couldn’t bear it if you let them down. Their only wishes for you are that you get your degree and that you’re happy. You can’t let them down, you couldn’t possibly explain a party to them, and there’s no way you’re having the sexually active talk. The pressure from your parents is to be pure, to be good, to take care of yourself. If you can’t do that, you’ve let them down.

It is expected that you’re that girl, the college girl. You’re supposed to be just like the media portrays people your age, you’re supposed to fit in with your peers. Your hair is supposed to be flat, your make-up (not that I actually believe in make-up) is supposed to be flawless, your body is supposed to be toned, your skin is supposed to be silky smooth, and your fashion is supposed to be enviable. T-shirts and jeans are supposedly for weekends, and heels are fine to walk across campus. It’s the pressure to be the girl you’ve never been, just to fit in. It’s the pressure to have perfect skin, even if it rebels no matter how hard you try to control it. It’s the pressure to get up an hour earlier to do something with your hair. It’s the pressure to be confident, stylish, and sexy. And if you believe that’s not true, if you believe it’s only on tv, walk around a college campus. Count the “slutty” outfits, there’s quite a few, and they’re completely socially acceptable. If you can’t conform, you don’t fit in.

It is expected that you are the perfect, beautiful, loving girlfriend, always. Granted, this job was the only one I remember consciously choosing, so it’s a bit different. But the pressures are still there, and they don’t necessarily come from him, but from my attachment to him, what I feel are my obligations to him. When you’re committed, when you’re devoted, you don’t necessarily think about these things, you just do them because that’s what you do. You take care of him when he’s sick, wait on him hand and foot. You clean his room when he’s not looking, and sometimes when he is. You hold his hand only sometimes, because you know he likes to walk alone. You refrain from talking to him when he’s angry because that’s what he wants, even though it breaks your heart that you can’t help him. You try your hardest not to boss him around, even though you only want what’s best for him. You keep him happy, you treat him to ice cream and games and sex. You dress up for him, you try to be beautiful for him, and you try to be sexy for him (because let’s face it, once you become a teenager, those thoughts are in your head). You pay attention to football because you know he likes to talk about it. The pressure is in you trying to be his perfect, dream woman, taking care of him and loving him all at once. If you can’t be there for him through everything, he’s gone.

It’s a lot of conflicting pressure for a little girl. I say little girl because that’s what I feel like. I also feel like I’m in a losing battle with the universe at the moment, but that’s besides the point. I’m tired right now. And it’s tough to know which way is up, or down, or left, or more importantly, which way is right. Sometimes it makes me sad that I’ll be 20 in a little more than a month, because then I can’t complain of my teenage melodrama anymore. I will have to buck up and complain of real drama, like war. One of these days I will find the inspiration to write about war. But alas, that day is not today, which by now is actually tomorrow. Hello new week, may you bring sunshine and snow.

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~ by Sandrabear on November 8, 2010.