To Love, Honor and Rebel

There are two kinds of women in this world: the housewife and the independent woman or, as society likes to call her, the working woman.

How fucking ironic is that? Both are women. Both are working, and both are fiercely independent in their own goddamn way. Yet, we classify one as “working” and dismiss the other as just a housewife. Because she stays at home, does that mean she isn’t working? One gets the badge of independence, while the other gets a title that sounds like a life sentence, all because of the four walls she occupies.

Have you ever stopped to wonder why the hell we divide women into these neat little categories?

Why does one woman prefer the sanctuary of a house while another ventures out into the world to claim her independence? Why is a housewife automatically painted as the sweet, submissive ideal, while a working woman is branded a rebel just for owning her own time?

But out of all the goddamn questions, out of all the endless, exhausting whys… there is one that burns the hottest.

Why in the fucking world does a man look at a woman and consider her weak in every single aspect of life?