My dad’s jaw dropped—literally—and he howled with indignation when he spied the title of the book that I am currently reading. It’s called “C*nt.” But without the asterisk.
“Why are you reading such…smut?!” His nostrils were flaring and his face was red. He was completely aghast that his little girl, who had once voraciously devoured “The Baby-Sitters Club” books, could be reading such material that is, at least from his perspective, complete derogatory trash.
After 31 beautiful years on this planet, I’ve learned a few things. Effectively dealing with Dad’s anger is not one of them. In this case, however, I calmly responded to his outrage with my best therapist training techniques.
“Wow, that was a really strong reaction, Dad. Let’s talk about it. What is it about that word that offends you so?”
And just like that, my father was disarmed. He didn’t know how to respond, other than to stammer that “c*nt” is a dirty word—the queen mama of foul language, in fact. No disrespect is intended to my dad, or to anyone who finds this word to be offensive, but why is it so terrible? How can a word that was once synonymous with “woman” in ancient Egyptian culture be considered so vile today?
I cannot answer that question definitively, but my suspicion is that it has everything to do with diminishing feminine power, turning femininity into a dirty, offensive concept, instead of one that is embraced and revered. To that end, I am effectively adding the c-word to my vocabulary. I am claiming it as my own, embracing it as a part of my identity and allowing it to empower me. I am a c-word, a b-word and every other derogatory term that culture will use as an attempt to diminish my feminine power. I am all of these things, and then some.
And don’t forget it.
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