Women are not unicorns - Маргарита Резник

My story seems very prosaic to me and uninteresting in anything, except for the fact that it is interesting to other girls. My cousin said that she likes to read my works where I write about the relationships between men and women.

The world is full of lonely women, and I was once one of them.

It's like a good movie with a happy ending, where the princess marries the prince and then they live happily ever after. Translation: boring and bland. Nobody is interested in the life of a groundhog. You could still watch a film about infidelity, divorce or problems with conception, but nothing more.

And in fact, it’s a sin for me to complain. I love my husband, he loves me, we are faithful to each other and all our aspirations are directed in one direction. We are friends, relatives, lovers, colleagues. Every day is similar to the previous one, with the rare exception of periodic events that we arrange for ourselves.

But women's problems do not end with the wedding.

Here are the options for the most common torment of the weak half of humanity, which also affected me:

— I'm ugly, no one likes me

— masturbation is a sin

— the coolest guy is already taken

— defloration

— lesbian tendencies

— what if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)

— painful breakup

— treason

— ten guys in a year and no one worth it

— Igor, Alexander and Sofia

— financial insolvency

— HPV, ureaplasmosis

— menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”

— first depilation, hair removal. Why can't a woman be a yeti?

— fibroadenoma of the mammary gland

— a man twelve years older

— first fart

— goodbye friends

— man with child

— moving, goodbye university

— poverty and luxury

— painful breakup after two years of relationship — flirting

— marriage

— painful breakup after five years of relationship — hysterics

— orgasm and frigidity, search for marital sexuality

— miscarriage, do I even want children?

— existential crisis — I haven’t achieved anything in my life.

In this book, I will try to reveal each of the problems described above, tell my example of ruthlessly dealing with them, and show how they could be solved in a different way from the height of the knowledge that exists now.

Go.

In those days, when I still believed that the thunderstorm was moving away from the ritual “Holy, Holy,” I was worried about the question of why cute boys loved other girls, but did not notice me.

One day my mother and I were sitting in the room on a summer evening, shaking with fear. A thunderstorm was raging outside the window, the light and, in principle, the electricity in the house was turned off, the mirrors were curtained, the only refuge — the sofa sheltered two frightened women, forty-year-old and five-year-old me. We moved our palm near our foreheads and drove away the thunderstorm with the words “Holy, holy.” Now my husband and I are holding our stomachs when I tell this story, but before everything was very serious.

Of course, I believed in supernatural forces, including my own, because the storm was leaving.

But I believed even more that if someone doesn’t love me, sooner or later they will love me.

Back then, I didn’t know that this was just the art of PR.

I grew up as a very serious child. But at the same time, she felt inferior.

I was considered eccentric, and the girl next door fueled this idea in the minds of other guys, so the anti-PR really ruined my life.

Where it all started.

In kindergarten, I liked a boy to whom I wanted to show my coolness by the fact that Jean Claude Van Damme would come and pick me up from the garden, proudly carrying me on his muscular tanned shoulder. And in this way I wanted to solve the problem of my unlikability. Coolness is an alternative to lack of beauty. Well, that's a great idea, isn't it? And now many people think so, making friends with stars in order to raise their ratings instead of changing themselves.

A little later, when nothing worked out, I began to think about real ways to attract his attention.

And I realized that I was in trouble.

I’m five, and I can’t put on makeup and preen myself, because my mother sees me as a baby bug, and not a woman. Yes, mom, because she was my only teacher in those days, she didn’t let me listen to my sister and dad, “they say two boots are a match, if they don’t listen to her, that means they’re bad.”

The other girls were pretty, one had her ears pierced since she was three! And they cut my hair into a bob, supposedly so that my head wouldn’t hurt.

“I can’t be a woman at 5 years old.” — this is the bitter realization of that period.

I have always been an order of magnitude more ridiculous than my most advanced peers.

Slightly worse outfits, shorter hair, full belly, stooped, pale skin, blue bags around the eyes, snub nose, often sick.

No, I wasn't ugly. And I had my own fans, even girls. I just didn't think I was beautiful enough for the people I liked.

Do you know what all this means?

And the fact that all children are the same adults, only locked in small bodies and forced to wait until the body gets stronger in order to do what an adult should.

So, if parents learned to give their children the opportunity to feel like adults, then we would see not infantile schoolchildren and students who, even at