Dear Vagina,

I was born with you, and yet, we’re almost complete strangers. But together, we’ve made it through hell and high waters.

I grew up thinking you were a bad word and a dirty body part, and despite my mom recently apologizing for this misconception, I still feel uncomfortable thinking about you.

Because, vagina, at the end of the day, you are not like my arm, left hand or other body parts. You hold such great powers that some men in Washington, who symbolize a donkey in more ways than one, feel the need to control you.

People often try controlling what they fear, or don’t truly understand.

That means those men in congress and I actually have something in common.

The truth is, you scare me. You have only played the victim in my life, however I (incorrectly) pointed to you as the villain for most of it.

If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have felt his long, skinny fingers inside me as I was passing out, either from his hand over my mouth, or the alcohol he held to my face shortly before.

If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have seen what would have been his child pour into the toilet weeks later.

If I never had you, I wouldn’t have had another thief steal my happiness, sense of safety and sanity through you once more.

But if it wasn’t for you, I would never have discovered why being a woman is a privilege of it’s own.

And after everything we’ve been through, I just want to love you. I want you to know love. I want you to inspire me and others around you.

Most of all, I want you to know it is always going to be okay.

You are not outside of me, although I understand it doesn’t seem this way right now. You are a part of me that makes me whole.

Together we can do anything we desire, simply because we exist.


A Survivor