I have a shirt that says, “Ambitchous” which means striving to be a better bitch. Many people stop or balk at that word and decide to be offended rather than wonder why I’d choose to celebrate the word instead.
I learned long ago that a woman who spoke her mind in a male-dominated industry was bound to be called things, even when I was in the ministry. Rather than “submit” (I hate that word) or become docile, compliant, or acceptable, I decided I’d keep being myself, which led to the label, bitch.
I’ve long been outspoken, uncontrollable and honest, which makes a lot of uber-masculine men shudder, especially the insecure ones. The more bluster a man feels the need to blust, the more a man needs to put his knee on a woman’s neck to keep her in her place, the more this bitch is going to rebel. I refuse to allow myself to be abused, and bluster is often a cover for abusive behavior.
Bitch has long been a pearl-clutching word, something most women desperately didn’t want to be called. Yet many groups of men, hiding behind their uber-masculinity, narcissism, superior attitude and abusive tendencies, create us bitches, and they have the nerve to be surprised when we rise up.
There were places I’ve worked where I walked in, announcing that I knew what they called me, but I didn’t care. At first, I did care, but I had to put on the Ambitchous Shield and hope that was enough to keep them at bay and silent while I did my job. Then, one day, as if a fog had lifted, I secretly hoped one of them would dare put a toe over the line so I could bitch-flex and let them know I wasn’t phased and put them in their place. It was a delicate line to walk, lest they whine to some man higher on the food chain that could hurt me, but a satisfying one, because I could finally stand up for myself.
These days, being a bitch simply means a woman standing up for herself, challenging the status quo, and challenging the fragile patriarchy by taking one step past simply existing. The more bitches speak their minds, the more we exist, the more we simply stop being the lower paid doormats, we win the battle.
The war is won by embracing the names they hurl at me. Bitch is just one of those. Owning those labels and shoving them back in their faces will not educate or change them, but it does provide a moment for them to wonder, if that doesn’t phase her or bring her down, what will? Is she shrinking away? Is she disappearing? No.
For the most part, the battle stops here. By embracing their label of me and not timidly submitting, I take the fun and dominance out of it for them. The bullies recoil and the toxic masculinity licks their imagined wound. Their plan to put me under their thumbs failed. And I plan to make it fail again and again, simply by being me.
Call me a bitch. I dare you. You haven’t seen anything yet.
Sassy Dreams Awake 