I am a woman(Kanu destiny) I Am a Woman!!!

So, what does it mean to be a woman? For me, it means being held to impossible standards. When I get into an argument with a man and he slaps me, I'm told I provoked him. I should have been quiet, patient, and apologized to him.

But what if I slap him? Suddenly, I'm the one with no respect, no home training. I should have been quiet, patient, and apologized to him. Because I'm a woman, I don't have the right to be angry.

This double standard is exhausting. When my husband cheats on me, I'm told to tolerate it, to save my marriage. The excuse? "It's in their nature to cheat." I should slim down, dress better, cook better, pray harder, and be more pleasant to him.

But if I cheat? I'm a whore, an abomination. I have no right to seek love and emotional support elsewhere. I'm an irresponsible mother.

The consequences are severe. I'm sent packing from our home, with all my belongings in a tiny box. I'm forbidden from seeing my two older children. I'm lucky to leave with my youngest, still nursing.

Years later, that child is called a bastard. And I'm tagged "after-three" – a constant reminder of my "transgressions."

But what about men? A 28-year-old man who runs a company is "wonderful," "hardworking," "focused," and "successful." A 28-year-old woman who runs a company? She's "unserious," "can't prioritize," and "must be a hustler."

Because I'm a woman, I'm not allowed to be successful, financially buoyant, or professionally accomplished without a man by my side. If I am, I'm a "generous leg opener", a "runs girl", a "gold digger".

People never consider that I might have worked hard to achieve my goals. They assume I must have slept my way to the top.

Even in grief, women are held to different standards. A man who loses his wife and remarries after a year is "moving on," "living life." A woman who loses her husband and remarries after four years? She's "moving on too quickly," "must have been sleeping with him while her husband was alive."

And then there are the everyday struggles. I'm catcalled on the street, and when I respond, I'm told I'm "too sensitive." I'm expected to dress modestly, but when I do, I'm told I'm "dressing like a grandma." I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't.

I'm asked when I'll get married, when I'll have kids, when I'll settle down. As if my life is incomplete without a man and children. As if my goals, dreams, and aspirations mean nothing.

I'm paid less than my male colleagues for the same work. I'm passed over for promotions because I'm "too emotional," "too nurturing." I'm expected to be strong, but not too strong. I'm expected to be vulnerable, but not too vulnerable.

I'm expected to be a perfect mother, a perfect wife, a perfect daughter. I'm expected to sacrifice my own dreams, my own desires, my own happiness for the sake of others. And when I don't, I'm judged, I'm criticized, I'm shamed.

I'm shamed for my body, for my appearance, for my choices. I'm shamed for being sexual, for being sensual, for being a woman.

As an African woman, I face unique challenges. Cultural and traditional practices perpetuate inequality and discrimination. I'm expected to conform to societal norms, to prioritize family and community over my own aspirations.

But I refuse to be held back. I refuse to be silenced. I refuse to be shamed.

I am a woman, and that does not make me less human. I am a woman, and I demand to be treated with respect, with dignity, with equality.

I demand to be seen, to be heard, to be believed. I demand to be free from the chains of patriarchy, from the weight of societal expectations.

I am a woman, and I am enough. Just as I am.

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