There are certain situations in life where my brain takes one look at what’s happening and immediately clocks out.
Building furniture is one of those situations.
I could be perfectly intelligent and capable all day long, but the second somebody places a box of wooden pieces, screws, and confusing instructions in front of me, suddenly I don’t know how to read. I’m staring at the directions like they were written in a language nobody has spoken in 400 years.
And yes, I know the instructions have pictures.
That does not help me.
Somehow, the picture shows four little screws going into four perfectly aligned holes. Meanwhile, I have seven screws left, one piece facing backward, and a drawer that refuses to close. At that point, I’m no longer building furniture. I’m creating something new—and possibly dangerous.
That is when I have to remind everyone: I’m just a girl. 😂
Before anybody gets offended, I know women can build furniture. Women can hang shelves, repair cars, lift heavy things, and operate every power tool inside Home Depot. Women are capable of doing anything.
I’m talking about me personally.
Could I learn how to do these things? Probably.
Do I have any desire to? Absolutely not.
Hanging things on the wall is another responsibility I have respectfully declined. It sounds simple until people start talking about measurements, levels, anchors, and finding studs.
Finding who?
Now we have to locate something inside the wall before we can hang a picture outside the wall? That sounds like a job for somebody with confidence, patience, and a toolbox. I currently have none of those things.
I would either put twelve unnecessary holes in the wall or stand there for an hour trying to make sure the picture is straight. Then I would step back, realize it was still crooked, and decide crooked pictures give a home character.
Anything involving a car is also outside my department.
If a warning light appears on the dashboard, I can tell you exactly what I’m going to do: stare at it, become nervous, and contact somebody who understands automobiles.
Please do not ask me what kind of noise the car is making either. I don’t know how to describe it. It sounds like the car is doing something it wasn’t doing yesterday, and I would like it to stop.
That is all the information I can provide.
Then there’s heavy lifting.
If something requires two people to carry it, I’m not automatically assuming I’m one of the two. I can supervise. I can hold the door open. I can offer encouragement and tell everyone they’re doing a great job.
What I cannot do is risk throwing out my back because somebody decided the couch needed to be moved three inches to the left.
Again, I’m just a girl. 😂
And honestly, I love being a girl.
I love femininity. I love the softness, creativity, and freedom that can come with expressing yourself through your clothes, hair, makeup, nails, jewelry, or whatever makes you feel beautiful. You can completely change your look depending on your mood. One day, you can be soft and sweet. The next day, you can put on an outfit that makes you feel like you own the building.
I love the connections women can have with one another. Sometimes another woman can understand an entire situation from one look. No long explanation is necessary. One facial expression can communicate a complete paragraph.
I love that women can be gentle without being weak. We can be emotional and still make smart decisions. We can be nurturing, ambitious, funny, complicated, sensitive, strong, and exhausted—all at the same time.
Women carry so much. We show up for people, take care of things nobody notices, remember the little details, and somehow keep moving even when we’re tired.
So, yes, being a girl comes with disadvantages. There are expectations placed on us, pressures we didn’t ask for, and situations where we have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously.
But I still wouldn’t trade being a woman for anything.
I enjoy being soft. I enjoy being feminine. I enjoy the sisterhood, the humor, the strength, and even the occasional opportunity to look at a heavy object and decide it is somebody else’s ministry.
Could I probably figure out how to build the furniture, hang the shelf, check the car, or move the couch?
Yes.
But being capable doesn’t mean I’m available.
Sometimes, I’m just a girl. 😂
—Karinna Sorelle ♥