Hunger

Herself speaks.

A lovely woman, whom I have gotten to know through the marvels of the internet, sent me an article:

Hunger Makes Me.
(You can find it here: http://hazlitt.net/feature/hunger-makes-me)

How to describe this article? In many ways, it was like looking into a mirror; or perhaps, it was, at long last, having someone explain so clearly, so beautifully, why things are the way they are.

Women are often on a diet of the body, but we are always on a diet of the heart.

This is how it is.

Women talk ourselves into needing less, because we’re not supposed to want more—or because we know we won’t get more, and we don’t want to feel unsatisfied. We reduce our needs for food, for space, for respect, for help, for love and affection, for being noticed, according to what we think we’re allowed to have. Sometimes we tell ourselves that we can live without it, even that we don’t want it. But it’s not that we don’t want more. It’s that we don’t want to be seen asking for it.

How many times have I thought: if I could only eliminate my wants and my needs -- erase myself entirely --- then how much easier, how much better, things would be. No expectation, no anticipation; whatever was given, would be more than enough.

This is why Abnegation in the world of Divergent is so appealing. 

Asking to be thought of, understood, prioritized: this is a request so deep it is almost unfathomable.

And yet: it is part of what it is to be human. 

What would it take to feel safe being voracious? What would it take to realize that your desires are not monstrous, but human?

I do not know. 

Perhaps the first step is to Ask.

I do not know how to Ask.

Perhaps I need to learn.