Member-only story
It Is Better to Be Thought of as a Hysterical Woman
Growing up, my house smelled of Jasmine.
To this day, the air in the hallways still carries a slight hint of that fruitful, feminine scent. Amma, my mother, would pick the flowers from outside and bring them in (as if we needed another indication of the fact that only women reside here), but she made sure that her house was always as feminine as possible. Perhaps, it was to eradicate any memory of her late husband or just to raise us girls to be as delicate and kind as possible.
When I retell the tales of being raised by women to others, my stories always comes across as dreams. Each is a reverie that one simply wants to bathe in. I suppose, my failure has been in only portraying the good while shielding the ugly (admittedly, a terrible female habit I have inherited.)
Unsurprisingly, my favorite show growing up in our Jasmine-scented house was Gilmore Girls. The show was single parenthood romanticized to the peak. Long afternoons in a fictional town named Stars Hollow where everyone was consistently happy. I wanted to be transported to that place.
What they don’t show you in Gilmore Girls is the days where making ends meet felt next to impossible, or the stress that accompanies having to adopt the role of both mother and father but most of all, the day-to-day sexism that one will…
