The idea that I am approachable, friendly, trustworthy—all seems suddenly in direct competition with my physicality.
Intellectually, I understand that it’s healthy to express emotion. I’ve read Brené Brown. I’ve watched Inside Out. I get it. But it’s hard to express emotion when I’m barely conscious of feeling it.
Although perhaps not always overt, the idea that men are responsible for carrying on surnames still seems to be pervasive.