8m isn't a celebration day

Today is International Women's Day.

A day that, in theory, exists to highlight struggles, remember those who fought before us, and point out everything that still needs to be done. But in practice, for many, it has become an excuse to send a generic "congratulations" message, as if something had been achieved.

I am a woman. I know that. I live it every day. I don't need a reminder in the form of a mass message with flower and heart emojis.

But there's something about these automatic "congratulations on being a woman" messages that drives me a little crazy.

Because being a woman is not a celebration. It's a complex reality, sometimes beautiful, sometimes burdensome, sometimes dangerous. I don't need to be congratulated for existing. I need to be respected. I need to be seen.

I didn't earn anything. I was born a woman. That's not an achievement, it's a starting point. And no, it's not my birthday. It's not Mother's Day. It's not a date for you to wish me "congratulations" as if I had won a contest for being born with a vulva.

Achievement is something else.

Achievement is writing until you go blind. It's publishing books even though no one knows you. It's studying psychology while raising children and running a household. It's setting boundaries and being called "crazy" for doing so. It's raising children, running a household, studying for a degree, writing books, and on top of that, hearing "how beautiful you are" as if that were the only thing that matters.

That's not something you congratulate once a year. It's something you accompany. It's something you respect. It's something you read. It's something you listen to.

So no, don't congratulate me for being a woman.

Don't send me nice messages if you're not there when a writer needs you to buy her book. Don't add me on Facebook if you're not even going to see what I post. Don't tell me "I want a beautiful friendship" if all you want is to send me photos and see me in person, as if I were some desperate woman looking for someone to sleep with.

Because having a list of friends on Facebook means nothing if they don't really care about you, but only about what they can get from you.

And I know this well. People who don't even read what I write, who never share my posts, who disappear when you need support, but who today, March 8, are going to send their generic "congratulations" to feel like good people.

No, thank you.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the gesture, I really do. But it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable to be congratulated for existing. Because being a woman is not an achievement. It's a reality. A complex reality, sometimes beautiful, sometimes unfair, sometimes exhausting. But not a merit.

If you want to celebrate something today, celebrate those who fought so that I can write this without asking permission. Celebrate those who are no longer with us. Celebrate those who continue to fight in countries where being a woman is a sentence. Celebrate those who work twice as hard to earn half as much. Celebrate those who raise children alone, those who study against all odds, those who love their children, their husbands, their friends, themselves.

But don't congratulate me for being a woman. I didn't choose this. I just live it.

And I live it as best I can.

I write for women. I also write for men. I write for anyone who has ever felt like they don't fit in, who has been singled out for being different, who has had to explain their existence too many times. I write from a mind that analyzes everything nonstop until it becomes overwhelming, from a life that has been anything but easy.

There's no need to congratulate me.

The real gift for women is not a "congratulations" on March 8. It's the rest of the year.

So today, if you want to celebrate me, read me. Comment. Share. Discuss with me. Respect my boundaries. And above all, don't send me weird messages to my inbox with excuses like "you're so beautiful."

That helps too. Much more than any virtual flowers.


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