You can't because you're a girl.
At the age of 9, I received the devastating news that I was no longer allowed to play football, simply because I was a girl. I can still vividly recall the overwhelming sense of confusion and heartbreak as I sought solace in my mother's arms. It was unfathomable to me why my gender should have any bearing on my ability to participate in a sport I loved. What did any of that have to do with kicking a football?
I had been a part of the local "boys' team" since I was 4 years old, defying societal expectations and embracing my unrelenting passion for football. However, my mere presence on the team was met with incessant ridicule and laughter from both players and their parents. Prior to each match, I would often witness groups of boys huddled together, pointing at me and laughing, making comments like, "can you believe they actually have a girl on their team?" or "she won't be able to play." Despite the disparaging remarks, I refused to let their prejudice deter me. In fact, it just made me better.
On the field, I would channel my disbelief and sadly, embarrassment, into an effortless display of natural talent, running metaphorical and physical rings around these astonished boys. Their initial horror turned into disbelief as they watched me outshine them time and time again. I consistently emerged as the team's top goal scorer, proving to myself that performance knows no gender boundaries. It was an early life lesson that unfortunately, no matter how good you are, you're never as good as one of the boys. Go figure.
Growing up, I was confronted with the harsh reality of internalised misogyny within my own family. My parents firmly adhered to the notion of "blue jobs" and "pink jobs," embodying the societal expectations associated with gender roles. My mother, a nurse, and my father, an IT developer, exemplified the stereotypical image of conforming to traditional norms.
While my parents were not intentionally misogynistic, they displayed a lack of willingness to educate themselves on the matter. As a result, these strict gender norms unsurprisingly trickled down to my brother, who, due to his own lack of awareness and understanding, took their beliefs to an extreme. As a Freemason, he became a staunch advocate for rigid gender roles, even going so far as to say gay people should not be allowed on TV, revealing a deep-seated prejudice that shattered any remaining connection we had. Suffice to say, that comment shut down our family dinner a few hours earlier than expected.
Similarly, my grandparents unfortunately harboured deeply ingrained biases that came to the surface whenever a woman would present the sports section on the news. Their visible anger and frustration was palpable, as they firmly believed that a woman couldn't possibly possess any knowledge or expertise on the subject of sport. In their eyes, the absence of a male presenter was inconceivable, to the point they'd turn off the television. As a young child, absorbing all that was around me, I couldn't help but feel so many avenues were simply not available to me because of my gender.
Couple this with my teenage years being subjected to "reduced-fat", "reduced-sugar" along with the popularity of "90's home workout videos", there was an expectation of me, as a young girl, to look and act a certain way. "Girls should be seen and not heard" and "but boys will be boys" still echo in my head even to this day.
My mother begrudgingly gave up on the 5+ year battle of encouraging me into dresses, frilly skirts and floral leggings after I begged and pleaded to wear Dr Marten's, my brother's hand-me-downs and dungarees - I'll never know how the tell-tale signs of a queer child were missed. "We never knew and would never have guessed". Really?
As I reflect on the present, some 20 years later, I realise that the battle against gender biases and expectations persists, albeit in subtler and less overt ways. As a woman holding a position in leadership, I find myself metaphorically donning a suit of armour each day. It is within this armour that I navigate a world where I encounter constant challenges from customers, colleagues, and peers alike. I am often subjected to criticism, scrutiny, and judgment, as the expectations placed upon me as a woman seem impossible to meet. It feels as though I am caught in a never-ending cycle of being perceived as either too much or too little of something, constantly striving to strike a balance that satisfies the ever-shifting standards imposed upon women in leadership roles. I'm:
... opinionated.
... bossy.
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... emotional.
... outspoken.
... manipulative.
... inexperienced.
... cold.
... angry.
... pushing a feminist agenda.
Yet if I were a man, I would be hailed as a critical thinker, ambitious, business-oriented, firm yet fair, and undoubtedly, successful. Throughout my accomplished career, not once have I been described as successful. Instead, I've witnessed numerous instances where under-qualified men were promoted to positions I had been overlooked for, only to see them eventually demoted, then offered those same roles, but with a diminished compensation package. The sad reality is that, as a woman in a fiercely competitive and cut-throat industry, you feel compelled to accept these opportunities because you never know when another chance may arise, if it ever does at all. And so, the vicious cycle of the gender pay gap continues.
As I enter a phase in my life where I look towards the future, to children, to building out the foundations for a family, I think back on the countless times I made a decision not to do something, simply because I was a woman. Because society told me I couldn't do it. I want my children to grow up in a world where their aspirations are not limited by their gender, where their worth is not determined by societal norms or expectations. I want them to grow up with a family that recognises and values their unique abilities, regardless of whether they identify as female, male, or non-binary.
One thing's for sure, I'll say to our child, "there should be more women presenting sport on TV".