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I was in Shanghai when my sister from another mother, Gloria, took me to see an I Ching Master. We walked up the stairs to the small government apartment and knocked on the door, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but a very thin, grey haired man, opened to let us in. He led me to small table by a window with two seats. He sat in one and I the other, while Gloria retrieved another seat and pulled up near the table.

Then he began talking with his delicate bony fingers moving to an unheard rhythm, while Gloria began writing, both in Chinese. She translated the highlights there and gave me the full version later when we had one of those hours long foot massages. The I Ching Master made many observations and predictions, and some actually happened in the time frame he said they would. My mother died in 2009. The relationship I was in struggled in October of 2011. But what struck me most about what he told me was this: You are a woman, but you have a lot of boy qualities in you.

It is a theme that comes up again and again in my re-discovery of my childhood. A beautiful mother, a beautiful sister, and yet my father and brothers treated me like one of them. A boy. My understanding of the feminine was to wear make-up and girly clothes and shoes – I eschewed defining myself their way in favor of androgyny. Then my body betrayed me and I became more womanly than anyone in my family imagined and so next was this intense focus on my body by everyone else. My curves became the object of desire to all the wrong people – the father of the boy across the street, the father of the birthday girl at the party, the men in stores, the men I passed on the sidewalk.

My first physical reaction was to close in on myself, wear something akin to maternity clothes, whatever it took to hide my body from a gawker. I was nearly 30 years old before I embraced and sought my feminine side. As with any pendulum, I went clear the other way – low cut blouses, high, high heels, make up (eww), and an awkward attempt to look more girlish. Yikes, sometimes this was a hit, and sometimes I deserved a fashion violation (royal blue knickers anyone?)

I straightened my hair, I permed my hair. I colored my hair, and changed the color, that style, I had make up tutorials (ewww), and tried to layer on all that foundation (double ewww), and my only take away from this time in my life was my mother begging me, “At least wear lipstick,” and so I do.

Throughout this physical change from boyish to womanish, I matured into a confident woman. And I noticed something about my interaction with 85% of the men I connected with – I had a lot of men friends. I worked with a lot of men. I hung around men. When the genders separated at a casual house party, I found myself, cigar in one hand, bourbon in the other, in the backyard with the men.

I didn’t and don’t watch sports. I didn’t talk about cars. I admired and admire women. But somehow the company of men was more welcoming to me than the conversations of women. James Baldwin said, “But we are all androgynous, not only because we are all born of a woman impregnated by the seed of a man but because each of us, helplessly and forever, contains the other — male in female, female in male, white in black and black in white. We are a part of each other.” James Baldwin

I believed I embodied fully my yin and yang. Then one day I changed. My desire for the company of men waned. I was witness to the struggle of my women friends and their relationships, their careers, their bodies, their mental wellbeing. I connected with women more than men in these areas. I admired women’s courage and strength. I admired a woman’s tenacity and capacity for joy. And somewhere around 40 years old, I began to embody womanhood in full force.

Yesterday, a friend asked me when was the last time I was in a relationship. I had to think – my last long-term relationship ended in 2011. I’ve dated casually but after being in a contiguous monogamous relationship since I was 20 years old, the freedom of the last years has been a godsend. I’ve raised my son being both mother and father. I’ve built my own career path from the ground floor up multiple times. I’ve spent the better part of my years alone, unencumbered by another’s life intersecting mine – and yet, there are no knowing glances across a room when I hear someone say something that deserves an eye roll, no one to plan a 5-year goal with, no one to think about traveling with, for good or for bad – I’ve been free to be me, and just me.

A well meaning friend once said, “Rachel, it would be hard to be in a relationship with you, because you are such a strong woman.” Pishaw! I readily replied, “Strong women intimidate boys and excite men.” (I have a tee shirt with this on it.) In hindsight, maybe that declaration was also an act of vulnerability.

When I lived on Bayou St. John, my friend Mimi was curating an exhibit about how perception differs from reality. I sat on the front stairs of my bayou home while my partner at that time stood behind me and Marc Pagani took the photo. Wearing a low cut dress: I was the bread winner, the owner of the house, the one who got it built after Katrina. Don’t ever underestimate a woman, whether she appears strong or weak, whether soft or hard, women contain within them a divine source of energy that defies knowing.

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