You’re just a girl
Illustration by Killian Goodale-Porter.
Solimar Santoyo, Design Editor
The first words I ever heard were “She’s a girl!” under the hospital’s fluorescent lights as I was cradled into my mother’s arms. “Don’t you mean she’s just a girl, doctor?” my father questioned. “My apologies, you’re just a girl!” the doctor responded embarrassingly as he corrected himself.
As I took my first steps, my dad exclaimed, “You’re just a girl!” My first words were “You’re just a girl,” repeating the words I heard on the mixtape my dad played for me every night. “You’re just a girl. You’re just a girl. You’re just a girl.”
When I would spill my milk, my dad would hand me paper towels and say these exact words: “It’s okay, you’re just a girl.” When I came home with all A’s on my report card he would comment, “You’re just a girl!” When I graduated as valedictorian in high school, the principal whispered to me, “Good luck, you’re just a girl,” before my speech.
I wrote my first book after I graduated college. When everyone talked about it, they would always include, “You’re just a girl.” It was about my relationship with womanhood.
I finally received the Nobel Peace Prize. I will never forget what they said when presenting the prize: “The Nobel Peace Prize goes to — I hope I’m pronouncing this name correctly — first name Yor — last name Jusagurl?”
