I’m in this.
Tomorrow and Sunday.
And I’m terrified.
Why am I doing this terrifying thing, you ask? This thing that isn’t even on my bucket list? (Also, I don’t have a bucket list.)
Because it’s important.
Whether worth a few chuckles, great big belly laughs, a tear or two, or outright sobbing, women will be able to relate to every single monologue to some degree or another, and men will hear things that will make them think.
We’re putting on a performance full of words we are told from a very young age not to say – vagina, cunt, pussy, etc. We’re told from a very young age that words that describe our bodies are dirty; filthy words that are not to be uttered.
More importantly, though, these monologues tell the stories of women; not just how women relate (or don’t relate) to their bodies, but experiences they have and how those experiences shape their lives.
My own monologue is essentially the narrative of the breakdown of my marriage. Other monologues are about rape and assault; about loving our bodies, our partners, and ourselves; about war; about the environment; about childbirth; and about all of the ways in which women’s bodies and lives are impacted by what’s going on in the world.
They are monologues that need to be heard.
They are monologues that need to be given careful thought.
They are monologues that we need to deliver.
I am terrified about tomorrow night. Seriously, my stomach is already in knots and I’m pretty sure I’ve thought of every way in which I can screw this up, but here I go, because Niagara needs to hear this.