“Don’t hit like a wuss. Put your hips into it.”
I glance up from my punching bag. The guy talking to me is a stranger, not my instructor. He shoots me a pointed look before landing a solid punch on the heavy bag, demonstrating the right technique. The chains rattle.
I keep an eye on him, eager to learn how to strike with full strength. Yet, a wave of discomfort washes over me as I process his choice of words. That term, ‘pussy,’ amplifies my feelings of powerlessness. I drop my gloved hands, feeling the bag still vibrating from his impact.
Before I became a mother, I hadn’t given much thought to the connection between my body and the term “pussy”—especially not as an insult that undermines masculinity or hints at feminine weakness. However, after giving birth to my daughter, I became acutely aware of such derogatory language.
I literally pushed a human being through that anatomy, and let me tell you, it’s not fragile. In fact, I could do it again, countless times if I chose. Not to brag, but my ‘pussy’ is remarkable. All pussies are, because I challenge anyone to find a tougher part of the human body—male or female—aside from the uterus.
Now, while the term is steeped in cultural and linguistic complexity, “pussy” primarily refers to female genitalia, and when used as an insult, it connotes weakness. This is a classic case of synecdoche: a part (the pussy) represents the whole (the woman). If that part is deemed weak, it implies the entire entity is as well. Yet, we shouldn’t equate anatomy with gender; after all, women exist without these body parts, and some men have them. Using “pussy” in a derogatory sense serves to belittle all women, regardless of their anatomical features.
Giving birth is one of the most challenging things a pussy can accomplish—though I’ve heard women “voting with their vaginas” is no walk in the park either, but I digress. Bringing a child into the world is an incredible feat of strength, endurance, and love.
I have never felt more powerful than when my daughter was born. In that moment, I achieved something that seemed utterly impossible through sheer will and biological process. On that same day, over 300,000 women worldwide were accomplishing the exact same thing, many also using their vaginas! Talk about amazing.
While I would never equate motherhood with womanhood, and I respect all paths to motherhood, let’s not forget that pussies are capable of a lot more than just childbirth. They can experience passion, love, pleasure, and pain—all of which require strength.
The remarkable power of female anatomy is often met with efforts to diminish, distort, and control it. Whether through the portrayal of women in labor begging for relief, or discussions regarding what parts of women’s bodies are acceptable to expose, it’s clear that society is obsessed with regulating female power. This extends to the reality of women facing abuse from those who profess to love them, and the dangerous narratives surrounding female sexual purity that still cost lives. Young women are taught to avoid sexual violence, while young men are often not taught about consent.
Women’s strength is challenged time and again, and claiming that strength can be a daunting task. For me, all this converges around that seemingly innocuous insult: ‘Pussy. Don’t be a pussy.’
However, I’m not here to disparage the male anatomy—because I appreciate the penis too (it’s no vagina, but still impressive). Instead, I want to celebrate our bodies. Each one of us possesses an incredible, miraculous form, and all deserve recognition.
I don’t need to belittle anyone else to acknowledge my own strength.
So, shaking off that man’s words, I turn back to my punching bag. I raise my gloves and focus, sweat soaking my hair and back as I establish a rhythm: One, two, slip, two, body, body. Sure, I feel a fingernail break inside my glove, but I keep going.
I whisper to myself, again and again: Swing harder. Hit. Hit like a pussy.