I’m standing straight, arms stretched upward, supporting the concrete ceiling. This column carries the burden and endurance of what is expected of me—to be, to perform, and to stand for—as a woman in Western society.

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Be beautiful.
Be thin, but not too thin.
Be successful and driven, but caring.
Be strong, but feminine.

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By upholding these expectations for as long as I can remember, I’ve started to feel like I’m turning into a structural material. I’ve become a pure representation—and perpetuation—of the stereotype. I’m becoming concrete myself.