My father told his coworkers I am his “ornery child”, and a flicker of hurt pinged my chest. This isn’t the first time I’ve been called “ornery” by him, or my mother. And knowing all of the other things they believe me to be, it made this statement a little less funny, and a lot more hurtful.

Even so, I laughed. But I know if I were to have said something, my feelings would be dismissed and blamed on being ‘too sensitive’. 

I told my husband of how my father jokingly described me. He arched a brow out of confusion, “Ornery? Why? Because you have a voice?” Well, shit. Maybe I’m not stubborn, bossy, ornery, or mean. Maybe, I’m a woman with an opinion. And a prerogative that doesn’t match theirs. 

All these years, it’s been that simple. And I just couldn’t see it.