A Comedic Rant Poem by World Ruler Sher

No Nancy, I Will Not

A poem about the invisible committee that moves into a woman’s head, hands her a clipboard and starts policing how she mothers, works, rests, believes, looks and lives.

Nancy is not necessarily one woman. Nancy is respectability. Nancy is church manners. Nancy is career pressure. Nancy is motherhood performance. Nancy is the raised eyebrow, the invisible audience and every little voice asking: “But what will people think?”

The Hair
No, Nancy, I will not comb my hair today. You want to know why, Nancy? Because I have three children, and the baby woke up every hour, on the hour, last night. Not every other hour. Every hour. Like he had an appointment. Like he was punching a clock. Like he worked the night shift and I was the building. So no, Nancy, I will not comb my hair. My scalp and I are no longer speaking.
The Laundry
No, Nancy, I will not do the laundry today. You want to know why? Because it does not matter what brand I buy, what soap I use, what temperature I choose, what prayer I whisper over the washing basin— the stains will not come out. The stains have citizenship. The stains have settled. The stains have built homes. The stains have enrolled their children in school. The stains are not leaving, Nancy. So no, I will not spend another afternoon scrubbing a shirt that has already chosen its future.
The Church
No, Nancy, I will not come to church. You want to know why, Nancy? Because God is not there. He is here. He was here at three in the morning when I was holding a crying baby with one eye open and one breast out. He was here when there was one piece of bread left and somehow five people ate. He was here when I wanted to scream but washed another plate instead. He was here when I sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. The sigh was prayer. The silence was prayer. I did not need to gather myself, close my eyes, find the right words, or make the moment look holy. I was there. God was there. Nothing was missing. So no, Nancy, I will not put on a dress, drag three children through a doorway, and arrive sweating so somebody can ask me why I look tired. God already knows.
The Job
No, Nancy, I do not have a job. And no, I do not want one. You want to know why? Because I have three at home. Three supervisors. Three departments. Three ongoing emergencies. One asks for food. One cannot find her shoe. One is crying because the other one looked at her. I manage meals, injuries, arguments, appointments, clothing, feelings, sleep, learning, cleaning, planning, and a small person who believes the floor is a food group. So no, Nancy, I am not unemployed. I am overstaffed.
The Boss
No, Nancy, I do not care about the Boss. At home, I am the Boss. I am Human Resources. I am Conflict Resolution. I am Food Services. I am Transport. I am Health and Safety. I am the Complaints Department. I am the Emergency Contact. I am upper management and unpaid labour at the exact same time. So forgive me if I do not tremble because some man in an office sent an email marked urgent. Nancy, I have seen a toddler hold his breath because I cut the banana wrong. I know pressure.
The Reunion
No, Nancy, I will not be at the college reunion. You want to know why? Because I am not a sentimental fool. I do not need to stand in a room with people I have not spoken to in fifteen years and pretend we survived something together because we once shared a hallway. I do not want to hear who became a doctor, who bought a house, who moved abroad, who “really found herself,” and who has a husband who apparently enjoys taking photographs. Good for them. May their lighting remain flattering. But I will be at home, Nancy, wearing an old shirt, eating something from a bowl, not explaining myself to anybody.
The Listening Ear
No, Nancy, I do not need your listening ear. You want to know why? Because discretion lives here. I do not need to hand you my private pain so you can carry it carefully from house to house. I do not need my struggle introduced at dinner. I do not need my marriage turned into a prayer request. I do not need my exhaustion becoming community news. You say, “You can tell me anything.” No, Nancy. That is exactly what frightens me.
The House
No, Nancy, I will not smile because somebody is looking. I will not sit up straight because a woman should have posture. I will not clean the house before the visitor arrives so the visitor can believe nobody lives here. I will not apologize for the toys, the cups, the noise, the crumbs, the baby, the children, the husband, the life. The house looks lived in because we are alive. Call the authorities.
The Bread Run
No, Nancy, I will not make myself presentable to buy bread. The bread does not care. The shopkeeper will survive. The street has seen worse. And if anybody is disturbed by my hair, my slippers, or the fact that my shirt has become familiar with my body— they may look away. Necks turn, Nancy. That is why God gave us necks.
The Productive Day
No, Nancy, I will not be productive today. I will sit down. I will drink something while it is still hot. I will stare outside. I will take a picture of a leaf that nobody asked for. I will take a picture of a cloud and develop no strategy around it. I will not post it. I will not brand it. I will not ask how nature can support my income goals. I will look at the damn tree and let the tree be unemployed.
The Gift
No, Nancy, I will not turn every talent into money. I may cook well and never open a restaurant. I may write well and never build a course. I may take beautiful pictures and never sell a print. I may know something useful and keep my mouth shut. I may make something only because I wanted it to exist. I may have a gift that does not report for duty. Imagine that, Nancy. A gift with the day off.
The Rest
No, Nancy, I will not feel guilty because I am resting. I am tired. That is the whole explanation. I will not call it recovery so it sounds productive. I will not say I am recharging so the working world believes I intend to return improved. I am lying down. Nothing is charging. Nothing is loading. There will be no updated version. Leave me alone.
Who Nancy Really Is
And Nancy— let us finally tell the truth. You are not one woman. You are the committee. You are the raised eyebrow. You are the neighbour who is not even outside but somehow still watching. You are the church lady in my head. The teacher in my head. The employer in my head. The auntie in my head. The woman I was taught to become standing over the woman I actually am with a clipboard. You are every rule I swallowed so early I mistook it for my own voice.
Comb your hair. Clean the house. Get a job. Go to church. Smile. Be grateful. Be useful. Be pleasant. Be quiet. Be available. Be impressive. Be exhausted— but do not look exhausted.
The Refusal
No, Nancy. I will not. I will not police myself on behalf of people who are not even in the room. I will not spend my life performing womanhood for an invisible audience. I will not make motherhood look tidy so the world can remain comfortable. I will not turn my exhaustion into a personal failure. I will not keep asking whether I am allowed to live my own life. No, Nancy. I will not comb my hair today. I will not do the laundry. I will not come to church. I will not get a job to prove the three jobs at home are real. I will not worship the Boss. I will not attend the reunion. I will not hand you my secrets. I will not smile on command. I will not monetize the leaf. I will not apologize for resting. You want to know why, Nancy? Because I am grown. Because I am tired. Because I said no. Because this is my house. Because discretion lives here. Because God is here. Because my children are here. Because my life is here.
And because, Nancy— you do not live here.
Written by World Ruler Sher for Trott Bailey Family Civilization