Drill, baby, drill!

Not for oil (God, no).

For the freedom, the independence, the orgasmic delight that comes from a power drill.

That’s right. A power drill.

I firmly believe that every single woman should own and be able to operate a power drill. If I could (maybe I can?), I would start a non-profit to give out power drills to women and lessons on how to use them.

Allow me to explain.

Somewhere in my late-ish 20’s, I found myself living on my own for the first time. Sure, I had lived in dorms, lived in an apartment in Japan, lived with my boyfriend but I had always been under the protection of someone else. Now, I was really on my own in a little studio apartment that I affectionately nicknamed The Cocoon.

I thought I was confident on my own. I was a tall, strong, outspoken, educated, woman with a job she liked, in a city she liked, with friends she liked and hobbies she liked.

But in the safety of The Cocoon, my private little space, I started to see that in fact there was another part to “on my own” that I was not so confident in. My Own. My own inner self. My own voice. My own pleasures. My own joys. My own wants.

Uncovering Your Own is a journey. No, a journey makes it sound like a hike with backpacks and water and cans of beans and a compass. Uncovering Your Own is more like…the movie Gravity. First you get hit with asteroids and then suddenly you’re whipping around in space and then the only one who knows what they’re doing dies and then you’re freezing to death and then you’re falling from the sky and burning up and then you’re drowning.


Yeah, it’s like that.

I wasn’t ready for Gravity.

I was more like…ready to go to the concession stand to see the movie Gravity.

And that’s basically what I did.

I looked around my apartment and said, “Ok, what do I want?”

The first answer came. I wanted to make some space in my kitchen-ette. Yes, that is what I wanted.

So I took myself to Ikea. They had a special section just for small apartments (of course they did) and I bought a dish dryer, two hanging racks and a knife holder that can all be hung on the wall to save counter space. Brilliant!

Only, when I got it home and opened the packaging, I realized I had made a fatal error. I couldn’t just hammer these bad boys into place. Oh no, I had to DRILL them in.

I sat down onto the floor and stared at the packages. Shame, my old buddy, didn’t miss a beat. His talons were tearing into my heart as he hissed in my ear…

Wow, what a stupid idea. You wasted money. You wasted time. You don’t have a drill. And even if you did, you don’t know how to use one! What made you think for one second that you could do this? 

Ah, he was right. I couldn’t be on My Own. My Cocoon would be a little mini prison for me and Shame and that would be the end of the story.



I don’t know why exactly. Up until this point, the score with Shame was pretty much 1,000,000,000,000 to 0, Shame. But this time…this time, I had another thought.

I sat up. Or. I could try. I could fucking buy a drill and try.

Without giving Shame a chance to talk back, I walked out my door and into to the nearest Ace Hardware. And I fucking bought a power drill.

I got home and held this GIANT piece of machinery in my hand. I mean this thing was unwieldy. When I turned it on for the first time and the drill bit started whirring, I yelped and nearly dropped it. I felt stupid and scared. Why is it I could manage teams of people at work without batting an eye, but this little piece of spinning metal made me feel like an old timey maiden in distress tied to the railroad tracks.

I decided it was too late to back out. I was either going to rescue myself from the train tracks or get run over trying. I didn’t have any eye protection gear, so I put on a pair of sunglasses. And then…I went for it.

I gripped that bad boy with two hands, screamed and jammed it into the wall.

45 minutes later, I was covered in bits of wood and paint, my face was streaked with tears, my walls were FULL of holes but I had a beautiful dish dryer, two fabulous hanging racks and a stunning knife holder securely fastened to the wall.

I held the drill up and yelled “FUCK YOU!” to no one in particular and to everyone. Fuck you to Shame and to anyone who ever told me I couldn’t do something and to all the people who encouraged me to think that power drills were for men.

Oh yes, I had wanted something for me. And I had done it myself. And I had done it with a fucking power drill. My Own felt fed, felt seen, felt strong, felt powerful. And I liked it. I wanted more of that.

I think every woman needs a power drill. Because they’re fun. And because they’re a symbol of freedom. Freedom from patriarchy. Freedom to be ok with putting a full holes in the wall. Freedom to get shit down without needing anyone else.

So don’t wait for your partner or maintenance or the handy man or your Dad or your friend. If you want something up in your home, put on your sunglasses and drill, baby, drill…

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