How Cristina Yang Free’d My Soul

I’ve always been a Cristina Yang.
I remember when Cristina walked into the operating room for the first time. As those around her shuttered with terror and confusion, Cristina kept her head high. She stared at her competition with a tilted jaw and it was as if I could read her mind– because it mirrored my own. Her curly hair laid disheveled around her shoulders, contrary to the systematic organization that was her mind. Women with curly hair often get mistaken for wild and free individuals with hearts as open as air, but the outside world doesn’t understand that we learn to tame our lives in ways that resemble our defiance of gravity. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “I am a Cristina Yang.”

As my weekly addiction of “Grey’s Anatomy” became my obsession with this surgeon, Shonda Rhimes wrote a character that so echoed the emptiness of a strong, independent woman completely missing from the histories of television. Cristina Yang did not need luck, for she had the confidence that she could overcome anything. Cristina Yang did not need reassurance of her physical appearance because she understood that her worth far exceeded the limits of her B cup size. Cristina Yang knew that success was the result of hard work, sleepless nights and all the snacks a vending machine could offer. Cristina Yang knew that her dignity was attached to no male, but to the beating of hearts in all bodies. So as Cristina Yang lost her eyebrows, I was humiliated with her. When Cristina Yang was dumped at the alter, I ached with her. And when Meredith ripped the dress from her rib bones, I couldn’t breath.  I understood how much of herself she gave away to become the woman Burke and society wanted her to be. I understood the pieces of her soul that burned in that fire.

I watched as Cristina turned to her work and developed a tumultuous relationship with Owen. But as Owen wanted a wife, Cristina wanted to be a surgeon. And when Owen wanted a family, Cristina wanted to be a surgeon. And when Owen wanted a baby, Cristina wanted to be a SURGEON. And I cried. I cried- because I understood that there are some of us who do not have motherly bones. I related to the fact that my heart skipped beats when I solved algebraic equations and contemplated the intricacies of a microorganism. While my professional field is far from life saving, I understood that my body swelled with power as I delved further and further into my profession. While many of my female friends hearts ached for motherhood, mine did not. But as we know, Cristina Yang had no apologies for her life choices. Cristina knew herself so well, that although it tortured her soul to break Owen’s heart, she put her needs first. Cristina Yang put herself first. And when has T.V. ever so eloquently shown the complexities of being a women so immaculately??

And later when Cristina lost the Harper Avery, I understood how this moment was more heartbreaking than any other life experience Cristina had ever had. As I watched her face, I ached, because this character, this fictional being, forever embodied the disappointment that comes with being a head strong women with a dainty face.

But she pushed on. She pushed the hell on. Because this girl was a fighter. As am I, and as are you. 

So I will forever dance it out because of Cristina. I will drink my booze, in my big fluffy bed, and I will relish in her memory. And as I do, I lift my tequila bottle to all the Cristina Yangs. All of the honest, passionate and unapologetic women who are the Cristina Yangs. Be true to you, always.