I’m kind of over being a bad feminist.
For real, I’m over it. I’ve been a bad feminist forever. I decided to share a name with my partner – his name. I like to bake and cook and play hostess. I care about how I look. I worry about my weight. Blah blah. Bad feminist. I get it.
The problem is, I now wonder if I’m doing enough feminism.
You see, I happen to be one of those folks that believes that in order to adopt the label, you have to take on the cause. You have to be active in your feminism to be a feminist.
To be honest, having kids was one of the most challenging things to my activism. No, it wasn’t due to becoming a mother. Instead, it’s the challenges I now face in parenting my young family and in trying to really aggressively pursue my career after years of setbacks due to underpaid, undervalued non profit work and two maternity leaves which genuinely hindered my career prospects and progress.
I get that I’m not alone, but I do wonder if my actions are enough. Is sharing an article, having a conversation with a colleague, wearing a teeshirt enough?
I’d like to think that for now, yes it is.
I address micro aggressions. I am a total smartass when faced with sexist garbage. I try to always call it out. When asked who wears the pants in a couple at a bridal shower, I snarkily respond that I think they both wear pants.
I try to think critically. I try to think about whether or not conversations are heteronormative. If they are oppressive. If things and situations are culturally appropriative. I address language, challenge stereotypes.
I try, oh how I try, to read and to keep on top of the goings on.
I try to find some damn time to myself. Minutes. I’m aiming to find minutes in a row. Imagine that.
I may not be doing as much feminism as I used to, I may not be able to be the feminist I once was, but I am trying to be okay with the feminist I am now.
I’m trying to be kind to the woman I am now, as that seems like the biggest act of feminism I can accomplish right now.
So that’s something, right?