What the hell is Feminism anyways?
I am a child of the 70’s. Born at the end of the Vietnam War and at the edge of some sort of sexual revolution. Feminism was a word I have always known, but it’s had so many different faces through the years that I really never latched on and instead actually found myself repelled by the topic. As a woman, feminism was complicated and often a source of anger. You had to choose a side, and really no matter which one you stood on seemed to be wrong.
Up until recently, I had this image of feminism being about hating men, hating being a housewife, and pretty much hate in general. The women who declared themselves feminists were aggressive, loud, and sometimes really hairy. And I thought that I really didn’t fit in to the roles that they demanded women take. Sure, I want women to be able to drive, vote, and not be segregated… those things seemed common sense. But I actually wanted to grow up to be a mother, a wife, and be home with my family growing a garden and making dinner for my family, which seemed like I was the opposite of what I thought the message was of the feminist movement. I like bras! I didn’t want to be forced to burn mine in tribute to the freedom cause.
But as I’ve moved through life, I realized recently with the help of my 15-year-old daughter, that even though I didn’t know it I am a feminist too. This was shocking to me, and I had a hard time with the idea at first.
You see, the new faces of Feminists aren’t what I thought they were at all. They are our daughters who grew up believing that no matter their dress size, they are beautiful and smart. They are the women who didn’t limit themselves to being nurses or teachers because they are “women’s jobs” but became whatever they dreamed of being because they dared to dream. And they are even women who, like myself, chose to stay home and be happily married to wonderful men. In fact, feminists aren’t just women asking for equal rights for women. They are actually men and women who believe that nobody should be treated like they are better than anyone else purely on their body parts.
Recently I had to call my daughter’s high school principal after there was a few incidents about the dress code. My daughter was being harassed at school for some of her outfits, not by other students, but by an older woman who worked in the lunch room. At first when my daughter complained, I just thought that maybe the woman was looking out for her and my daughter might have innocently worn something too revealing that caused the woman to try to help her out before she was embarrassed. But after daily comments by the woman, my daughter grew more and more upset. Now I do watch what my daughter wears, and she’s a beautiful girl with curves and sometimes I have to think about her outfits as most parents do. But nothing she wore ever caused me alarm. The woman at the school, Ms. B, would make snotty comments like she could see my daughter’s legs, arms, and that her parents should watch what she wears. But it wasn’t that she was pointing out dress code errors, but making comments about my daughter personally, making her feel that she wasn’t pretty, wasn’t respectable, and made her feel bad about herself. My last straw came when my daughter was dressed so pretty one morning in a lovely dress that reminded me of a 1940’s pinup girl in sailor colors. She was so proud of herself for her outfit, but called me from school so upset because Ms. B had embarrassed her in front of her friends and she was being told to call for new clothes or go home. The reason? The top part of her shoulders could be seen through the sweater she wore and her back skin was visible. Ummmm… back skin?
At this point, I called the school and spoke with the temporary Principal because her regular principal was out. And for the first time, I heard my feminist voice raised in anger and outrage over the way that women are treated differently. I complained that the boys were not being called out for taking their shirts off during sports, that women and girls should not be humiliated for being attractive. The man said that girls showing off their arms and skin was distracting. I asked if the parents of the boys were complaining about the test scores of their children being lowered because the boys were looking at the skin of the girls and unable to focus. He said no, but it was distracting for the male teaching staff when the young girls were dressed to provocatively. THIS drove me nuts, and I dared to address the fact that he just called his male teachers pedophiles and questioned the vetting of the school. Over and over for the next few days, between conversations I pushed the point that no matter what women or girls wear, they are not to blame for the sexual violence that is a sick epidemic on this planet. I preached that no matter what they wear, this does not give anyone the right to harass or take advantage of them. And when the other Principal called I reminded him that harassment isn’t just between adults and that other women are just as guilty of shaming other women as men were and that sexual harassment is not okay in any form. I heard my inner feminist rise up and fight not just for women’s rights, but for the prejudices to stop. And for the first time ever, I felt proud to be a strong woman standing up for women’s freedoms. I suddenly saw things differently. When I used to just be indifferent over the breastfeeding wars, now I actually was outraged at the idea of calling out women who are doing what nature gave them. I agreed that women’s breasts aren’t sex tools and feeding their babies isn’t a shameful attack on morality and they shouldn’t be shamed for their bodies. I actually almost agreed with *shutter* Mylie Cyrus when she bared her breasts and nipples in taking a stand in how women’s bodies are seen differently than men and held to a higher sense of morality which isn’t fair. Even though I am not sure most people were hearing her message and not just looking at her boobs. But, I get the movement now. Not that I would feel comfortable baring my breasts to the world, but for those who are… their bodies are beautiful and the #FreeTheNipple campaign actually does make sense to me.
So what is feminism? I think I am really just figuring it out. Feminism means is something different to everyone. For me, it means that I have the right to choose who I want to be, how I want to dress or who I want to be friends with. And those rights were given to me by the generations of angry women who dared to put on pants, pick up a hammer or picket sign and build a new world for women in the future who might never know how hard it was for them. Those women hoped that one day it would be so common for women to be known as equals that feminism wouldn’t be needed anymore. But we still have a long way to go. I am proud to be a Feminist. Are you?