I am a feminist.
You taught me that was a dirty word.
Mad-at-God, that word.
The most bitter of humanity, that word.
Rejecting all the beauty that was in me, a woman-child that word.
When did you plant the seed, I ask myself, elbow deep in suds, giving thanks for the gift of knowing how to dirty these dishes with real, wholesome food.
Was it when you held me at your breast, and fed me the gift of love and connection, belonging and health, in a culture that scorned you and told you to cover up?
Was it when you loaded us in the bike trailer, and I watched your brown, powerful legs take us to library story time, or helped you fill the back with groceries, and tucked the baby in safely, propped up with blankets.
Perhaps the seeds were planted when he marveled at your smarts, around the dinner table, or when you looked in each other’s eyes, and laughed, your strength together a wonder to behold.
There was a time, when you told me I could be, and do anything I wanted. Maybe it was then.
But I can pinpoint the time the seed germinated.
It was when you told me a higher education would be a waste “because you’ll end up a wife and mother and won’t be using your education”.
And then I think about when the seed sent out a tentative sprout.
When you used word’s like “biblical womanhood” but didn’t mention Deborah, or Abigail, or Jael.
When you preached Proverbs 31 at me but never pointed out that god/Jesus had NEVER EVER said that I HAD TO BE AND DO ALL THOSE THINGS.
When I couldn’t drive a car alone because I would be raped.
I mustn’t wear a swimsuit because my body was bad, my budding curves a delicious invitation to sin.
When you turned my friends away, because they came with boy parts instead of girl.
As I watched your joy fade, your enthusiasm wane, your exhaustion become one with our life.
You made me a feminist when I couldn’t have a job, because I’d smoke pot and I didn’t need a job because money makes you independent and god doesn’t want women to be independent. We NEED TO NEED each other. And I’d get raped.
And the seed sent out a stronger, longer lasting leaf.
When you told me that a woman was good enough to play a piano in Church, lead a worship song, teach boys and girls alike (as LONG as they were under 18). But ABSOLUTLY, she was too emotional and too weak and too small to say anything remotely resembling spiritual instruction if there were grown men in the room.
You made me a feminist when I crossed the ocean to come “home”, my small daughters in tow. On Christmas day, I watched you serve my teenage sisters the portions YOU thought appropriate, as you did every other day of their lives. Because they were too fat. And you couldn’t take a break from reminding them of their not-enough-ness, even on Christmas, for all the friends and family to see.
You made me a feminist when I learned you were weighing them to make sure they were losing weight.
I hid in the bathroom, that day, away from the laughter and the stories, the gifts, and what looked like my sister’s shame, but was actually yours. And I cried too hard to breath.
You made me a feminist when someone asked me how many, of the 8 children in my family had a bachelors degree. I said “ONE”. They asked “which one?” and I answered, “the only male child”.
I don’t know if a seedling is a good analogy anymore…
I think we have to move to a baby dragon, just hatching out of an egg.
You made me a feminist when I watched you push that woman to stay with her man, told her to submit, told her to cook better food, do her laundry more, pray for him harder… and all along, he was selling her body, and his daughter’s online. *
Perhaps you made me a feminist in the hours I spent, crying on the phone, just trying to stay alive. Your voice, a shred of hope, far away, but close enough to keep me fighting.
When you told me a girl has to have sex with her husband, whenever he wants. Because it’s his right.
You made me a feminist when I told you everything, shaken to the core, unable to go on. When I detailed the years and nights of trauma, the abuse and the horror, and you told me god’s command was for me to stay.
When you used the most intimate sorrow and pain in my life to prove to me that I was powerless.
You know when the dragon spread her wings, and breathed fire for the first time? When the dragon exploded into full feminist flame?
When you told me stay, and model the cycle of victimhood and base survival for my daughters. When you told me to teach my son that a woman is worthless and deserves nothing. When you told me my children would never rise up to call me blessed if I walked away from my husband.
You made me a feminist when you raised me to be a critical thinker, but brought the axe down swiftly when I used my brain to think thoughts different from yours.
I marched at the women’s march, and you judged me. You didn’t listen when I told you why.
It’s crazy, I think to myself, rinsing the last of the dishes.
You raised me so powerful and strong, you called out the deepest beauty in me, as a woman, and then you tried to crush it. I keep thinking “someday, I will understand”. But the truth of the matter is, every day, I understand less.
I am powerful. I am humble.
I am strong. I am weak.
I am feminine.
I am angry. I am forgiving.
I hold on tight to what I have. I throw it all to the wind.
I am a feminist.
And this is what you made me.
PS I If you want to know what I mean by feminist, I am using this pretty simple definition from Merriam-Webster
1:the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes
2:organized activity on behalf of women’s rights and interests
PS II If you are guessing I wrote this for my parents, you are partly right. I also wrote this for all the voices that lied to me and tricked me. I’d like to believe they meant well, but it gets harder and harder to believe that. I also think I need to say, speaking of the painful parts of life, and the things I have come to believe are not true in NO WAY erases all the true and good portions of my family life.
*This reference is NOT to my to-be-ex-husband. This is in reference to a Church leader who I knew very well, and a situation to which I was privy, as it unfolded.
