After I was actually a young girl I wanted to be a doctor, a ballerina, an astronaut, a nun, but above all a feminist. My idol was Jessie Spano; I would tell my uncle I dreamed of being a professional baseball player simply to piss him off.
Because I got older, I learned about Gloria Steinem, read Virginia Woolf, listened to Sleater-Kinney and didn’t be worried about boys’ opinions. I kept my hair short and my opinions loud. I needed this, fuck all attitude to everyone. I actually spent the time to discover myself — my likes and dislikes and wasn’t afraid to hold an open mind into the idea my opinions and ideals would change with age and new experiences.
I fell in love… plus it was perfect, it had been amazing, it absolutely was millions of feelings wrapped up in a single person and I got all gooey and dependent upon someone else for my happiness. I hung with the telephone, texts and calls made or broke my day and whenever we finally had our last break-up fight I became left such as this little huddled puddle of any people.
Crying about the carpet, my girlfriends drowned me in wine and relatable break-up stories. I didn’t even notice it, but something on the inside of me broke. I began to consider this very warped view of feminism so i started to think women really should be a man’s backbone. It made no sense in any way. The boy who broke my heart was very supportive of my independence and hated after i did little feminine things, like have on makeup or tried to dress up. I think in a way it absolutely was my terribly pathetic means of rebelling versus the man who broke my heart.
I sort of did start to roll my eyes at women’s rights activists, like, “come on we’ve made it this far right? Let sleeping dogs lie.” I proceeded dates having a man who said to help keep my hair long because girls with short hair looked like “dykes.” I continued dates with another man who ordered my steak for me personally, always medium, always a filet. I muffled the girl inside who before will have insisted about the bloody rare rib eye. I let men pull off too much aggressive flirting within the bar I worked at, when in past times I would personally have told these to fuck off.
Then I found out I used to be pregnant. I felt weak and form of alone in the beginning, knowing I found myself carrying it out on my own. My son’s father simply wasn’t ready to become father, and that is fine. Yet here I found myself accepting this empowering strong stance of, “I am carrying this out alone but I am going to do it right” yet I still felt like a little scared girl in the man’s world.
I’m sad to state it took me until I found out I was possessing a boy to get started to snap out of it and realize I was to blame for raising a man. Would he be the level of man who ordered a woman’s steak or permit her to choose her very own? Would he be considered a man who supported women in each and every possible way and realized equal rights undoubtedly are a very relevant topic or someone who thought a woman experienced a place in the kitchen. Would he be considered a man who believed that because we vote we have now enough? Or did I want to raise a guy who told women their bodies, their decisions, their opinions and their ideas were just as vital as everyone else’s? Above all, did I want to raise a person who thought in reference to his heart as opposed to his testosterone levels? To me strength is definitely first and foremost a matter of the center and that i wanted this little boy, who will 1 day develop into a man, to get the kind of compassion that might allow him the understanding for everybody from all avenues of life.