Though it may be difficult to conceptualize, I was not always the decidedly opinionated, staunch feminist I am today. Quite the contrary — I once began a truly mediocre essay in my 11th grade English class with the phrase “I am not a feminist.” I can’t recall the details of the particular assignment that prompted me to declare myself opposed to a movement I truly knew nothing about, but I nonetheless was very firm in this stance. I recently stumbled upon this old essay, collecting dust in the untouched corners of my Dropbox, and forced myself to read the entire thing — all seven rambling pages.
Although it feels like I was born with a fiery feminist soul, this evidence suggests otherwise. In actuality, I didn’t come into a feminist consciousness until the summer before I started college. Facing this is honestly a little uncomfortable, and having to read the words “I am not a feminist” under a heading with my name is downright painful. My supposedly “unfeminist” essay — though very misguided and a little scatterbrained — actually contained a few smatterings of infantile feminism waiting to be nurtured. I had to read and experience so much to understand the importance of feminism, something that wasn’t possible for me in high school.
My late-to-the-party feminism is not unique, as most of my female friends hadn’t given a passing thought to gender equality before college, and most followed the gender norms ingrained in us since childhood. It was only after reading strings of feminist pop-culture critiques that I even begin to question casual sexism in my everyday life. Sometimes, I feel embarrassed that just four short years ago I was a personified eye-roll spouting clichés of “I’m not a feminist, but…” Even more so, I find myself wishing that my secondary education allowed me the opportunity to contemplate these notions in a positive, constructive way. All my perceptions of feminism were vague and negative — my teacher commented on the paper that she wasn’t sure if I knew “what feminism was.” The accuracy of that assessment now seems laughable. Of course I didn’t know what feminism was, only that it was bad.
Most girls grow up with this mindset. We sense there is a problem but are not given the words to articulate it. We feel the sting of injustice but have nothing to combat it with. This lack of a “feminist education” neglects to even recognize sexism as real and present, and therefore sees no need to teach about a combative movement. The majority of my gender education began and ended with women’s suffrage. The three major waves of the women’s rights movement was something I first learned about from a Wikipedia page, not a classroom. Why is it acceptable to leave out such a pivotal point in American history from our standard education? Silencing the truth of sexism in history books only proves feminism’s necessity, and telling young women they are equal when their experiences prove otherwise is nothing short of patriarchal indoctrination.
Internalized misogyny caused me to write words distancing myself from a movement I had no knowledge of, caused me to perpetuate harmful stereotypes, shame others and myself and feel inferior. Feminism consistently uplifts and educates me so invaluably and gives me the passion and the platform to attempt to do so for others.
Photo credits:www.newrepublic.comwww.ukfeminista.org