There often comes a moment in a woman’s life when she shifts from being a young, innocent girl to someone forced to carry the weight of how she is perceived by the world.
There is a moment when you learn that the body that is not yet sexual to you is being viewed as sexual to those around you, specifically the men around you.
There is a moment when you unconsciously begin to think twice about your choice of clothing and whether you’re showing too much skin, fearing the repercussions that may come with that.
There is a moment when you learn that the system you were raised in wasn’t built to protect you, but rather to test your ability to survive it.
There is a moment when you understand that your hyper-vigilant radar must stay on and can never be switched off again.
There is a moment when you realize that this world may be built by women, but it was never paved for us.
Where Innocence Goes to Die
Now this woman, who carries the weight of knowing what her existence means in this world, and who will spend her life surviving a system designed to contain and silence her, has to sit across from a man untouched by that same system and listen to him deny that it even exists.
I can’t possibly count how many times I’ve wanted to crawl out of my skin and punch a man in the face after having to hear him share his take on the patriarchy or the state of feminism in the world. They will look you dead in the eye and proceed to school you on the very system they’ve never once been punished by.
It’s frustrating, it’s ignorant, and it’s so deeply entrenched in male privilege.
Of course, this doesn’t even need to be said, but because we live in a world that will always cater to male opinions, male actions, and male judgment, men truly believe that they are entitled to speak on matters they will never understand, and I am so sick of it!
So sick that I started to wonder, am I the problem here? Am I too much, or do I simply know too much?
Why Are You Getting So Defensive?
Men don’t often volunteer the topic of feminism. But of course they don’t. Why would they? It’s not something they have much of a footing in. It’s not something they’re expected to care about.
More often than not, it only comes up because I bring it up. Because I mention, here or there, the realities of existing as a woman in a world where we are so often disregarded and sidelined.
That’s when it begins to unsettle them, but not in the way you’d hope. Not with empathy or reflection, but with discomfort and defensiveness. A quiet kind of agitation that stems from being forced to see something they’ve never had to confront.
Because that’s what it is. The reminder. The awareness. The discomfort of sitting across from someone who knows the system inside out because they’ve had to survive it. Why would you question something that has only ever benefited you unless you were forced to?
It’s usually in these moments that men begin to respond by offering their take on something they’ve never lived through. And their responses never cease to amaze me.
After a while, the repetition of it all started to wear on me. I kept circling back to the same questions. Am I the problem? Am I too much? I told my friend about it, and she gave me the best analogy that perfectly sums it up: “Trying to get men to understand feminism is like trying to teach a dinosaur about space.”
Feminism and the systemic disparity women live with daily is oftentimes so far beyond male comprehension that trying to get them to understand can feel like setting yourself up for failure. Most men have no real understanding of what feminism actually is. The second they hear the word, they assume it means superiority or domination. And even when they claim to understand it, that support is often conditional. It’s “sure, women should be paid the same,” but not “women deserve equal space, power, or authority.”
It makes them uncomfortable because feminism doesn’t just ask for equality. It disrupts what they’ve always known. But there’s a reason the discomfort runs so deep, and it’s because patriarchy is structured to resist anything that threatens it. It’s built to benefit men, to protect them, to let them live in a world where they only ever have to see themselves. That lack of empathy isn’t just personal, it’s systemic.
Women’s problems are always treated as problems for women to solve. If women are in danger, disrespected, or on the verge of having their rights taken away, it’s never seen as something everyone should care about. But when something affects men, suddenly it’s a collective crisis. We’re expected to speak up. We’re expected to care. We’re expected to react.
How is it that we all know what male experiences look and feel like, but men know nothing about what it means to be a woman?
Realistically, women have been brought up to think about men. To cater to them. To keep them comfortable. We’re taught to anticipate their reactions and tiptoe around their egos, to make sure we don’t upset them because it could ultimately put us in danger.
We’re told not to overstep. Not to be too bold. We’re expected to be less emotional or less assertive. We’re taught to dress for them, to look good for them, to be good to them. But are men taught the same?
Men aren’t taught to center their existence around women, or to make space for us. They aren’t even taught to cater to us. And yet, women are expected to know men. We are implored to understand them. It’s the notion of the oppressed knowing their oppressors best. Women are forced to know men, while men aren’t even expected to understand women.
The Performance of Allyship
What’s disturbing about all of this is that there’s a conscious awareness of how women are treated in the world. There’s an understanding that the conditions we exist under aren’t typical. They aren’t ideal. They aren’t easy. But instead of using that knowledge and awareness to push for change, it’s increasingly being twisted into something performative, even weaponized.
Over the past year or so, there’s been a rise in the idea of performing feminism as a way to appear attractive to women. It’s framed as humour, passed off as quirky. It’s self-aware in a way that seems critical, which is why it often slips under the radar. At its core, though, this whole concept revolves around allyship being staged. It becomes a performance that acknowledges women are disregarded, without actually doing anything about it.
There’s this understanding that showing interest in feminism will draw a woman in, and men have become aware of this. They know how it works, and so instead of actually embodying those values, they act out a version they know will get them what they want. But what happens after they get it? Does the allyship disappear?
Oftentimes it does. They get what they want and slip right back into a reality that has always worked in their favour, with or without the performance.
The Expectation of Handholding Through Feminism
What exhausts me the most is how, somehow, it still becomes my responsibility to educate men. I’m expected to sit through their ignorant and arrogant takes on matters that directly affect women, on experiences they have never lived and will never fully understand, and then patiently explain, correct, and guide them through the most basic principles of empathy.
Why? Why is that my job?
We live in a world with infinite access to knowledge, yet men continue to narrow their lens to only accommodate what affects or benefits them.
A clear example that has come up more frequently is the growing belief among men that they are now the ones being oppressed. Somehow, women expressing their irritation, frustration, and exhaustion with a culture that leaves them unseen and unheard has been twisted into the idea that men are being targeted, that women are misandrists, or that feminism is out to get them.
This mindset has shown up in conversations around the “male loneliness epidemic,” where the emotional isolation some men experience is blamed not on their unwillingness to be vulnerable or emotionally responsible, but on women supposedly pushing them away.
This kind of thinking reveals just how much privilege men still hold within a system built by and for them. They can insert themselves into conversations that were never about them, spin narratives with no real foundation, and still be met with sympathy, support, and validation. They are rewarded for playing the victim in a game they have always controlled and many of us know when men feel challenged, that discomfort often turns aggressive, violent, and hostile and this is often where we see the rise of incels.
Men are not oppressed. They aren’t living under constant scrutiny. They are not told how to live, how to dress, how to speak, or how to exist the way women are. In fact, they are rarely told how to live at all. It’s despicable to watch so many of them ignore the opportunity to listen, reflect, and grow. Rather than becoming empathetic, informed men who understand and respect the women they desire to love, date, or befriend, they choose to center themselves as the victims of a dynamic completely fabricated by them.
There needs to be a collective understanding that feminism is not just an issue pertaining to women. This should not be an optional interest for men. If a man wants to exist in a world shared with women, whether as a partner, friend, peer, or parent, he can’t continue to remain indifferent to the realities that women face.
Of course, men are not required to live those experiences in order to acknowledge them, but there does need to be an understanding of how these issues shape the lives of the women around them. Dismissing that responsibility is not neutrality, it is ignorance, and it only serves to reinforce their position within the patriarchy.
So… Am I Too Much, or Do I Just Know Too Much?
The answer is a resounding no, I’m not too much. It’s the weight of these issues and the constant reminders that appear in our daily lives that reveal how deeply embedded patriarchy still is in our society. Whether it manifests as professional erasure, unequal pay, or a lack of basic respect, it all stems from the same systemic foundation.
I will never apologize for speaking about it, and I will never silence myself to make my words more palatable for men. If anything, that only makes me want to raise my voice louder.
I definitely don’t know too much either, I can confidently say, I don’t know enough. I’m still trying to understand the ways this system harms everyone involved in it, but that doesn’t serve as an excuse to be ignorant.
Change is not impossible, but it does require men to step up and take responsibility for the roles they have played. It calls for an end to defensiveness and silence in the face of criticism. It begins with effort. It begins with listening. It begins with acknowledging what has been ignored for far too long.