I got called a feminist bitch today. Twice. By two different people.
I understand it is the ignorant comments of 16-year-old boys, grasping at straws for any cognitive stimulation that their severely under-developed frontal lobes can reach for.
Nevertheless, I will not make excuses for those trying to dehumanise me. For what excuse is there? Please, ask yourself. What excuse is there?
Picture this.
Your friend comes up to you. She’s being blackmailed by a pathetic excuse of a human and she’s filled with regret and hurt. You confront him, you confront the person who holds a sickening and false sword of power over your hurting friend. He snarls back some ignorant phrase about 30 times, but you commend him because you know that it’s all his tiny pea brain can muster. As you begin to walk away, he heckles,
“Feminist bitch!”
Or you sit in English. You’re passionate about discussion and debate, it’s when you feel the most aligned with the universe. The topic sparks intense joy, for it is about human nature! It is the very thing you spend hours writing about. So you raise your hand, again and again. Because you have something to say. So you will say it. Later, you find out some incel now detests you for it and says some choice slurs to his friend, including ‘feminist bitch.’ How original! You realise, it’s to distract himself from the fact he may not ever get laid.
Ironically, I’m not quite sure where I stand on modern-day feminism. Third-wave feminism does seem to be without a core and definite purpose and I’m not quite sure yet where I align myself.
But this lazy label of ‘feminist,’ seems to be thrown at me the more space I dare take up so it seems like I should take that name and make it my own because I’m not planning on shrinking myself down anytime soon.
Bitch.
Bitch.
I’m a bitch. A mothering dog.
I scare you. Because not only can I birth, but I can bite. And bite I will.
“A lady should never speak. She should sit silently, subserviently submit to her environment, and only be spoken to.”
I speak. I speak! I speak.
It’s inconvenient when I do. It’s inconvenient when I say,
“I disagree.”
“I wasn’t finished talking.”
“My opinion is…”
It’s uncomfortable for both the recipient and I when I stand my ground. Thankfully, I don’t plan on living a life of convenience, but one of meaning. So, I guess we’ll all have to be uncomfortable for a while.
I respect myself. I love myself. I’m empowered, better yet, I am my very own source of empowerment. No one, absolutely no single being, could ever take that away.
So if all of this makes me a feminist bitch,
I’m a raging feminist bitch.
I’m the biggest feminist bitch known to mankind.
I’m such a feminist bitch that Bill Cosby will quite literally evaporate if I step within 10 feet of him.
Men are beautiful. Men are sacred. Men are divine. Just like women are.
I’d rather die than live a small, shallow, speechless existence. I’d genuinely rather not live. For what life is there to live?
The life I will live, however, is one of passion. Of friction. Of debate. Of constant scrutiny under seas of furrowed brows. Of purpose, flavour and progress. I plan on living a life of meaning and staying a “feminist bitch” the whole way through.
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