My Thoughts as a Feminist

For a long time, I hesitated to call myself a feminist.

Not because I didn’t believe in equality, but because I didn’t fully understand what feminism really meant. The word carried too much noise—opinions, arguments, labels. In school, when someone said “feminist,” others rolled their eyes or laughed like it was some dramatic performance. The media didn’t help either. Feminists were often portrayed as angry, aggressive, “too much.” I didn’t want to be seen as difficult or extreme.

So I stayed quiet. I stayed likable.

But silence is a funny thing. It feels safe—until it starts to choke you.

I was raised in a household where women were strong, but tired. My mother worked two jobs, cared for us, cooked, cleaned, and still somehow managed to smile. My father was loving, but his voice was final. My mother’s sacrifices weren’t celebrated; they were expected. She never complained. That’s what I learned womanhood to be: resilience without recognition.

As I grew older, I started to notice things I hadn’t before. In school, boys could shout answers across the classroom and be called “leaders.” If a girl spoke assertively, she was “bossy.” When boys made mistakes, it was “just boys being boys.” When girls messed up, it was proof we weren’t trying hard enough.

I remember a moment during a high school debate. I made a valid point, but my male classmate interrupted me—loudly—and the teacher smiled. “Passionate discussion,” she said. I wanted to scream. It wasn’t passion. It was dismissal. But no one noticed. No one cared.

It wasn’t until college that I found the language for what I was feeling.

In a gender studies class, our professor opened the first lecture by asking us: “What do you think feminism is?”

People hesitated. One said, “Fighting for women’s rights.” Another said, “Equality, I guess?”

Then someone mumbled, “Isn’t it man-hating?”

The professor smiled gently.

“No,” she said. “Feminism is simply the belief that all genders deserve equal rights and opportunities. That’s it. The rest—anger, activism, emotion—that’s the fire born from injustice. But the root is equality.”

That moment stayed with me.

I started reading—Audre Lorde, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, bell hooks. I listened to podcasts, watched documentaries, had uncomfortable conversations. The more I learned, the more I saw. Inequality wasn’t just happening in textbooks or far-off places—it was in front of me every day.

At work, I watched my female colleague get talked over in meetings. I watched the men congratulate each other while women were told to “stay humble.” I heard comments like “You’re too emotional” or “You should smile more.” I saw women passed up for promotions, even when they were the ones doing the heavy lifting.

One day, I found out I was earning less than a male coworker in the same role—with less experience. When I asked about it, the manager said, “Well, he’s more assertive. You’re more reserved.”

As if confidence was a male trait. As if I should apologize for being respectful. As if being quiet meant being less valuable.

That’s when it hit me.

I wasn’t “reserved.” I was conditioned.

Conditioned to shrink myself. To play nice. To keep the peace.

But not anymore.

That day, I claimed the title: feminist.

Not the misunderstood, media-twisted version—but the real one.

A believer in fairness. A challenger of silence.

And here’s the truth I wish I’d known earlier:

👉 Feminism isn’t about anger. It’s about awareness.

👉 It’s not about hating men. It’s about questioning systems that benefit one gender at the expense of another.

👉 It’s not about making women “better.” It’s about making things equal.

I began speaking up more. Not aggressively, but intentionally. I asked questions in meetings. I advocated for equal pay. I praised women in rooms where their work was overlooked. I supported younger girls, mentoring them not just in career moves but in confidence. I used my voice—not to dominate, but to open space for others.

But being a feminist hasn’t always been easy.

There are still people who say, “Why do we need feminism anymore? Women can vote. Women can work.”

To them, I say this: equality isn’t a checklist—it’s a culture.

It’s about pay equity, representation in leadership, access to healthcare, education, and safety.

It’s about walking home without fear.

It’s about a world where no one is silenced for simply existing.

Feminism is needed because equality hasn’t arrived—it’s still on the way.

And it’s not just for women. It benefits everyone.

Feminism calls for a world where men can cry without shame, where gender roles don’t trap anyone, where love, expression, and opportunity aren’t dictated by tradition or prejudice.

It’s for my mother, who never got to chase her dreams.

It’s for my younger sister, who deserves more than just survival.

It’s for the men in my life too—so they can be soft without being called weak.

It’s for all of us.

Today, when someone asks me, “Are you a feminist?” I say yes. Proudly.

Because I’ve lived the difference between silence and speaking. Between shrinking and showing up.

And I know this: we don’t move forward by staying quiet. We rise by raising each other.

Moral of the Story:

Being a feminist means standing for fairness, respect, and opportunity—for everyone.

Don’t be afraid of the word. Own it. Question what feels unfair. Challenge silence. And above all, believe in your voice.

You don’t need to be loud to make an impact.

You just need to be honest.

And that honesty—that courage to see, to speak, to change—that’s what being a feminist is all about.