Dear Feminists, Stop Telling Me I’m Not Equal

I was standing in a coffee shop with my sister the other day. We ordered our coffees and watched the barista load the extra caramel drizzle into our cups, when my sister looked up from her phone and asked, “What do those feminists in D.C. think they’re marching for anyway?” I began to answer, then paused. I’ve written about the Women’s March on Washington over and over yet still have trouble explaining the modern day feminist movement’s demands. I know what they wrote on the march’s website. They want to be “free of all forms of violence” against their bodies. They demand “access to safe, legal, affordable abortion and birth control.” They demand the “power to control” their bodies and want to be “free from gender norms.” And of course, I have to highlight possibly the dumbest statement on their entire website: “We believe that all women’s issues are issues faced by women with disabilities and Deaf women.”

What does that even mean? What does ANY of that even mean? After reading their demands up and down, I still don’t have a clear idea of what they’re fighting for, and that’s because they don’t know either.

I thought about it. Where do feminists ultimately draw the line? There’s one universal answer: Abortion. That’s what defines the modern day feminist movement. Despite what they tell you about their apparent passion for “immigrant rights,” “workers’ rights” or “environmental justice,” that’s what it comes down to every single time. They’re fighting for abortion on demand. They’re completely inflexible. It’s their way or the highway. Just ask the New Wave Feminists.

Feminism is no longer a pure movement. It’s a glorified high school clique on steroids. (I can see it now. “On Wednesdays, we knit pink p*ssy hats!”) You can’t sit with them unless you emphatically accept the victim-status card and sign off on the inflexible terms and conditions, both of which are abortion. You must sacrifice your dignity at the altar of insufferability. You must accept that the patriarchy is screwing you over. You must constantly clutch your pearls and say a prayer to the outspoken eugenist great Saint Margaret Sanger. You must blame all poor choices on “the system.” (You wanted that Gender Studies degree, and by golly you should get paid as much as a male surgeon!) You must demean and belittle men at every turn.  You must always find new reasons to loath the differences between the sexes. Mansplaining. Manspreading. Manturrupting. You must constantly challenge the necessity of a strong father figure in a child’s life. You must constantly remind everyone that possessing a uterus is a nearly unbearable burden to carry (it’s almost like Jesus carrying His own cross). You must place a clear stamp approval on the foreheads of your sisters who “express their sexuality” on the internet and beyond. Appreciate the female body, you sexists! You must happily accept the devastatingly low expectations of how a woman should carry herself. Topless selfies? Free bleeding at work? That’s what makes a woman a woman. If you can’t agree to those terms, Lena Dunham will show up on your doorstep and revoke your uterus card. You’re not worthy.

One more thing. It’s impossible to align yourself with the modern day feminist movement if you don’t accept the following premise: You’re a victim.

There’s no discussion. It’s already been decided. No ifs, ands or buts. If you don’t accept that, you’re finished. You must recognize that you’re unequal, and if you don’t, that’s equivalent to b*tch slapping Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton in the face.

You think I’m exaggerating? There’s actually a feminist poem making the rounds on social media titled “You Are Not Equal. I’m Sorry.”

In it, the author, Dina Leygerman, instructs us to thank the women of the past for our rights. She mentions true feminists like Susan B. Anthony and Rosa Parks in passing, but lumps them together with individuals like bra-burning Gloria Steinem and shameless eugenist Margaret Sanger.

“You can make your own choices, speak and be heard, vote, work, control your body, defend yourself, defend your family, because of the women who marched. You did nothing to earn those rights.”

Ignoring the self-serving women who don’t belong on the same list as Susan B. Anthony, this isn’t discrediting what our foremothers did for us. This is about refusing to live like they didn’t do anything in the first place.

“You were born into those rights. You did nothing, but you reap the benefits of women, strong women, women who fought misogyny and pushed through patriarchy and fought for you. And you sit on your pedestal, a pedestal you are fortunate enough to have, and type. A keyboard warrior. A fighter for complacency. An acceptor of what you were given. A denier of facts. Wrapped up in your delusion of equality.”

Don’t you see? Feminists don’t truly want to be free. They want to live in the past. We should turn to sackcloths and ashes and bitterly mourn over the rights we already have. (That translates to convening in D.C. and listening to Ashley Judd whine over throwing away her favorite panties.) How selfish of us to enjoy our rights given to us by God. Yes, God.  Our foremothers may have fought for others to recognize those rights, but they didn’t hand them to us. We already had them.

You are not equal. Even if you feel like you are. You still make less than a man for doing the same work. You make less as a CEO, as an athlete, as an actress, as a doctor. You make less in government, in the tech industry, in healthcare.

That’s simply not true. The gender wage gap is a myth. You cannot lump in the salaries of men and women and compare the numbers. There are so many factors not taken into consideration. Most women choose families over careers. Women are more likely to choose a lower paying career (take teachers vs. engineers). Again, this all comes down to choices– something modern day feminists pretend to champion.

You still don’t have full rights over your own body. Men are still debating over your uterus. Over your prenatal care. Over your choices.

You still have to pay taxes for your basic sanitary needs.

But we do have rights over our own bodies. In fact, some women extend the basic concept of “bodily rights” to the separate body that resides inside of their own during pregnancy. It’s almost…admirable. Is it not?

You still have to carry mace when walking alone at night. You still have to prove to the court why you were drunk on the night you were raped. You still have to justify your behavior when a man forces himself on you.

Evil exists in the world, period. That’s not a result of the patriarchy at work. You cannot assign evil a gender. The rest of those claims are gross generalizations.

You still don’t have paid (or even unpaid) maternity leave. You still have to go back to work while your body is broken. While you silently suffer from postpartum depression.

You still have to fight to breastfeed in public. You still have to prove to other women it’s your right to do so. You still offend others with your breasts.

Again, choices. No one owes me if I willingly decide to have a child. If a woman has an agreement with her employer, awesome. But paid maternity leave isn’t a right.  And breastfeeding in public? We have the right to do that, even if some look down on it.

You are still objectified. You are still catcalled. You are still sexualized. You are still told you’re too skinny or you’re too fat. You’re still told you’re too old or too young. You’re applauded when you “age gracefully.” You’re still told men age “better.” You’re still told to dress like a lady. You are still judged on your outfit instead of what’s in your head. What brand bag you have still matters more than your college degree.

You can’t have it both ways. You can’t flaunt your p*ssy and walk around topless and master the art of seduction and not expect others to take notice. That’s not necessarily the result of a dirty world. It’s the result of poor choices. And don’t even get me started on the glaring hypocrisy of the feminist body positivity movement.

You are still being abused by your husband, by your boyfriend. You’re still being murdered by your partners. Being beaten by your soulmate.

Again, quite the generalization. All husbands are abusing their wives? All partners are murdering their significant others? Soulmates are beating the crap out of you, all because you’re a woman?

You are still worse off if you are a woman of color, a gay woman, a transgender woman. You are still harassed, belittled, dehumanized.

Oh look. More more victims. Keeps piling it on. Misery loves company.

Your daughters are still told they are beautiful before they are told they are smart. Your daughters are still told to behave even though “boys will be boys.” Your daughters are still told boys pull hair or pinch them because they like them.

Another generalization. It’s not wrong for girls to be told they’re beautiful and smart. In fact, most little girls prefer to hear that they’re as beautiful as a Disney princess. And yes. Boys will be boys. Don’t deny the differences between the sexes. Differences aren’t bad.

You are not equal. Your daughters are not equal. You are still systemically oppressed.

Stop telling me I’m oppressed. I’m not.

Estonia allows parents to take up to three years of leave, fully paid for the first 435 days. United States has no policy requiring maternity leave.

That doesn’t demean who I am as a woman. The government doesn’t owe me anything.

Singapore’s women feel safe walking alone at night. American women do not.

Awesome for them. I have a gun. They didn’t poll me. I guarantee I sleep easier than they do.

New Zealand’s women have the smallest gender gap in wages, at 5.6%. United States’ pay gap is 20%.

Make better choices and choose a degree that will lead to a higher income.

Iceland has the highest number of women CEOs, at 44%. United States is at 4.0%.

Become a CEO. Pursue that. Stop whining, and do it. 

The United States ranks at 45 for women’s equality. Behind Rwanda, Cuba, Philippines, Jamaica.

But I get it. You don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to be a victim. You think feminism is a dirty word. You think it’s not classy to fight for equality. You hate the word pussy. Unless of course you use it to call a man who isn’t up to your standard of manhood. You know the type of man that “allows” “his” woman to do whatever she damn well pleases. I get it. You believe feminists are emotional, irrational, unreasonable. Why aren’t women just satisfied with their lives, right? You get what you get and you don’t get upset, right?

I’m not a victim. I don’t know why feminists are so hellbent on characterizing me as one. And what were we supposed to take away from a crazed woman shouting about bloodstained bedsheets on national television? I’m sorry, but that’s textbook “emotional, irrational, unreasonable.”

I get it. You want to feel empowered. You don’t want to believe you’re oppressed. Because that would mean you are indeed a “second-class citizen.” You don’t want to feel like one. I get it. But don’t worry. I will walk for you. I will walk for your daughter. And your daughter’s daughter. And maybe you will still believe the world did not change. You will believe you’ve always had the rights you have today. And that’s okay. Because women who actually care and support other women don’t care what you think about them. They care about their future and the future of the women who come after them.

Open your eyes. Open them wide. Because I’m here to tell you, along with millions of other women that you are not equal. Our equality is an illusion. A feel-good sleight of hand. A trick of the mind. I’m sorry to tell you, but you are not equal. And neither are your daughters.

But don’t worry. We will walk for you. We will fight for you. We will stand up for you. And one day you will actually be equal, instead of just feeling like you are.

Feminists don’t speak for me. They’re not my voice. They’re not my representation. I owe them nothing, except maybe a shred of sympathy. How miserable must they be to see oppression at every turn? What kind of women raised them? I almost pity them. I’ll happily tell them about the woman who raised me.

My mom loved college, but she didn’t finish it. Not because she couldn’t, but because of her own choices. She fell in love when she was 21. She was married at 22, and shortly after, moved across the country. She and my father bought a crappy starter home. My pregnant mom lived in a camper in the front yard and took cold showers until the house was, let’s say, livable. My dad was in a road band and a part-time flooring installer. My mom worked a crummy job at a department store. After I was born (surprise! I was the baby), the two of them worked opposite shifts so someone could be with me. Daycare was out of the question. My mom eventually gave birth to my sister and took on a job at the local hospital– a job she was told she could never handle. She took it as a personal challenge and proved everyone wrong. Then everything changed. My mom gave birth to my second sister. She was a healthy baby up until birth. You see, my mother’s uterus ruptured. It was a holiday, and the hospital was short-staffed. My newborn sister was without oxygen for over five minutes. She came out seizing, and my mom was immediately sent into surgery.  My poor dad. He witnessed the entire thing. I can’t imagine what was going through his head at the time. My youngest sister was in the NICU for weeks. We didn’t know if she’d make it. I’m skipping a ton of details here for the sake of time, but my sister made it. She was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and epilepsy (fun fact– the Lord healed her of epilepsy– no more seizures), and my mom quit her job to take care of my youngest sister full time while my dad continued to work and support our family. My mom stepped up. She didn’t complain. She didn’t run to the government. She didn’t blame everyone else for our family’s terrible situation. She sacrificed her life to make our lives amazing, and she still does. I grew up watching my mom’s sacrifices, constantly placing my sister’s needs above her own. I watched her handle life-threatening situations (pacing near the door and anxiously listening for ambulance sirens was a hallmark of my childhood) and seek the Lord for peace, comfort and guidance. I watched her cry and stumble, but never fall. Never ONCE did she claim victim status. She wouldn’t take the feminist victim card if Ashley Judd wrapped it up in a Hershey’s chocolate wrapper. My mother possesses a selflessness modern day feminists couldn’t achieve in their wildest dreams. How demeaning is it for feminists to assume that her greatest worry is something as stupid as a tax on tampons?

Don’t tell me how selfless and compassionate you are, feminists. Don’t tell me how “pro-disabled” you are, either. You’re the kind of woman who throws out your baby like a worthless piece of trash the minute you find out it has a disability and may pose an undue burden on your life. Don’t tell me otherwise. That doesn’t make a woman a woman. I grew up with the real deal. You’re nothing.

You DON’T speak for me. You DON’T represent me or my concerns. How DARE you even consider placing yourself on a pedestal with those brave women who fought for the right to vote. How DARE you dismiss the strong women like my own mother and tell them they’re not the real deal. While we’re at it, how DARE you completely dismiss everything our Founding FATHERS did for us. How DARE you suggest that the blood Americans spilled only benefitted the men of our society. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

No one’s stopping me from achieving my dreams. I went to college. I graduated with two bachelor’s degrees. I interned in Washington for a short period of time, and now I work with some of the most kick a** women in the country. Women who built this site from nothing. All of us Chicks– Mock, Daisy, Kimber– we don’t need your uterus card. We’ve done all of this without it. We’re living proof that the modern day feminist movement is a crock.

Feminists are victims of their own delusions, and we’ll never buy what they’re selling.