The Tired Feminist

Yup, that’s right. I’m no longer (if I ever was) an angry feminist, extreme feminist, too-much-of-a-feminist. Not that I ever called myself any of these things. It’s merely some of the descriptions attributed to me. But now, I hope to finally please everyone I’m just simply a tired one. Although don’t think I don’t know that the ideal description would have been to remove the word ‘feminist’ altogether.

I’m tired of proving myself just a normal person, with what should be a normal desire to see women treated just as fairly as men in the workplace.

I’m tired of people, even worse women, selling feminism, gathering audience in what was a supposedly feminist cause,  but doing nothing more than just defining what women should be doing, instead of providing support for women who want to be different.

I’m tired of sitting around talking about how unfair it is for women and wives and mothers who have to carry the weight, hold the fort, pick up the slack, while their significant others enjoy promotions, advancements in their careers, total concentration in their work, and above all can come home to hot meals.

I’m tired of seeing those daddies dropping off and picking ups their kids in casual clothes, taking their sweet time, enjoying little chit chats with their kids, while mommies in work clothes have to pick up their kids, rush back to their car, and desperately try to get out before traffic hits and they get delayed getting back to work.

I’m tired of mothers assumed to be unsuitable for promotions, because they have young kids. Mothers pitted against other mothers for how well and how badly they have handled the whole baby-breastfeeding situation at work, how successfully or poorly they juggle work and school runs.

And whenever I see some other mother, or another female at work, who just doesn’t give a damn, because they know that no matter what they do, someone will still find faults in them, I smile. Inwardly at first, because I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that yet. Then through that, I gained strength. Knowing that we’re all in this shit together, although I know how much we all suffer still, some of us wanting to preserve the title of a ‘supermommy’ or ‘superwoman’, a term that is still stupidly revered all around in this society, makes me feel some kind of hope. Look at how others have survived by not caring. So should I.

And if I want to survive, I should. But not as a way to finally be recognized or validated. That’s a whole different approach altogether.

Sadly, I can’t not give a damn without being invisible. No one ever seeks out a woman and pushes them to talk in public, handles a big meeting, or takes over a project. No, no. Those are reserved for men, young, fresh graduates, but most importantly, men.

Because “they will be leaders”, “men have to know how to do these things”, “it’s nice to see men handling this”.

Women, you want to be noticed, you have to be “more confident”, “be better at things”, that’s all it takes, women.

“This is not about favouring men over women”, “We are not biased”, “Women just have to change their mindset”.

Call it what you want, but my tight clothes will receive more reprimand than your tight shirts. My heels will draw more negative comments than the clicking of your shoes. My anger more detested than admired.

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