Judgemental Women: I’m man enough to admit I am one

It’s Monday morning; I’m moody. Don’t think that makes much of a difference cause every Emm Morning is a Moody Morning but I digress. A co-worker, who also doubles as a friend walks up to me and begins to speak. At the utterance of my name, I shoot her down assuming that she wants to indulge me in some vain-themed conversation about weaves or handbags. (My first mistake) She walks away. The energy in that room should have told me I fucked up; but being as anti-social as I am, I don’t notice. (My second mistake) Few minutes later, she’s at my desk confronting me about how I had behaved earlier. I give a vague excuse; I’m Monday Morning Moody. (My third mistake) She doesn’t buy it. She eventually tells me that the reason why she had wanted to speak to me in the first place was that she had just discovered “EmmBoldened” and it inspired her; she wanted to exchange some ideas, maybe collaborate on a few pieces. My heart sinks; there are genuine tears in my eyes. Let me tell you why.

You see as much as I’m the loudest feminist in every room I enter, I’m not a very good one. I think it stems from my youth, but I’ll get to that. I feel horrible because I dismissed my friend. We’ve never had a deep conversation about our experiences as women so I didn’t view her as ‘my kind of woman’. She lives the life of the average woman; so I never ever for a second imagined that she had some sort of feminist agenda like I do. A few genuine conversations in, I can tell she has something to say; something similar to what I keep saying. It’s almost as if I imagined that you had to be overweight, single or bitter to fathom my concept of feminism. I am deeply ashamed to admit that I am a feminist who judges other feminists.

Let me take a few to diagnose myself. I am who I am because of how I grew up. I’ve told you guys enough times, I was a frampy kid; a bit overweight, too smart for my own good and with enough social anxiety to keep me quiet and invisible. Girls did not like me; actually people did not like me because I barely spoke, when I did I almost always made you feel dumb and also I wasn’t very pretty to look at till I turned about 13. So throughout the early primary school years, a lot of mean girl stuff happened to me and most of the time I wouldn’t speak to defend myself. I was once blamed for petty stuff like stealing someone’s something and since I mostly hung out alone I had no alibi. In the end, I found out she stole it herself to get me in trouble. Girls would read my diaries out loud in class (yes, this happened twice. I stopped keeping a diary after that), spread outrageous rumors about me (Say hello to the girl who supposedly dealt narcotics when she was 13, I have still never even done them) and the best of them, call me out all the fucking time in public where I did not thrive. (I don’t want to detail this one, still hold some childhood trauma). Up until I was about 17, I had never kept a female friend for more than a school term (usually about 3months). (No I am not counting my sister, who beat the shit out of most of the girls mentioned above, Thanks Romie) So I have always been skeptical about being friends with women. They never seemed to pan out in the end or were actually just fake from the beginning. Now, I know I have projected this onto almost every average woman I have met since. by average, I mean women who are not weird off the bat. I keep my distance and wear my life stories close to the vest. In so doing, it’s not entirely a surprise that most people that know me don’t know why I’m still single, why I don’t believe in marriage or soulmates or even why I don’t want children and these are integral parts of my feminist self. Let’s be honest, a feminist that cannot connect with other women no matter their background is a shitty feminist. I am a shitty feminist.

The events of this Monday morning sent into a mental tailspin; picking up on all the side shade I throw at women I don’t know or understand just because they don’t look like me. It sent me back to all the comments I have made about women who cross me on the street wearing too much make-up. Who I am to say that make-up is too much, to her it’s just enough. It got me thinking about all the women I laughed at because they were freezing their asses in micro-minis at the club. Who am I to declare that her clothes don’t match the weather, she felt it did. All the women I judged for dating older men for their money. Who the fuck am I to declare that dating for money is a crime or a social vice. How  I ask not to be faulted for not wanting children while I fault others for wanting them too early or too bad? I have lived my life running away from social standards while deep down I set them for all those around me. Who the Fuck do I think I am!! Women can do whatever they want and if I am not a testimony to that, I don’t know. How am I fighting the patriarchy yet bringing down equality between women themselves? How do I scream, “Let me be” while I can’t let others be. It almost seems as if its not women’s equivalence to men I want, its mine. I want to be held equivalent without holding others the same.

Now sneer at me all you want but I’m not the only one. Some of us are guilty too. Or have never made a comment that supported the rape of a random lady because you were too conservative to wear what she was wearing. “Now if she gets raped, looking like that, who will she blame?” The rapist that’s who! Have you never judged a pretty girl because she was just better looking and attracted more male attention; called her a ‘whore’ or something worse because what you desired came so much easier to her. We are women and that’s just what we do, right? WRONG! We are feminists and we refuse to grow up competing with each other for what really comes down to men’s approval. It’s what society wants but it’s not what feminism entails. For me, I have seen the error of my foolish and even more selfish ways; and if you watch this space, you will see me collaborate with all kinds of women on everything woman and woman adjacent; fashion, hair, feminism, female oppression, domestic violence. If it’s for women, I want to write about it, I want to talk about it. Because she is you and you are her. I am you and you are me. We all jump the same huddles.

Now, allow me to make one more declaration, the last I will ever impose in a woman. I will steal it from some Mexican women protesting sexual violence a few years ago, “Ni santas, ni putas, solo mujeres” “No saints, No whores, Just women” We cannot win this very real war by putting each other down and the first step to correcting a mistake is admitting it. I admit I can be a hella bitch to other women sometimes and I also admit it almost never has anything to do with them. To you that I have judged, I apologize and make this public declaration to pick women up or shut my mouth for as long as I live. (Yes, you can hold me to it) Feminism is about your choice to be whomever you want and as a fellow feminist I refuse to stand in your way and promise to pay you enough encouragement and compliments to get you there. You are no saint, you are no whore, you are just a woman and that in itself is enough for me.

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