I don't want to be a feminist anymore. by LINE

I don’t want to be a feminist anymore. Like a five-year-old, I want to close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, stomp my feet on the floor and scream “No! No, you cannot make me, I won’t, leave me alone!”  I am, simply put, too tired. So very, very tired.

I am tired of fighting with my friends. I am tired of arguing that someone groping and slapping my butt isn’t “what I have to expect”, just because I’m at a bar, and the one attacking my butt has a drink in the other hand. I am tired of hearing “boys will be boys” and “when you’re dressed like that …” and “that’s just what guys do”. I am tired of trying to drown those sentiments in loud, repetitive no’s, screamed over and over again,  till my throat is sore and my voice weak – just to hear them repeated, as soon as exhaustion threatens to silence me.

I am tired of being afraid. I am tired of seeing someone writing something offensive, sexist, racist, ageist, ableist, somewhere online. I am tired of seeing those writings getting likes and lol’s, and SO TRUE’s.  I am tired of being consumed by confusion and anger, typing, typing, typing and typing a seemingly endless response, including research, links and statistics, and then hesitate clicking “submit”. I am tired of knowing that I hesitate because I am afraid of the flood of responses that will come. I am tired of knowing that I will be bombarded with lighten up’s, stop whining’s and get a sense of humor’s for so long, that I will start to wonder if I am indeed wound up too tight, a nagger and humorless. I am tired of the fact that I’m afraid of being called a cunt, even though I don’t find genitalia insulting or demeaning.

I am tired of being told. I am tired of being told that “a key that unlocks many locks is a good key, but that a lock that can be unlocked by many keys is a bad lock”. I am tired of the fact that nobody who says this has ever been able to tell me what it is that needs to be locked up. I am tired of being told “your boobs are awesome, you should show them of “. I am tired of being told that “that looks a little slutty”. I am tired of being told that I shouldn’t be a prude, but I shouldn’t be slutty. I am tired of that nobody seems to be able to explain how to do so. I am tired of being told that I can just say no, and I am tired of being told “come on, you know you want to”.
I am tired of being told “But we HAVE equality!”

I am tired of being asked. I am tired of being asked if I’m a lesbian or if I was raped. I am tired of being asked if daddy didn’t treat me right. If I was in an abusive relationship. If I was beaten. If I grew up with a single mother. If I don’t like sex. I am sick and tired of being asked “But, why are you a feminist, then?” I am tired of being asked why I wear make-up. Why I wear a bra. Why I wear skirts and dresses. Why I flirt with men. Why I shave my legs. I am tired of asking “why do you ask me this?” and hearing the answer “because real feminists are against those things, aren’t they?”

Most of all, I am tired of knowing. Knowing that my eyes have been opened, and that what has been seen cannot be unseen. I am tired of knowing it, when I see something that is wrong. I am tired of knowing that only speaking out can change it. I am tired of knowing exactly how hard and scary it can be to do so.  I am tired of knowing that if I am not careful, the fight will eat up my hope and strength, and leave me only with bitterness. I am tired of knowing that I can never turn back to not knowing. I am tired of knowing that despite my fears and exhaustion, I am a feminist.

No, I don’t want to be a feminist anymore – today.
Tomorrow? Tomorrow I think I’ll try again.

From here.

It's Madelineeeeee!

After over a year of this happening I just realised that before we eat, my guy friends promptly chant:

We love our bread, we love our butter; but most of all, we love each other!

Firstly, guys. Seriously? Madeline?

Secondly, I don't think we've ever had bread and butter together.

I'm highly aware that this is my 100th post. Daaaaamn, I've come a long way.

A love song to your body.

I want to know your lips, the words they form, the way they move on mine.

I want to know your shoulders and the curve between them and your neck (my favourite refuge).

I want to know your hands. I want to know the length of your fingers, the way they flex, the hard fist you make and the gentle savagery of your grip on my skin.

I want to know your chest, your ribs, the harsh beating of your heart against my palm and the deep inhalations you take that push against my back.

I want to know your hips and the way they dip.

I want your feet and their warmth (my cold toes pressing into your ankles, your soft and muffled laughter).

I want to learn every part of you the way I am forced to study now as if I were to be given an examination in your anatomy.

I would do very well, of course.

Artsy Fartsy

Yes, it's been literally THREE YEARS since I've done something I actually love. Time to change that.

Though I went and made a mistake by cross hatching on the hair... well. Scheiße.

Is feminism losing to gender policing and the patriarchy?

I was 15 when my first serious-ish (it counts okay because it was a relationship that spanned three years- and I totally don't need to explain myself to you, really) boyfriend turned to me with an eyebrow raised and he asked with genuine bewilderment, "You aren't one of those ridiculous feminists, are you?"

That's when I knew that okay, this isn't a person I could fall in love with. Ever.

Romance aside, I now see that the poor boy was a product of his upbringing. Tall and rugged with broad shoulders and a natural athlete, he was intelligent and on the school football team. He was practically made to perpetuate misogynistic ideals.

In him, I discovered a treasure trove of "what a man should be like", ideas that he strived actively to live up to that spilled into our relationship. Never mind that I have always been naturally headstrong and outspoken about my opinions. Never mind that I'm frank and unafraid of adversity. These were all characteristics that he had associated (quite naturally thanks to centuries of male supremacy breeding) with a masculine personality and led him to the conclusion that... I was too masculine for a girl. As a heterosexual male, this was somehow a threat to his masculinity.

"You are an embarrassment."
"Be more feminine."
"What are you? A guy stuck in a girl's body?"
"Behave like a young lady."
"Dress like a girl."

I grew up being gender policed, just like everyone else around me.

My hair cut short, my (at the time) skinny build, involvement in athletics and specifically martial arts, this all served to make boys awkward around me.

Fast forward five years later.

I filled out generously. More than I could ever expect. It turned out that I was a late bloomer. However, the physical changes did nothing to assuage my anger at the guys my age who'd called me names and made fun of me. It certainly didn't help that these guys almost made a massive turnabout in the way they'd treated me (actually expecting me to be grateful that I sprouted breasts and my face rounded out from sharp angles, that my hair grew past mid-back, that I'd grown into the perception of femininity).

Never mind that I looked feminine. I didn't act feminine. In the eyes of many people, that made me less. Less than female. Less than perfect.

Gender is a social construct. Not a biological one.

Just like how only skinny is beautiful (not that it isn't, but so are all other body types!), just like how men shouldn't cry, just like how rape culture is alive and thriving, just like how depression is seen as a fault in character instead of chemistry.

Just. Like. That.

How Not To Study Gender In The Middle East
This is a good article for anyone interested in gender!