From Medium authored b
In high school, I didn’t know anyone who called themselves a feminist.
“I would occasionally read an article about discrimination against women and find myself nodding in agreement, feeling like I could relate but unable to fully articulate why. Perhaps it was because I had heard feminists smeared as “angry man-haters,” or maybe it was because my interest in any political movement rarely strayed beyond an occasional fight with my dad over a Fox News segment. Either way, I had limited experience and interest in feminism as a teenager. If you had asked me what I thought of feminism, I probably would’ve spouted off the popular line, “Well, I believe in equality, but I wouldn’t call myself a feminist.”
When I arrived at college and encountered a new crowd who comfortably and proudly embraced the feminist label, I initially resisted. But I considered myself open-minded, so while I still refused to call myself a feminist, I was willing to listen. There was no singular moment that changed my mind, no “light bulb over my head” epiphany, no traumatizing experience that flipped my worldview on its head. Over time, feminism just seemed to make more and more sense. I believe Maya Angelou put it better than I ever could:
‘I am a feminist. I’ve been a female for a long time now. I’d be stupid not to be on my own side.’”
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