I am a feminist. I am a feminist and yet, I feel nearly ashamed of being one. Surely there is nothing wrong with it and quite ultimately, it is something beautiful to be. But I can’t help it. Growing up in a society in which women were ‘just housewives’ left me in shock— was I learning to become the same thing? Daily I wonder if I should be who others want me to be, or if I should be who I truly am. I choose to be me. So here it goes. This is my truth.

I am a feminist. A girl who desires nothing more than to pursue her dreams and fascinatingly conquer the world. But I still do like pink, and I do want to fall in love, and I do love the idea of having children (Someday. Don’t worry. This is not an “I am pregnant” confession)

Feminism, to me, is not a tale of the eradication of men. Nor does it depict its protagonists to be women who don’t shave and burn their bras. Now don’t get me wrong, if you do any of those things (except you know, the part where you consider eliminating the male population) I applaud you. I support you. Be that you desire to be. My lengthy point is though, that being a feminist does not mean you have to hate being a woman. Because alas, it’s part of our identity.

I am a feminist and I’m tired. I’m exhausted of people making fun me for being one. I’m absolutely exhausted of being embarrassed because of it. However, if you don’t like who I am. Tough luck. I guess you’ll just have to live with it.

To all those reading this article, I’m here. So, if you’re scared about fighting for women’s rights, I’m here to support you in any way possible.

Amongst women, I must realize that bringing each other down is completely and utterly stupid. Why do we have to fit into that stereotype? Let’s pick each other up. Support each other. Help each other. Be there for each other. I have never understood why we must talk ‘crap’ about each other. Surely, there are days in which you just can’t ‘deal’ with Cindy cause she’s been a pain in the arse, or you simply couldn’t quite grasp the utter bull *&^* Michelle said about your newest favorite movie. But, why purposefully bring each other down? Why make someone feel so badly about themselves that they build a path for self-criticism and insecurities?

Moreover, it is our duty to represent women in an uplifting manner. I want to live in a world in which my opinion matters. I want to see other girls taking charge- following their most extravagant dreams. And to all the boys out there, I wish nothing less. If you’re scared of being something you are, it’s okay, because we all are. Our greatest fear is the nature of being anything but ordinary. And no, you are not average. You are not defined by those around you.

Around the age of fifteen, I was impacted by an insignificant and disgustingly superficial voice. It told me what to eat, how to act, what to wear. I lost my smile, my confidence, my strength. I became but a wisp of my old self.

So, in an attempt to hit two  (Maybe more) birds with a stone (I swear I love animals) I’m Anaïs and once upon a time, I had an eating disorder. Quite truly, I don’t believe that anyone can fully recover from anorexia (not to be a downer) but I do believe that one can learn how to set that voice in its place. I’m going, to be honest here, so pardon me if any of this is perfectly unexpected to you. But here it goes. I used to starve myself (consciously, unconsciously, I do not know). I wanted to have that body every celebrity has. I urged myself to become like them. Selena Gomez, Emma Watson, Demi Lovato. Beautiful women, diverse body types yet, women who should be acknowledged by their activism rather than by their bodies. I’ve learned that now. After a very difficult two years, I’ve learned to become myself. Someone who is not afraid to accept her past mistakes and someone who attempts to learn from them and therefore, improve. Not fix, however. You cannot fix yourself because perfection is a lovely myth. Don’t let it devour you as it did me.

To be frank, I fear this piece is becoming too long but, I don’t care anymore. If this gets published, so be it.

Last week, like every other week, I acknowledged how much high school sucks. No offense to the teachers, you’re great. Really. But I feel like I’m a wolf trapped in a steel cage. I don’t feel like myself. I don’t possess the ability to breathe in there because at last, I’m afraid of people. I’m terrified of their opinions, I’m petrified of what they say. But I’m here. And though I’m sure not many will read this story, I’m here to tell you I’m not just the girl who studies and worries about universities. I’m sorry to break it to you, but I actually do have a sense of humor (debatable to my family and some of my friends, but hey, who are they to judge?) I’m a real person, with feelings (real ones, I promise) and I most definitely have insecurities— and just to make it clear to my school’s population, I LOVE chocolate, so leave your judgemental comments to yourself.

Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, though if there is at least one person has reached this very point. I salute to you!

As cheesy and as unnecessary it may seem, I will end this the way I feel it to be right.

Love,

WP

( A.K.A Anaïs (pronounced Ah-Nah- is) Thank you very much)

Inspired by: “Feminists don’t wear pink and other lies” - Curated by Scarlett Curtis