The ordinary feminist

Feminist suffrage parade in New York City, 1912
Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The last time I joined a protest march was in the previous millennium, I don’t follow feminist debates and I have to confess to never having gotten round to reading anything by Simone de Beauvoir or Germaine Greer. I’m fortunate enough to have never experienced any momentous sexist incidents: no one ever attempted to prevent me from studying, there was never any question of being pressured into marriage and – touch wood – I have never been the victim of a sexual assault.

Yet I still consider myself to be a feminist. And on my own small scale, I wrestle with how I apply that in my everyday life. These struggles are utterly insignificant compared to what many women go through. At the same time, I’m sure they are shared by many women, while that relative insignificance makes them too dull for mainstream media to bother with. In this series of posts, I’ll talk about my experiences in the spirit of the ‘Quiet Wave’ – hoping that my story helps someone out there to know that they aren’t the only one.

The first post: The workplace

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