Originally featured on Elephant Journal August 21, 2017
When I run into former colleagues, I dread the inevitable question, “So where are you working these days?”
I take a deep breath, lengthen my spine, and with defiance and a touch of embarrassment, I respond that I’m currently staying at home with our little one—and that I unabashedly love it.
Their eyes always widen and I imagine the internal judgment. The same judgement that I used to give, unsolicited, to those I knew who gave up their jobs when a little one came along.
To begin, let me apologize to all the women I judged for not being working moms. And the ones I judged for working too hard. Being a parent is a radical choice. We try to make decisions that benefit not only our children, but ourselves.
We’re all just trying to get along in this messy, imperfect life.
People who know me well are unsurprised to hear how judgmental I can be. Until recently, my Myers-Briggs personality rated incredibly high on the judge-y scale. I grew up with a very clear sense of right and wrong, and little tolerance for what I perceived as wrong.
This translated into my personal expectation of feminism.
Of course I’ll be a working mom. Of course I’ll juggle all the things and be all the people. Of course. Of course. Of course.
Parenthood kicks ass—both in the “yay I totally dig being a parent” and the “my ass is being kicked” varieties.
Becoming a parent not only reaffirmed my commitment to reproductive justice, equality, and access for all, it forced me to re-evaluate my assumptions about what it means to be a feminist.
And the conclusion I came to?
Feminism is choice. It’s the choice to be the best that we can be in the circumstances we find ourselves. It’s the choice to determine our own destiny. To be, to do, to create a life that is authentic and true. When we are able to make the decisions that are best for us…
Read the full article here.