why women are angry

I’ve spent the last couple of days watching my social media explode. Watching my friends and the women I love and women I look up to express their anger, their fury. For Sarah Everard. For the hellfire systems we live in. For the constant injustices we’re forced to swallow. But also for each other. For solidarity. For sisterhood. To make sure everyone knows they are seen. And heard. They’ve all written so eloquently and openly, it’s been a balm to my own fury. But I haven’t shared any of my own words yet. I’ve been wondering what else do I have to add to the conversation? Everything I’ve read, I’ve resonated with. I’ve felt it, deeply. But I can’t do it any more articulately. Would my voice just be more repetitive noise to an already very loud situation? Did I have anything new to say?

And then I realised it.

That’s the fucking point. You don’t need a new angle, you just need to show up. With your truth and your anger and your experience. Because we’ve all experienced this bullshit. On a daily basis. Our whole goddamn lives. This is not an isolated incident. This particular case was the worst kinds of extreme and horrifically insidious. But it stems from somewhere. It all weaves up from an unshakeable belief that men feel superior in this world. Because this world was built by you and for you. And I don’t need to hear any of this shit about ‘not all men’. Give me a fucking break. Because if it’s not you, that’s fantastic. Now what are you doing everyday to be a feminist and stand up for women and call out bullshit? You’re not off the hook, far from it. You saying it’s ‘shocking’ or ‘appalling’ just isn’t going to cut it anymore. It’s not shocking, it’s our reality. You should not be shocked by this. Because it isn’t surprising. And women are being brainwashed into feeling numb to it because it’s easier, it’s a quieter life. Stay in your place. They’re not even being allowed their fucking fury. What you’ve seen the last couple of days is the women you know taking their power back. So fucking sit up and listen. Every tiny story or memory adds together to create the whole. It’s the seemingly insignificant cases that we actually need to begin with. Because it’s inherent belief systems and mentalities that we need to challenge and alter. Women are not being dramatic. They are giving you the fucking roadmap on how to change the world. But we can’t do it alone.

When I was fifteen, my mum would tell me to text her when I got to my friends house. Let me know you’re safe. I’d inevitably meet my friends, become an excited adolescent and the text would completely slip my mind. I was a kid. She was being too overprotective. I’m fine. Twenty minutes after my scheduled arrival my mum would call or text me and I’d instantly feel guilty. I’m sorry, I’m safe, I forgot, I’ll see you later. But the actual problem there is that mothers don’t feel safe letting their daughters do a ten minute walk in a quiet suburb to their friends house in broad fucking daylight. And that’s just day one of being a woman. Grab a pen, kid, here’s your crash course:

Don’t drink too much it’s sloppy. Don’t drink too little you’ll be a prude. Don’t wear that short skirt, slut. Don’t wear boys clothes, lesbian whore. Don’t talk to strangers it leads them on. Don’t ignore people you look stuck up. Don’t walk home in the dark. Don’t walk home in the day. Don’t walk home through parks. Don’t run through parks. Oh but don’t get in a taxi. Don’t get a late bus alone. Don’t be alone. Don’t be in heels. Don’t be in trainers. Don’t smile. Don’t speak. Don’t think. Don’t breathe.

It’s a goddamn minefield.

Your shock is not welcome here. And neither is your intentional ignorance. These experiences that women are telling you about are not shocking. They’re the tip of the fucking iceberg. And your shock won’t help the Everard family. But your actions will help women everywhere.

And I’m just furious. This was a stream of consciousness post and I’m not wanting to make it pretty. This is how I feel. I’m sorry if it alienates you or you find it harsh but idgaf. I’m sick and tired of feeling exhausted. I’m tired of explaining things to people. I’m bored of you not understanding the lived experience of women when we tell you about it all goddamn day. And this is me speaking as a privileged cishet white woman. I can’t even imagine the added struggles and fears of my trans sisters, my sisters of colour, my sisters with disabilities. But I can put in the work to listen and change my behaviour. And so can you. We shouldn’t need to be your daughters, sisters, mothers, girlfriends for you to care. You need to call out your male friends every day. Whenever they say anything problematic. Because it’s all insidiously linked together. Oh what, you don’t want to be seen as a killjoy? Can’t take a joke? Too sensitive? Well, quite honestly, get over yourself. You would never make it as a woman with skin that thin. Realise that this is not about you, but it is up to you to change sexism in any tiny way you can. If you can post an IWD picture of your mum and sister the other day but you can’t call yourself a feminist then think about why. What are you fucking scared of? Cos unfortunately we can’t do it without you. Why do you think nothing changes? Because we police girls instead of educating boys. So let’s do some fucking educating.

Peace.

Pussy Whipped – Bikini Kill (Yes, I’m putting an entire album today. Go listen to this excellent, angry riot grrrl shouting if you need to blow off some steam. And women, please take care of yourselves. If you feel helpless or hopeless, I get it. I feel it too. But we don’t give up. That’s not who we are. You are magic.)

my year of reading women: the conclusion

At the end of 2016 I was at an impasse with my reading. I’d spent a life juggling assigned reading for school and books I could scramble from the library for fun. But during uni I’d let reading for pleasure fall by the wayside. If we’re being honest, I’d let reading for uni fall by the wayside too. But what English Literature student can’t relate? The sheer quantity is a joke. But if I did pick up a book I was usually doing it out of guilt for an essay due. Not to feed my soul.

So fast forward to graduation and it had been years since I had properly read a book, guilt free, that I had chosen for myself. I was so excited to read every book in the world. So what did I do? I read almost none. Partly I was too overwhelmed with where to start and partly I was just being lazy as always. So going into 2017 I knew something needed to change. Books are my favourite thing in the world so not reading them was a big disservice to my authenticity. I decided to take drastic action and vowed to read only women authors for a whole year. It was kind of a fuck you to all the dead white men I’d read at uni.

And thus began my year of reading women.

And you know what I found? It wasn’t even hard. Because there are so many epic women writers in this world, some who get the recognition they deserve and others who sit quietly on the shelf behind the new James Paterson monstrosity. So by reading only women you’re not cutting our thousands of authors you’re actually opening your mind to millions more. On my shelf alone there was hundreds of women I was excited to read but just hadn’t got to. Never mind the gigantic pool the rest of the world also had to offer.

And it was refreshing. What a year to be reading only women when we were out there fighting for our rights and demanding change in a heavily patriarchal world. It was liberating and made me feel so connected to so many badass women. I wasn’t tempted to read a man the whole year because even when I had a hankering for Orwell or Vonnegut or Baldwin I knew I had so much time to read them in the future. Right now they were irrelevant. This was the year of women.

On analysing my bookshelf in January 2017 I noted I had a shocking ratio of men to women. I had about two thirds men. How I’d got to that point I couldn’t tell you. Having about fifteen Shakespeare plays probably didn’t help my case though. So I made a concerted effort to only buy women when I inevitably found myself in a bookstore. The affect of that is I now have more women on my shelf than men. I know. I buy a lot of books. But it satisfies me to look at the shelf now and know it’s properly represented. At least it’s one small slice of diversity out of the giant library of the world.

For 2018 I’ve decided my reading goal will be to now try and read all the unread books on my shelf. I’m postponing buying more new books until my tbr is down quite a bit. Now at my current rate reading my whole shelf could take years but I’m willing to put in the work. Though when January hit I couldn’t quite stop reading women. Part of me wanted to go for round two but I knew I wanted to really get reading everything on my shelf that intrigues me. Man, woman, black, white, Asian, Native American, straight, gay, bi, transgender, cis gender, gender queer, memoir, play, poem, novel, essay. I want to read all the words.

That’s my real goal.

So eventually in March this year I broke my fourteen months of reading women. If you’re gonna do it it’s gotta be with someone boss so I chose Albert Camus. And I don’t regret it but part of me still longs for the glorious days of celebrating women authors.

I learnt a lot from reading women. I learnt that we have some incredibly talented and strong voices. We have important stories to tell. We’re funny as hell. We are deeply troubled by the world we see yet consumed by it’s beauty. We are wise yet we’re never done learning. We want to help people and show them they’re not alone. We want to tell other women to live their truth too. We are badass. And damn, can we write well. Simply, we are storytellers. And I’m so excited to explore thousands more stories and experiences from epic women. So I see many years of reading only women in my future. As well as I’m sure several other reading challenges.

I wholeheartedly recommend a similar year to everyone.

Cos women are boss, duh.

Peace.

Bitch – Meredith Brooks