Misunderstood Feminism

Do not read this if you believe that needing someone is a diagnosis.

And one clarification before I begin: I am writing about relationships between women and men because that is the life I know and the experience I am speaking from here, not because it is the only possible way to love.

There was a time when women fought for the right to vote, to study, to work, to own property, to control their own money, and to decide what to do with their own lives. Thank God they did. Because of them, today I can have an education, a profession, a bank account, my own income, an opinion, and the extraordinary privilege of paying my own bills. Apparently, that last one was among the great dreams of the women’s liberation movement. Somewhere along the way, though, I think we may have become a little carried away.

We started with “We want equal rights,” and somewhere inside the popular version of female independence another message began to creep in: “We don’t need men.” Hold on. I never signed that.

The women who came before us did not fight so that we could live alone. They fought so that we could choose. To study if we wanted to. To work. To build careers. To start businesses. To leave a man who humiliates us. To refuse financial dependence on marriage. To have a voice, property, and an identity of our own. That is an enormous civilizational achievement, and I would not give back a single one of those rights.

Not one. I do not romanticize a time when a woman’s future depended on whether she had married “well.” I do not want permission to work. I do not want someone deciding what I am capable of. I do not want to stay silent because “that is what good women do.”

But I also do not want to become a man in order to prove that I am a free woman.

Somewhere after freedom came independence. Then complete independence. Then absolute independence. And eventually, the modern woman was somehow expected to become so independent that she should almost feel embarrassed to admit that she needs anyone at all. And here we are.

We work. We earn. We pay. We organize. We drive. We carry the shopping bags. We book the holidays. We assemble the furniture. We raise the children. We cook dinner. We answer work messages between two loads of laundry. And if we happen to have five spare minutes at the end of the evening, we can always read another article telling us how to become even more successful women.

Wonderful. We liberated ourselves so efficiently that we now work two shifts. One is called a career. The other does not even have a name and begins when the first one ends.

And that is not just my sarcasm speaking. Pew Research Center data show something rather less funny: even in heterosexual marriages where husbands and wives earn roughly the same amount, women still spend more time on housework and caregiving, while men have more leisure time. Apparently, equality in the bank account did not automatically make it all the way to the laundry basket.

And somewhere in the middle of all this came the great mantra of the modern woman:

“I don’t need a man.”

I can say it too.

I can live alone.
I can work.
I can earn money.
I can travel alone.
I can make decisions.
I can deal with my own problems.

I can.

But the question was never whether I can live without a man. The question is why I should want to. Being capable of doing everything alone does not mean I want to do everything alone. Being financially independent does not mean I will not enjoy hearing the man beside me say, once in a while:

“Leave it. I’ll take care of it.”

And no, I will not break out in an allergic reaction to the patriarchy. I will probably just say, “Thank you.” I want a man beside me.

There. I said it. Not because I cannot manage alone. Not because I need someone to support me financially. Not because I am looking for someone to make decisions for me. I want a man beside me because I do not want my entire life to become a demonstration of how magnificently I can cope on my own. It is exhausting to be strong all the time. It is even more exhausting when someone convinces you that strength is the only version of yourself you are allowed to be.

I want to be strong sometimes and vulnerable sometimes. Reasonable sometimes and completely irrational at others. I want to be able to say, “I’m scared,” without someone explaining that, as an independent woman, I should regulate my emotions by myself.

Thank you.

I know.

I can.

But sometimes I would rather have a hug.

Not a solution.
Not an analysis.
Not a motivational speech.

A hug.

I want the man beside me to have a place in my life. Not beneath me. Not above me.
Beside me. I want to be able to lean on him, just as he can lean on me. I want one of us to carry a little more when the other is tired. Not because some traditional model says that is how things should be, but because that is what two people do when they love one another. And yes, I want to fall asleep at night curled up in his arms. I see nothing political about that. Partnership is not a competition in self sufficiency. Sometimes I think that, while throwing away the ugly stereotypes, we began throwing away some of the beautiful things too. Tenderness. Care. Thoughtful gestures. Enjoying it when a man opens the door for you can suddenly become suspicious. Wanting him to take the initiative can sound questionable. Being happy to receive flowers is almost an ideological betrayal. Relax. A rose is not an instrument of oppression. Sometimes a rose is simply a rose.

I like femininity.

I like tenderness.

I like care.

I like beautiful gestures.

And yes, I like the man beside me to be a man. Not a commander. Not an owner. Not someone who decides for me. A man. With his own strength. His own initiative. His own way of being someone I can rely on. And none of that takes anything away from me. I can sign a contract in the morning and want to curl up in someone’s arms at night. I can be ambitious and in love. Competent and gentle. Independent and deeply connected to another human being. Fortunately, the human brain is capable of that much complexity. The trouble is, I think we may have confused men too. We changed the rules for women, and that was necessary. But no one ever made the new rules for men particularly clear. Now we expect him to be strong, but never dominant. Sensitive, but not too sensitive. Confident, but not arrogant. Successful, but always available. To take initiative, but only the correct kind of initiative. To protect us, but never assume that perhaps we might want protecting. To open the door, but maybe first check whether doing so violates some boundary. It cannot be easy. Sometimes the poor man is probably just standing in front of the door wondering which version of equality is in force this Tuesday. And this is where the most important point begins.

The problem is not feminism.

The problem is not equality.

The problem begins when we confuse equality with sameness.

When independence begins to look like loneliness. When freedom no longer means, “You can choose,” but instead, “You must prove that you do not need anyone.”

No, thank you.

I need people.

I need love.

Friendship.

Family.

Closeness.

Conversation.

Someone laughing in the next room.

Someone I can call when my day falls apart.

A hand that sometimes simply reaches for mine. I need to love and to be loved. That does not make me weak. On the contrary, it makes me human. Perhaps this is exactly where we confused freedom with self sufficiency. But a human being was never meant to be a self contained island. We are made for connection. We search for one another. We find one another. Sometimes we hurt each other. Sometimes we leave. Sometimes we stay. And perhaps maturity is not saying:

“I don’t need you.”

Perhaps maturity is saying:

“I can live without you. But I choose a life with you.”

To me, that is a far more powerful statement.

Dependence says:

“I stay because I cannot leave.”

Love says:

“I can leave, but I want to stay.”

That is the difference.

I do not want to belong to anyone.

I do not want to be anyone’s servant.

I do not want to be a silent half of a relationship.

But I also do not want to become some handbag carrying Terminator who carries the entire world on her shoulders because otherwise someone might question her independence. I want to be a woman. Strong when I need to be. Soft when I want to be.

To work.

To dream.

To earn.

To create.

To make mistakes.

To love.

To care.

To be cared for.

To be capable on my own.

And still not be alone.

Perhaps that is what feminism was supposed to be. Not a war against men. Not a competition over who is stronger. Not an attempt to erase every difference. The right of a woman to choose her own life. If she wants a career, let her have a career. If she wants a family, let her have a family. If she wants both, then perhaps we could at least stop convincing her that she must do everything perfectly while somehow looking well rested. And if my choice is to be a free, independent woman who still wants the man she loves to hold her in the evening and say,

“Leave it. I’ll take care of it,”

then I am sorry, ladies.

That is quite enough feminism for me.

I do not want a man beside me because I cannot live without one. On the contrary. I can. I simply no longer feel any need to prove how much I can do alone. I want a man beside me because my life is better with him in it. Because sometimes one embrace is worth more than all the independence in the world. Because strength is not only carrying everything yourself. Sometimes strength is trusting someone enough to let them carry part of the weight. I do not want freedom frommen. I want the freedom to choose the man I love. To walk beside him without walking behind him. To lean on him without losing myself. To love him without belonging to him. To be loved without being possessed.

And if freedom does not allow me to choose that too, then somewhere along the way we have once again misunderstood the meaning of the word.

Freedom.

Life Unfiltered

Keep Yourself. The World Will Adjust.