I’m sick of defending feminism.
I’m sick of defending my feminist values.
I’m sick of constantly having to tell you that we’re not man-haters.
I’m sick of reassuring you that we don’t mean “all men.”
I’m sick of explaining why “not all men” proves our point.
I’m sick of hiding my emotion during debates for the sake of credibility.
I’m sick of explaining why “men get that too” is derailing, even though we already understand they do.
I’m sick of explaining that even though other countries have it worse, sexism still exists in this part of the world, and that’s important too.
I’m sick of my reliable statistics not being enough for you, yet your bias should be more than enough for me.
I’m tired of being told we should be fighting for bigger issues than rape-jokes, as if no traumatic memory is bad enough to take away your cheap giggle.
I’m sick of hearing “I prefer to be friends with guys, women are such bitches” when you’re really afraid of being friends with a woman who knows what’s wrong with the world.
I’m sick of pointing out the illogical fallacies seeping over your sexist arguments like a dark plague.
I’m sick of woman after woman being told they’re selfish for daring to care about women’s rights.
I’m sick of hearing that even though a woman fears for her life around a man, a man fears for his wallet around a woman, as if a man paying for dates is relatable to a woman paying with her life.
I’m sick of being told that one misguided feminist is enough to ruin the whole movement, yet one misguided male “does not speak for all men.”
I’m sick of explaining why representation in Hollywood is important, and why your sexist TV show needs work.
I’m sick of explaining why it’s not okay for a comic-book artist to draw women in backbreaking positions for the sake of turning on your male readers.
I’m sick of explaining why dress-code rules are darker than they seem, that it’s not simply about being censored, but about the sexualization of our youth.
I’m sick of hearing that the white-man is “more oppressed now than ever,” when the women of color are given the jobs they want.
I’m sick of hearing that feminism is fine, so long as it’s white, straight, and that our women are biologically ‘real’ women.
I’m sick of being told to take a compliment when we’re cat-called in the street, watching our male ally be beaten to a pulp if he dares to defend us, and watching our female friend lie cold in the ditch for daring not to smile and ‘take it.’
I’m sick of being told it’s not a big deal when nudes are leaked, or when actresses are asked about their diets rather than their work.
I’m sick of constantly telling you the true definition of feminism, as if it’s a truly complicated concept to comprehend.
I’m sick of how many times we’ve repeated these things, trying to spoon-feed you the truth, stepping on egg shells to not offend you or be hypocritical to our ideals.
I’m sick and tired of defending Feminism like it can’t stand up for itself.
But Goddammit, I’ll still defend it to my grave.
I have to.
An impatient feminist.