Humanist, not Feminist
Important Note: it appears we have reached this point in humanity where it’s necessary to say that all parts of this were created by a human being and AI had no parts in it. Every iota of brilliance is mine. As well as all the weird AF examples, typos and annoying run-on sentences. Thank you for reading from this human writer :).
Hello again, it’s me. I apologise for going off for so long. You see, when I make plans, my mind sometimes gets stuck in the specifics of it. Like it is not allowed to happen any other way. When I made a plan to start writing, I decided that Wednesday would be posting day and I’ll post every two weeks and I’ll talk about something poignant and important.
So, when life happened and I was unable to post something poignant on one Wednesday, my mind decided that I couldn’t possibly write any less than important, Friday would absolutely not do and I would not post the Wednesday after because it ruined the timeline. And now, one missed day had inadvertently spiralled into 3 weeks? With nary a post uploaded.
I know, those sound like words of a crazy person. It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me. And I’m fully aware. It’s a work in progress and I’m trying to be more gentle with myself while still using a little tough love to say, “girl, calm down! Things don’t always have to go exactly as planned”. Honestly, even just writing that out is stressing me out, but it’s fine. Work in Progress.
All this to say, my apologies for pulling an MIA, and moving forward, some posts might not be on a Wednesday and some posts might not be poignant. Like, I’m not sure if today’s is poignant or important. I do think that is a tad necessary.
If you ever felt the need to use the title phrase growing up, then you probably understand the struggle I’m about to detail here.
As a young Nigerian girl, no one really ever said the word feminism or discussed gender equality with me. I mean, I grew up around strong women; my mother for instance, but it was never a thing really. I knew she was strong and financially independent, as well as educated and I knew I wanted to be that growing up. There were however some things that she and the other women in my life were and that they wanted me to be as well that I knew for a fact I didn’t want for myself. There were roles that I felt were unsuitable for me, boxes I refused to be put in and just a general rebellion I felt towards things I was supposed to do ‘because I was a girl’. I’m sure we can all relate.
So, my journey to feminism was mostly a solo one, I had role models and resources but I mostly had to learn everything myself. Which meant that by my undergrad years, I thought I knew it all. With no one to really compare my knowledge and experiences again, I felt I was the pinnacle of it. I had mastered this feminism of a thing and it felt so good. And I thought everyone else would have as well. I mean, my parents were a bit ‘backwards thinking’ but that’s because they are old right? It’ll definitely be different in uni, everyone is much more enlightened. Oh boy was I wrong! So wrong, I wish I could go back in time and warn younger me.
I realized the hard way that not everyone cared about feminism or subscribed to it, worse still, some people actively hated it. And not because they didn’t know what it was, but because they did. Looking back, I think I would have preferred people who were fully ignorant, at least that way I can teach them or something. But no, I dealt with people who felt they knew everything they needed to know about feminism and they hated it. So, I had several conversations and arguments that ended with ‘oh, madam feminist’, ‘so, you’re a feminist?’, ‘it’s another feminist ooo’, and other variations of that. It became like a way to shut me up and it almost always happened when I was providing facts that they seem to have nothing to counter with.
At first, it was fine. I mean yeah, I was a feminist so you can say it. That didn’t last long. Especially when this started tying it into things that even had nothing to do with feminism. It became the cure all to losing an argument to me.
I. Was. Frustrated.
And ideally, just like they wanted, instead of realizing they were the issue, I believe that it was feminism. I mean, it had to be. It was what everyone has an issue with and what everyone shunned. I’m the only one upholding it, so I have to be wrong.
Then came the humanist phase.
I mean, if I claimed to be a humanist, no one could be angry, right? We are all humans, so if I identify as a humanist then I care about everyone and who wouldn’t like that. So that became my armor against every arrow to my feminism.
Get Samiat Olayide’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
‘I’m not a feminist, I’m a humanist’
‘I’m not a feminist, I’m a humanist’
‘I’M NOT A FEMINIST, I’M A HUMANIST’
Till it became a kind of chant. I would even offer the information before the accusations came.
‘…and before you say anything, I’m not a feminist, I’m a humanist…’
‘…this has nothing to do with feminism, I’m a humanist…’
‘…I don’t care about feminism…’
The uphill battle I fought against my mum, my dad, everyone around me growing up to be able to call myself a Feminist was a waste. The badge of honor that I proudly displayed became a stain that stigmatized and I worked my hardest to scrub it off. And worst part of all, there was no one around I could share this with. In hindsight, there probably were but at the time I thought everyone and everything hated feminism and therefore hated me. (Cringing in self esteem issues)
However, I still kept on noticing the things I noticed as a child that I didn’t like before I even knew the word feminism. The issues I had with gender roles and boxes I’m being shoved in were still there. I realized that whether I called myself a feminist or not, the problems are still there. And I still didn’t like them. I still spoke on the topic and despite getting battered for it even after defending myself with the “humanist” shield, I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t keep quiet. I would tell myself in the morning before leaving the house that this was the day I’ll finally learn to shut up, this was the day I’ll finally stop defending women so gallantly and stop calling out sexism. At the first sight of misogyny though, there I am, up like a spring. Like I physically couldn’t take the injustice. I realized that I would have better luck learning to ignore what was said about me being a feminist than trying not to be one. And so, that’s what I did.
I took it on as armor, it became the mantra I carried this time and for all the right reasons. I would argue against sexism and misogyny and before people even say it, I’ll be the one to offer ‘yes, I am a feminist’ and it felt so good to say that. I later found my people, I got more confident in my identity and I’m in a much different, much better place now.
From time to time though, I still think back to that phase in my life. It used to be a reflection of shame, in a ‘I can’t believe I ever thought like this’ way but now it’s in a ‘I can’t believe I had the strength to go through that and figure it out at that age’ way. It was hard but it was so necessary and also worth it. I’m glad I was tested in that manner so early in my journey because it meant I built something so unshakable that nothing can touch it.
This doesn’t mean I no longer falter, but it means that I know who I am, what I want and where I’m going. And if that ever changes, it’ll be on my terms and I’ll define the new conditions. Nobody else.
So yeah, if you were once a ‘humanist’ not a ‘feminist’, I understand. And if you’re there right now, I hope this gives you the strength to sort through your feelings. Not to say there’s anything wrong with humanism or any other identity choices, just that it should always be for the right reasons. Reasons you chose, and you alone.
Anyways, that’s all I have for you today. I hope this struggle of mine helps you give yourself more grace. Till next time, be great!
And remember,
Try, you must.
