A long time ago (before children), I was trained to be a counselor for women, learning the ways of patriarchy and misogyny.  I loved every minute of being surrounded by feminists and I wanted to be one.

I was a young twenty something who was going to make big changes. And I did, in myself mostly. My girly girl was silenced, because I wanted to fit in. I felt like I had to be a certain way to be good enough.

I don’t blame the women I was with. They were strong minded and happy to own their opinions. My problem was I had no idea how to do that. There seemed to be no balance, and I didn’t realize you could be your own version of a feminist.

When I got engaged one of my mentors seemed disappointed. Her face said it all. I had let the team down. I had surrendered to oppression and was going to the dark side (or maybe she had been married before). Hard to say, but there would be a  struggle with my wants and the desire to be the best feminist I thought I had to be.

When I had my first child, a daughter, I was Hell-bound on making her a feminist too.  She wouldn’t see pink, because I wouldn’t accept it as a gift. People knew not to bother. She was not going to be playing with Barbie, pretend vacuums or fake make-up.

I was projecting big time.

And then it happened. My Bob the Builder loving, two year old went to her first girly party. She came home with a grab bag vomiting sparkles, fairies and oppression. This one party fueled her fierce desire to dress and play like a pink, glitter-bug prancing freak.

I was horrified. I worked too hard for this. I grabbed the train set, pin striped overalls and my moustache. She took banned glitter glue from a purse she hid under her bed and smacked a tiara on my head.

I had to let go a little. She could dress up like a princess but would be referred to as” Queen”, for that’s who reigns. Nice try. She was strong-willed and was buttering Granny up for Barbies and Disney Princess swag a week into her transition from my ideal to her self.

I am so happy she refused to back down. She found ways around my agenda and let her desire shine. This allowed me to bring back my inner girly girl who had been snuffed out.

We wore pink, and lots of glitter. We were so happy playing dress up and Barbies. I still do. She however, at nine has started wearing blue, purple and black. Cause they are just colours to her.  Her Halloween costume this year was Hermione from Harry Potter because she wanted to cast spells.

I’m not sure if she let go of pink because it was a phase done or if she simply saw the rest of the rainbow as hers to explore.

Either way my inner Cinderella thanks her for the rescue.


Angila has been writing since 1979 when she received her first diary, filling it with boy crazy nonsense and girly drama. It wasn't until the 21st century that she discovered writing was a healing tool to release inner chaos. When Facebook was invented Angila, who is an attention whore reveled in receiving likes and shares. Comments started pouring in that she should write a book. Knowing her lack of follow through and commitment issues, Angila ignored the advice and chose to blog. Detached From Logic is where she currently vomits her creative juices and allows the voices in her head a digital soap box. Her life long dream of having fans came when wordpress announced she had one follower. Unlike the stalkers in her life this one felt acceptable and welcomed.

1 Comment

  1. I love this! They are such little individuals aren’t they. And yet, they’re such parrots. Soon, she will have the mighty power of logic. And you’ll be able to reason feminism into her…

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