"For the record, feminism, by definition, is the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities. It is the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes.” –Emma Watson

Before, I would never go so far as to call myself a feminist.  I have never taken a bullet for the right to an education on behalf of countries of young girls; I have never been appointed the role of UN Women’s Goodwill Ambassador, nor received a Nobel Prize.   I have never even spoken publicly about women’s rights.  It wasn’t until I found myself buried deep in a vastly unexpected conversation that I made a realization which allowed me to become a stronger, firmer advocator for what I believed in.

It was a black and white routine that fit into a black and white day; my friends and I were gathered in the locker room after our fourth period gym class, attempting to humanize ourselves once again for the last class of the day.  I and a few other girls had previously been discussing the U.S. election, more specifically something along the lines of the now presidents’ apparent lack of respect for women.  There we were, simultaneously agreeing with one another’s opinions of the subject, when I noticed the other girls in my class listening in on our conversation.  This didn’t particularly strike me as odd since most of them were probably thinking the same things we’d already said.  One by one it seemed, each of them inserted them self into the conversation until we were a room of students participating in an unlikely, yet intelligent conversation.  Slowly but surely, I found myself preaching to the entire room of girls about subjects like women’s rights and domestic violence; their heads nodding in synchronization to the rhythm of my statements.  We were exploring the topic of feminism whether we knew it or not.

After answering questions, reciting quotes, and sharing both evidence and opinions for what barely seemed like more than a couple of minutes, I was asked the inevitable question.  A girl in my gym class had asked me about the “F” word.   

In that moment, it was clear to me, my answer, for I believed in the equality of women.  “Yes,” I replied.  I had stated something I had inadvertently already decided, and it felt good.  I was a feminist, though I hadn’t realized it.  

“You’re not one of those like, crazy feminists, though, right?” Someone else asked, my euphoria coming to an abrupt halt.  What was a ‘crazy feminist,’ I remember wondering.  If it meant that I passionately disagreed with someone else’s sexist opinion, then I guess that’s what I was.

“Yes,” I told her, having not yet realized how unpopular the term was in the easily swayable minds of my adolescent peers.  When I turned around, every single person in that room looked at me in disgust.  Ironically, every single person in that room was female, yet each of them feared to identify as a feminist.  

In my understanding, to say that you do not believe in feminism is to say that you do not think women should be afforded the same rights as men; you do not support gender equality.  It, therefore, seemed to me indisputable that most individuals should agree with feminism, especially those closest to me, whom I regularly exchanged opinions and views with regarding this particular topic.  This is why, to this very minute, I do not comprehend how these situations are still extremely common with my generation; I do not comprehend how the term ‘feminist’ is perceived as derogatory, insulting, and unworthy.  Naturally, being born the daughter to two strong-willed, resolute people who each came from a long line of inadvertent feminists, I channeled that confusion into determination.  

From that day forward, I swore that one day, my daughter would grow up in a world where she is paid the same as her male counterpart; where she is in charge of the decisions regarding her own body; where she does not have a 1 in 6 chance of becoming a victim of rape.  From that day forward, I swore to embrace the part of me that many dubbed ‘a crazy feminist.’  When I did not see the slight nods and looks of approval I had expected and instead received blatant stares and whispers, I decided I was a feminist.  When my friends on Facebook felt the need to reassure their audience that they were not the dreaded “F” word after posting something regarding women, I decided that I was a feminist.  When a room full of girls could openly tell me that they did not believe in feminism, I decided I was a feminist.