There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil’s advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women’s Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that’s so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.

Melissa McEwan, of course, on the terrible bargain. My life as a woman, as a queer person, as a fat person, is not your thought experiment.  (via sanitywatchers)

This really struck a chord. Even my boyfriend, feminist that he is, can have this reaction when I’m in tears after an NPR story. This is my fucking life. Excuse me if I can’t remove the personal. 

(via curiousgeorgiana)

I reblogged this before, but I like it a lot so I’m reblogging it again. 

This whole thing is the reason why confrontations with people that I consider friends always leaves me crying. Like, I get so angry and so flustered because it’s not just some stupid game to me, like it is to them. It’s something that’s real and personal.

(via liquidiousfleshbag)

I will always reblog this.

(via loveintheshadowsistheonlykind)

Oh gosh, this.

(via rambunctiously)

This reminds me most vividly of that one time I was mad after some fucked up stuff was said in a class I was taking on feminism, and when my friends and I were talking about it after class, and I was vocal about how mad I was, some guy none of us knew who had literally just overheard us talking about “feminism” swept into this conversation no one invited him to and was like “oh great, I love talking about this kind of stuff!”
You bet your ass I didn’t let him get any farther with that bullshit - and this is why. You wanna talk about feminism? Cool. You wanna talk critically about feminism? Cool. But anyone who decides the best way to do that is by butting the fuck into a conversation between three strange women one of whom is talking about how angry she is and being so fucking eager to speak to this one “emotional woman” is going to be held suspect.
And especially when what made me so mad about the class discussion in the first place was ignorant what-about-the-men shit that kept coming up over and over - and this asshole knew that.

(via misandryspice)

Posted 1 year ago with 19,515 notes
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