Feminism (Almost) Ruined My Life

The title of this video isn’t hyperbole, as a child of a baby boomer I struggle with whether or not my mom’s feminism (and my own) almost ruined my life.

This is my journey as a reformed feminist. I’ve never been denied a promotion because of my gender, I’ve been unhappy working long hours doing things I didn’t want to do, I’ve put off having children until now I worry that it’s too late, and I’ve lost some important professional connections because of my vocal evolution from feminism to egalitarianism.

But over the last 50-60 years we’ve seen feminism morph into modern misandry that’s scary, exclusionary and divisive. And what’s worse: we’re now seeing it start to have violent consequences as men across the world, many of them without a father figure in the home, are committing unspeakable acts of violence.

LoveA week ago today, I married the love of my life, and my mom was there to support me. But deep down, I know she doesn’t. Because despite hers, and my own, best efforts to keep me a childless, miserable workaholic I’m in the best place of my life right now and it’s not at all what she planned for me or what I thought I wanted for myself. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been: mentally, physically and spiritually healthy and it’s all centered around my role as a homemaker and yoga teacher while trying to start a family. And I honestly think that the way I live my life disappoints her.

So my feelings about feminism are complex and conflicted, because I see women around the world who need my voice as a free, American citizen. But I also see how this false narrative of inequality can destroy the lives of women my age in the U.S. and other western civilizations who struggle with identitarianism and the championing of victimhood.

I’m not saying that one way is better than the other, but women who choose more traditional roles shouldn’t be looked down on for that. Choosing to stay home and manage your household, raise children, support your spouse, those are tough choices to make and they’re incredibly rewarding. Anyone who devotes their lives to their families should be celebrated, not denigrated.

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  1. I don’t think feminism mandates that one make the choice to be childless or be a workaholic. I’ve known many feminists who stayed at home for all or part of the child raising years. Of course not everyone has the economic freedom to stay at home.


    • I agree that it’s not a mandate, and a real believer in the true definition of feminism as it relates to equality of the sexes would say the same thing. I’m glad that you and your friends haven’t experienced this in your lives. Unfortunately the modern feminist movement is being taken over by bigots– whether it’s hatred for men, hatred for feminine women who choose to embrace traditional gender roles, hatred for Jews for some reason if you’re talking about the Women’s March, hatred for Christians or anyone else who doesn’t completely support LGBT lifestyles, hatred for anyone who fights for the rights of unborn women, I could go on but these are all “others” now many people that call themselves feminists and it’s turning a lot of others away from that label.


  2. Hi Vanessa, I’m subbed to your YouTube channel, but seem to have caused unwanted ripples in the water the Good Censors at YouTube police on our behalf. In a word, I appear to be shadowbanned for some unknown transgression, and some of my more heartfelt comments have mysteriously vanished into the ether.

    This letter will briefly touch on my experience as a fellow suicide and feminism survivor. First, the suicide attempt, or rather, the personality that rose from the wreckage of my former life. It happened about three years ago, and for two of those years, I was on a heady cocktail of antidepressants and anti psychotic medication.

    However, without consulting my wife, friends or psychologist, I took the plunge, and just stopped taking them all. I was on a very low dosage by them, and felt I was ready, despite the protestations of everyone around me, to live my life without stabilisers. Since that time, my uncharacteristic timidity and uncertainty has vanished, to be replaced by a sort of grim fatalism and stoicism, which I imagine would have been the default mindset of my venerated pre-Christian Celtic ancestors. I’m a pagan btw. More here, on the beliefs that have shaped my world view.

    Regarding surviving feminism, well, yeah, me too.

    My own mother’s and my story are a neat microcosm of the political climate we are currently living through. A brief summary of my life with her: she divorced my dad, after cheating on him, when I was a babe in arms. He disappeared, leaving myself and my sister to be raised in not so genteel poverty, but resurfaced 32 years later, all contrition and trembling voice, blubbering out his well rehearsed, pathetic apology. I played the part of the dutiful, magnanimous son, but behind the thoughtful expression, was a satanic hatred, that persists to this day, and that his death two years ago, has not softened in the slightest.

    She was the eldest of four, raised in a fairly austere, traditional Scottish Catholic home, just outside Glasgow. My wonderful aunt and uncles have given me chapter and verse on the malign influence she was in their lives, and their relief when she left home.

    She honoured her parents’ efforts, by rebelling in the most predictable way a lapsed Catholic could. Like many unimaginative people, trying to ‘find herself’, involved flirtation with eastern philosophies and religions, nebulous notions of spirituality, a roster of lovers, that would have made Messalina blush, and of course, radical feminism and periodic bouts of veganism. PETA literature, and the works of Andrea Dworkin found space on our bookshelf, and a giant poster of Angela Davis adorned the living room wall for years.

    This was the 70s and 80s, when radical feminists were a novelty, if not a downright oddity. But, my mum was quite the trailblazer in this regard. As I entered adolescence, without any prompting from me, regarding my desire to meet girls, or bring any to the house (not that I ever would), she vented her frustration at being fucked and chucked by countless lovers at me. All men were potential rapists, you’re entering a dangerous phase of your life, etc.

    In the absence of a rational, male counter-narrative, I grew to fear my own emergent sexuality, and the confident boy, who was a big hit with the girls at primary school (I think that’s the American Grade School in the UK), was slowly replaced by a shy. hesitant teenager, with little to no ‘game’ to speak of.

    I left home at 16, never to see her again, and have largely thrown off her shackles. In the intervening years, my politics have crept, and in the last three years, lurched decidedly to the right. Some might characterise this as a rebellion. I agree. A rebellion from insanity, narcissism and self destruction. In spite of the poison she poured in my ear, I managed to meet my soulmate, raise a family with the proceeds of my lifelong, dream job, and have kept my more extreme views largely at arms length.

    There are still times, even now, in my late 40s, where I’m consumed with silent rage, and bottomless loathing for my parents. I take a twisted comfort knowing that my ‘father’ met his infant grandson only once, briefly, and that my mum never will. The pair of them aren’t fit to kiss my children’s feet. Perhaps this line of thought is ultimately destructive. But I’m reminded of John Lydon’s lyrics from the Public Image Ltd song ‘Rise’, where he says, “Anger is an energy”. Well, I’ve got enough to power the national grid, and for now, am happy with it.

    If you’ve managed to reach the end of this rant, without dismissing me as a reactionary crank, I thank you. If you’d like to see the fruits of that “dream job”, and like what you see, feel free to download and print whatever you like, free of charge.

    Thanks a million Vanessa. You’re a rare jewel, with an inspiring story to tell

    All the best from Northern England



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