This bride's cold feet had nothing to do with her fiancé. It had to do with her feminism.

“What does it mean to be a feminist and a wife?”

This question was on my mind a week before my wedding. For any woman who is a proud feminist, as I grew up, the decision to get married may not be an easy one. Although I dreamed of a fairy tale happy ending as a little girl, these days I was much more comfortable spending my days doing whatever I wanted — from traveling to Copenhagen on my own to working on my memoir to making strides in my career. For a long time, I was focused on bettering my life and pretty much only worrying about what I wanted to accomplish with it. Until I fell in love.

Falling in love, getting engaged, and planning my elopement changed things for me. For the first time in my life, I was in a relationship that I felt was a true partnership with a person who supported me no matter what, who truly loved me, and who believed in feminism and equality as much as I do. But despite our strong partnership, I still had a lot of conflicting feelings about walking down the aisle. What wedding traditions did I want to partake in? Should I change my last name even though it feels like such a crucial part of my identity as a Latina? And, most of all, how do I continue to be me even though I’m now also someone’s wife?


One of the things I struggled with in the beginning was the idea of being someone’s “wife.”

Although it means different things to different people, the image that first pops into my head is that of a doting woman who cleans, cooks, and raises the children. Obviously, it’s not the 1950s, and my husband did not decide to marry me because I promised to do all these things for him (though, I admit, I absolutely love cooking — but that started long before I met him). In fact, we got engaged in a more modern way: By talking about out future and deciding that we both wanted to get married to each other. There was no surprise proposal or diamond ring, but instead we made a practical, yet romantic decision to spend the rest of our lives together.

Why was I still afraid of losing my feminist identity after we tied the knot?

I think that, no matter how much of an independent, feminist person I am, I still have a strong pull to take care of other people. In fact, as my husband has recently been pointing out, I am much more comfortable taking care of the needs of others than my own. My Latina upbringing taught me that cleaning up after others, making dinner, and never putting myself first was the way to go. And although I know this isn’t necessary, it is still my instinct to make sure that my husband is eating lunch before I even think of feeding myself. I have to actively stop myself from thinking about someone else and remind myself that self-care is just as important as caring for others.

Being a feminist, to me, means caring about the equality of people and actively doing what I can to advance human rights and advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves.

But it also means making sure that I live by those principles in my own life, such as asking my husband to take care of the laundry (usually my chore) if I need some extra R&R on the weekend or bringing home dinner on days I have to work late. Of course, it also means sometimes picking up the slack and doing the dishes (typically his chore) when I see that he has to catch up some things at the end of the day and I don’t. After all, equality should be about being equals, and being equal means that sometimes he helps out more and sometimes I help out more.

As I continued to struggle with the question of being a married feminist, I posed it to a few friends and one of them summed things up perfectly:

"I think it means whatever you want it to mean. You are in an equal partnership. You split the work and both support and build up each other. If you take on more of the traditionally feminine roles, like cooking, do so because you want to and enjoy it, and enjoy supporting him in this role, and not because someone is telling you that is what you should do. And if he wants to take on those roles too, great! Like I said, equal partnership."

Of course, a "feminist marriage" doesn’t necessarily mean that things are completely 50/50 all the time. For example, my husband makes more money than I do and will likely continue to do so just based on the nature of our jobs. I will likely take care of more of the child rearing when we decide to have kids because I work from home and I also want to. As with anything in a relationship, sometimes you have to compromise.

At the end of the day, what makes one a feminist is their belief in equality.

And what reinforces that belief is that people have the ability to choose their own paths in life. You can choose to get married or not get married. You can choose to change your last name or keep your birth name. But all in all, you can choose to have a relationship that is full of love, support, and a (fairly) equal division of labor. Oh, and one that encourages your feminist ideals of course.

This story originally appeared on HipLatina and is reprinted here with permission.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
True

Glenda moved to Houston from Ohio just before the pandemic hit. She didn't know that COVID-19-related delays would make it difficult to get her Texas driver's license and apply for unemployment benefits. She quickly found herself in an impossible situation — stranded in a strange place without money for food, gas, or a job to provide what she needed.

Alone, hungry, and scared, Glenda dialed 2-1-1 for help. The person on the other end of the line directed her to the Houston-based nonprofit Bread of Life, founded by St. John's United Methodist pastors Rudy and Juanita Rasmus.

For nearly 30 years, Bread of Life has been at the forefront of HIV/AIDS prevention, eliminating food insecurity, providing permanent housing to formerly homeless individuals and disaster relief.

Glenda sat in her car for 20 minutes outside of the building, trying to muster up the courage to get out and ask for help. She'd never been in this situation before, and she was terrified.

When she finally got out, she encountered Eva Thibaudeau, who happened to be walking down the street at the exact same time. Thibaudeau is the CEO of Temenos CDC, a nonprofit multi-unit housing development also founded by the Rasmuses, with a mission to serve Midtown Houston's homeless population.

Keep Reading Show less

Eight months into the coronavirus pandemic, many of us are feeling the weight of it growing heavier and heavier. We miss normal life. We miss our friends. We miss travel. We miss not having to mentally measure six feet everywhere we go.

Maybe that's what was on Edmund O'Leary's mind when he tweeted on Friday. Or maybe he had some personal issues or challenges he was dealing with. After all, it's not like people didn't struggle pre-COVID. Now, we just have the added stress of a pandemic on top of our normal mental and emotional upheavals.

Whatever it was, Edmund decided to reach out to Twitter and share what he was feeling.

"I am not ok," he wrote. "Feeling rock bottom. Please take a few seconds to say hello if you see this tweet. Thank you."

O'Leary didn't have a huge Twitter following, but somehow his tweet started getting around quickly. Response after response started flowing in from all over the world, even from some famous folks. Thousands of people seemed to resonate with Edmund's sweet and honest call for help and rallied to send him support and good cheer.

Keep Reading Show less
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
True

Glenda moved to Houston from Ohio just before the pandemic hit. She didn't know that COVID-19-related delays would make it difficult to get her Texas driver's license and apply for unemployment benefits. She quickly found herself in an impossible situation — stranded in a strange place without money for food, gas, or a job to provide what she needed.

Alone, hungry, and scared, Glenda dialed 2-1-1 for help. The person on the other end of the line directed her to the Houston-based nonprofit Bread of Life, founded by St. John's United Methodist pastors Rudy and Juanita Rasmus.

For nearly 30 years, Bread of Life has been at the forefront of HIV/AIDS prevention, eliminating food insecurity, providing permanent housing to formerly homeless individuals and disaster relief.

Glenda sat in her car for 20 minutes outside of the building, trying to muster up the courage to get out and ask for help. She'd never been in this situation before, and she was terrified.

When she finally got out, she encountered Eva Thibaudeau, who happened to be walking down the street at the exact same time. Thibaudeau is the CEO of Temenos CDC, a nonprofit multi-unit housing development also founded by the Rasmuses, with a mission to serve Midtown Houston's homeless population.

Keep Reading Show less

The subject of late-term abortions has been brought up repeatedly during this election season, with President Trump making the outrageous claim that Democrats are in favor of executing babies.

This message grossly misrepresents what late-term abortion actually is, as well as what pro-choice advocates are actually "in favor of." No one is in favor of someone having a specific medical procedure—that would require being involved in someone's individual medical care—but rather they are in favor of keeping the government out of decisions about specific medical procedures.

Pete Buttigieg, who has become a media surrogate for the Biden campaign—and quite an effective one at that—addressed this issue in a Fox News town hall when he was on the campaign trail himself. When Chris Wallace asked him directly about late-term abortions, Buttigieg answered Wallace's questions is the best way possible.

"Do you believe, at any point in pregnancy, whether it's at six weeks or eight weeks or 24 weeks or whenever, that there should be any limit on a woman's right to have an abortion?" Wallace asked.

Keep Reading Show less

When it comes to the topic of race, we all have questions. And sometimes, it honestly can be embarrassing to ask perfectly well-intentioned questions lest someone accuse you of being ignorant, or worse, racist, for simply admitting you don't know the answer.

America has a complicated history with race. For as long as we've been a country, our culture, politics and commerce have been structured in a way to deny our nation's past crimes, minimize the structural and systemic racism that still exists and make the entire discussion one that most people would rather simply not have.

For example, have you ever wondered what's really behind the term Black Pride? Is it an uplifting phrase for the Black community or a divisive term? Most people instinctively put the term "White Pride" in a negative context. Is there such a thing as non-racist, racial pride for white people? And while we're at it, what about Asian people, Native Americans, and so on?

Yes, a lot of people raise these questions with bad intent. But if you've ever genuinely wanted an answer, either for yourself or so that you best know how to handle the question when talking to someone with racist views, writer/director Michael McWhorter put together a short, simple and irrefutable video clip explaining why "White Pride" isn't a real thing, why "Black Pride" is and all the little details in between.


Keep Reading Show less