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.

Images courtesy of John Scully, Walden University, Ingrid Scully
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Since March of 2020, over 29 million Americans have been diagnosed with COVID-19, according to the CDC. Over 540,000 have died in the United States as this unprecedented pandemic has swept the globe. And yet, by the end of 2020, it looked like science was winning: vaccines had been developed.

In celebration of the power of science we spoke to three people: an individual, a medical provider, and a vaccine scientist about how vaccines have impacted them throughout their lives. Here are their answers:

John Scully, 79, resident of Florida

Photo courtesy of John Scully

When John Scully was born, America was in the midst of an epidemic: tens of thousands of children in the United States were falling ill with paralytic poliomyelitis — otherwise known as polio, a disease that attacks the central nervous system and often leaves its victims partially or fully paralyzed.

"As kids, we were all afraid of getting polio," he says, "because if you got polio, you could end up in the dreaded iron lung and we were all terrified of those." Iron lungs were respirators that enclosed most of a person's body; people with severe cases often would end up in these respirators as they fought for their lives.

John remembers going to see matinee showings of cowboy movies on Saturdays and, before the movie, shorts would run. "Usually they showed the news," he says, "but I just remember seeing this one clip warning us about polio and it just showed all these kids in iron lungs." If kids survived the iron lung, they'd often come back to school on crutches, in leg braces, or in wheelchairs.

"We all tried to be really careful in the summer — or, as we called it back then, 'polio season,''" John says. This was because every year around Memorial Day, major outbreaks would begin to emerge and they'd spike sometime around August. People weren't really sure how the disease spread at the time, but many believed it traveled through the water. There was no cure — and every child was susceptible to getting sick with it.

"We couldn't swim in hot weather," he remembers, "and the municipal outdoor pool would close down in August."

Then, in 1954 clinical trials began for Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine against polio and within a year, his vaccine was announced safe. "I got that vaccine at school," John says. Within two years, U.S. polio cases had dropped 85-95 percent — even before a second vaccine was developed by Dr. Albert Sabin in the 1960s. "I remember how much better things got after the vaccines came out. They changed everything," John says.

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