Hear me roar

Although I spend a lot of time reading all kinds of blogs and sites — from Jezebel to Racialicious to Unfunnybusiness — I tend to consider myself more of a “lurking” feminist than an actively vocal one. I’ll read everything out there, seethe quietly unless the issue somehow relates to soaps and I can talk about it in my Soap Opera Weekly column and generally think, “You know, I’m not that hardcore.”

But, then, there are these times where I hear myself speaking to people in daily life, educating them, using phrases like “rape apology” and “victim blaming” and “trigger” and I realize that everything I think is internal is actually right there on the surface. I realize that I tweet my rage, I blog my rage. I do let my voice be heard, and it is a voice that wants other people to understand how important it is to respect a woman’s body and her mind and her rights.

I had that moment today, when I sort of stepped outside my body and watched myself talk about violence against women and society’s perception of victims— using language I thought only the “academic” bloggers out there used. You know, the people who take Women’s Studies classes out the wazu and bleed feminist theory and generally know way more about this than I do. Hunh, I thought. Maybe I know what I’m talking about, too. It was remarkable.

Maybe it doesn’t come from books. From professors and classes. Maybe it just comes from your soul. Maybe it’s a primal scream echoing over the rooftops of the world. (Take your “barbaric yawp” and stuff it, Walt Whitman.) And maybe it’s just my common sense, reminding me that silence is a form of acceptance and education and discourse is the best weapon we have.

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