Over the years, you become more aware of a feeling you couldn’t quite name as a little girl. A quiet sense of being watched, measured. Like even when no one is saying anything, there’s still something expected of you. You begin to recognize it as judgment, as this internalized pressure to perform a certain version of femininity. Not just be a girl, but be the right kind of girl.
Patterns start to show up everywhere, once you notice them. People adored your grandmother because she was selfless. Because she constantly took care of others often at her own expense. And you love her for that too. But at the same time, there’s this unspoken message underneath it all: this is what makes a woman worthy. This is how you are measured in a patriarchy engraved society. How much you give, how little you ask for in return.
Internalized misogyny isn’t always obvious. It’s not always loud or hateful. Sometimes it’s quiet, almost automatic. It shows up in insecurity, in comparison, in that weird sense of guilt you can’t explain. It’s in the moments where you catch yourself judging another girl more harshly than you would a guy (for being too loud, too confident, too much). And if you’re being honest, sometimes it’s not even about her. It’s about the parts of yourself you’ve been taught to tone down. It’s also in the standards you hold yourself to without ever stopping to ask, wait who told me this mattered so much?
On days when your hair won’t cooperate, your makeup feels off, and your skin is breaking out, something shifts. And it shouldn’t, but it does. You feel a little less confident, a little more aware of yourself. Like you have to make up for it in other ways. Be quieter, be nicer, be less noticeable. Like your worth is something that can drop without warning, just because you don’t look how you wanted to. I can’t count how many times I’ve walked into a room and immediately felt less entitled to be there. Not because of anything I did, but just because I didn’t feel pretty or collected enough that day. And it’s frustrating, because logically, you know that’s not what matters. You know your worth isn’t your appearance. It lingers anyway though.
And then there’s social media, which somehow makes everything louder and more confusing at the same time. There’s this very specific version of femininity that gets praised. Naturally pretty, agreeable, unproblematic. Who’s unlikely to take up too much space. But at the same time, you’re also told to be independent, confident, and strong. Just not too much. Not in a way that makes people uncomfortable. It’s almost like you’re constantly walking this invisible line, trying to be everything at once. Pretty but not attention seeking. Confident but not intimidating. Soft but not weak. And it’s exhausting, even if you don’t always realize it. And somewhere in the middle of all that, your integrity starts to shrink.
You hesitate before speaking, even when you have something to say. You replay things in your head after you say them, wondering if you sounded “too much.” You soften your opinions, laugh things off, make yourself smaller in ways that feel automatic. Not because you’re wrong. But because, deep down, you’ve been taught that being liked is safer than being fully seen.
By trying to defy our gender, we reinforce that such women (unintelligent, obsessed with looks, overly emotional and dramatic) exist. We rise above the patriarchy by reinforcing it for other females. But questioning these feelings, that’s where something shifts. Where did I learn this? What benefits me from feeling this way? Would I say this to another girl?
Would I want someone I care about feeling like this?
Unlearning internalized misogyny isn’t about becoming perfect or never having these thoughts again. It’s about catching them in the moment. It’s about that pause where you go, wait… that’s not actually mine. That’s something I learned out of a subtle quilt. It’s choosing, little by little, not to believe every harsh thought that shows up. Letting yourself exist without constantly editing who you are. You’re not more valuable when you are smaller, quieter, or easier to handle. You are not more worthy when you give so much of yourself that there’s nothing left. And you don’t owe anyone a version of yourself that is easier to accept, easier to love, or easier to ignore. You’re allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to be seen exactly as you are, even on the days you aren’t your perfect self.
