The Wife. The Mother. The FEMINIST



I am not sure when it began but I can tell you there is no other way I can be. Perhaps, it was around age 17. Its when I would become pregnant and inherit the chip on my shoulders that single moms incur because statistically, all of the odds are against us. Fast forward to present day, I have four daughters and that comes with a tremendous amount of responsibility. You see, in the era of the #MeToo Movement, quaalude cocktails and private hotel room casting calls, I have no choice but to be a Feminist in my own right. While I have not been particularly victimized like many women have been, I have witnessed the turmoil and elongated healing process that women and girls face, as a result of their vocal cords being ripped from their throats and sometimes their innocence dismantled. Too close for comfort.

As a mother raising young ladies, it is easy to feel intimidated by what people feel are just social norms, and growing pains: and by what I deem and situations that are off limits and downright non-negotiable. I am protective over my children, I am sure you have gathered that by now.

I grew up in a matriarchal family where women were the individuals that were auditorily gifted. LOL! Using my voice (literally) is not anything new for me. However, as a mother the rules have shifted. I am an advocate for my girls. I cringe when I know they are being overlooked and I am