As my 8-year-old daughter, Lily, tossed a football with her dad, a stranger strolled by and commented on her impressive skills. It was unclear if he was surprised because she was a girl, but the implication was certainly there. After this “compliment,” I heard my husband say, “Yeah, she has two brothers.” Instantly, I cringed. The notion that Lily’s talent was noteworthy simply because she was a girl—and that her brothers somehow contributed to her skills—struck a nerve I didn’t realize was there until I became a mother.
Growing up, I was aware of the different expectations placed on me compared to my brother. As a teenager, I absorbed the warnings my parents often gave to my sisters and me, but not to him. As a young adult, I faced the reality that I would likely earn less than my male peers and dealt with unwanted attention while walking down the street. Although I didn’t mind the disparity at the time, I often felt annoyed by the compliments I received for my appearance, while achievements were rarely recognized.
I understood that women faced inequalities in society, but I never felt compelled to take action or let it shape my life choices—until I became the mother of a daughter.
I know I’ll probably caution my daughter, Lily, more than my son, Jake, about the dangers of the world. It’s a bias I recognize and won’t pretend to ignore. I will teach Lily that she can excel in any field—be it the arts, sciences, or sports—and that she has every right to demand equal treatment. When someone praises her with a hint of surprise, she can simply respond with a gracious “thank you” or a confident “I’ve been practicing.” No further explanation needed.
I’m not oblivious; growing up with brothers who play sports can certainly help Lily sharpen her skills. But not every boy is into sports, and girls don’t exclusively play with dolls. You can’t force a child to have specific interests, nor can you attribute one’s abilities solely to their siblings. I doubt fathers of boys would ever feel the need to qualify their sons’ athleticism.
Lily can throw and catch a football because she has trained hard, and her ability has nothing to do with her siblings. She doesn’t need to be qualified. I have no doubt about that.
While I avoid heavy labels, if teaching my bright, creative, strong, and undeniably adorable daughter this crucial lesson falls under the umbrella of feminism, I’m all for it.
For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out this excellent resource or explore our guide to intracervical insemination, which offers valuable information on the topic. Interested in boosting your fertility? Discover more about the at-home intracervical insemination syringe kit here!
Summary:
The author reflects on how becoming a mother to a daughter transformed her perspective on gender equality and feminism. She emphasizes the need to empower her daughter, Lily, to embrace her skills and talents without the need for qualification based on gender. This journey of motherhood has inspired her to advocate for equal treatment and recognition for women.