My mother was not a feminist

But she suffered all the same

For in all of the ways her life was poor,

A man was always to blame.

My mother spoke not of equality 

But surely she noticed it didn’t exist

So then who was this woman who raised me

If she was not a feminist?

My mother was raised in poverty

In a family plagued with violence

They say children learn what they live

And she watched her own mother suffer in silence.

My mother did not speak of this until I was older

These horrible truths that were part of her history

It did not occur to me at the time that the past

Would repeat itself and become her story.

My mother spoke not against domestic violence

As I watched her use makeup to cover a bruise

Surely she did not want this life for her daughter

So then why did she tolerate the abuse? 

My mother did not model healthy relationships

She always said she hated being alone

I watched her time and time again slide back into the arms

Of men I had hoped she’d outgrown.

My mother once wore a scarlet letter

That tainted both her reputation and mine

But through rumors and gossip, I learned from my mother

One action does not a person define.

My mother spoke not about mental illness

As I sometimes watched her cry in bed for days

She took Prozac, and one time, a few too many

But I was told it was just a phase.

My mother spoke out against no stigmas

After all, what would people think? 

She’d just take it in stride, brush it off with a smile,

And pour herself another drink.

My mother spoke not about women and addiction

As I watched and learned how to become comfortably numb

I never properly learned about addiction

Until after my own addictions, I had overcome.

My mother spoke not about women’s rights

But as a teen, she let me make my own choice

A haunting experience we never spoke of again

I think that was the seed from which grew my voice.

My mother spoke not of equality

But surely she noticed it didn’t exist

So then who was this woman who raised me

If she was not a feminist?

My mother - a feminist - she was not

She did not raise me to stand up, to resist

But after all, I am my mother’s legacy

She bore me - I AM A FEMINIST.

Heather Paladini is a poet, writer, and artist living as a transplant in the PNW. She finds her inspiration from the natural world all around her and from her personal experiences in life. Heather is a wild woman, a mother, a student of the Earth, a dreamer, a seeker, a maker and creator, a spiritual being, a romantic optimist, an environmentalist, and a feminist.