How to become a feminist

Writer, journalist and women´s rights activist Gloria Steinem died this week at the age of 92. She said a lot of smart things about women, men. power, equality and justice. Some years ago, I had come across an answer that she gave during a 2004 interview with Time magazine:

“Women tend to be conservative in youth and get more radical as they get older because they lose power with age. So if a young woman is not a feminist, I say “just wait”.”

https://time.com/archive/6738081/10-questions-for-gloria-steinem-2/

Bam! She struck such a chord with that statement. I think she is so right.

I would not have called myself a feminist in my youth or twenties. It was the 1980s and 90s, I was in school, later in university, I was working hard and I was excelling. I was achieving the goals I was setting for myself: getting that scholarship for a year abroad, doing my masters degree, training as a journalist at a prestigious media outlet, being hired at a cool, new daily paper as staff writer and editor in Germany. I was totally convinced that battles of the sexes were a thing of the past. I was the living proof that there was a level playing field, I thought.

That changed when I became a mother at the age of 32. With that choice – and it was an active choice that I would do again – my husband and I were faced with the question of how to manage care and pay work for our little family. I admit that our situation was special as I had moved from Hamburg to Mexico City, following my husband as he was starting his career; me being 30 weeks pregnant. Leaving my job behind. Today, I am sometimes wondering about the lack of critical thinking regarding that decision. I blame it on my youth (although I was not that young, really), the hormons and a somehow romantic idea about starting a family.

I am forgiving myself that I did not know then that becoming a mother is the most life changing experience. And: That actions have consequences. One of the consequences for my husband and me – being a binational couple, with not necessarily the language proficiency and qualifications to work in the other´s country – was that with that move we had set the foundation for him advancing in his career, while me taking on a much larger share of the care work; and basically developing laterally in my job, instead of moving up the ladder.

Our situation continued to be special as we decided to start an expat life with, in the end, another four moves, two of them transatlantic. Child 2 joined the family, me staying the primary caregiver, him being the breadwinner. After a while, I started working part-time. My husband´s hours were extremely unflexible. But that was a moment when I could have decided for myself that we needed outside help with the children and the home, so that also I could go back to work, for example full-time. We could have decided that, I should have demanded that. I did not. That derives from this romantic idea of a family – that the parents should raise their kids. But I did not realize that I would disadvantage my chances of returning into the job market with an appropriate position with that idea to do it alone.

In that time, I was not very advanced claiming women´s rights for myself, I am thinking today. I did not realize beforehand that being a parent is – besides maybe a calling – also an unpaid job, 24/7, that keeps you away from earning your own salary, developing in your career, and paying into your pension scheme. I wish someone had opened my and my husband’s eyes about that before we had taken that step. We might have had different discussions about it, or planned for it in a different way. I am still working on the level of policy analyst / project manager which is kind of the same as staff writer. And that more than 25 years after I first started with that kind of job. So, I have not gained economic and professional power in that time. Meaning, compared to others who maybe advanced, I have even lost power.

I lost even more power when my husband walked out on our marriage after more than 20 years. We had planned a life together, we had taken decisions together that had had different effects on him and me, and then from one day to the next this promise, this bond was broken. There was no common future anymore. 

Economically, a wife has more power than a separated woman or divorcée. A couple does financially better than two separated parents. The person with higher earning power still does better than the one with less income. Security and protection through the other are the trade-offs for taking on family responsabilities. In a situation like a break-up, those things are something of the past. Substitutes have to be negotiated in the run up to a divorce, if you have not had a prenup which is very unusual in Germany (and Mexico). What also happens is, among or after the hurting, frustration, sadness and anger, it hits you – bam – and you turn more radical. You become a feminist, full blown, realizing that you have always been one at least partly in the decades before.

December and memories

December has always had a special meaning for us.

For me, as a child, like so many others, because of Christmas. And because of my mum’s birthday right after the holidays. Later, I got together with my husband in that month – after a pub crawl with friends in our college in England. That was exactly 30 years ago. Five years later, we got married, also in the last month of the year. His mom’s birthday is in December. As a Mexican, that month is special anyhow, with the Dia de Guadalupe, the deeply worshiped virgin, and lots of “posada” celebrations in the weeks up to xmas eve.

That not being enough, our two sons were born in December and at the beginning of January. So, when the two of them grew up, the end of the year was also a stressful time, thinking about presents for two occasions, xmas dinner, and on which side of the Atlantic to celebrate the holidays. It was also a joyful time, with kids unwrapping the latest Lego Star Wars spacecraft and forgetting the world around them assembling it, enjoying a good meal, catching up with family and friends. As with every family, things are not always like they seem in glossy magazines or instagram posts, but there might be some tensions, misunderstandings, old wounds that have not healed.

December is definitely a busy time, and lots of people reminisce about the months that lie behind them. Some people send out letters, summarizing what they or their family did during the year; less and less, though. In modern times, Spotify sends you your “wrapped” telling you your most streamed artists, genres and “musical age”, and social media presents you your supposed “highlights”. All that is very self-centered, typical for the times we live in. But sometimes one can laugh about it with others and create moments of connection – my “musical age” is 21, my oldest son’s supposedly 60.

Memories and truth are two different things

Memories and truth are two different things. But for oneself, a memory of a moment is the truth. That memory might change over time. Three years ago, we celebrated the last Christmas as a family of four together. The year that followed will stay in all our memories as something disruptive, a huge change; hurtful, sad, to others maybe also liberating. My husband decided to separate, after more than 22 years of marriage. Since then, he and I go through both our lives on separate ways. We will always be bound through the years we spent together, with different memories, him and me, about those times, as we looked at events from our personal perspective. We are connected through the children we brought up, we are their parents, that will never change.

2023 was, without a doubt, the toughest year of my life. I am very grateful that 2024 looked more positive, and 2025 brighter, as I have been dealing with the consequences of that decision and action. That was hard work, and it will continue. Once one accepts such a break-up and has digested the most immediate blows, one can start, little by little, building something new for oneself, however that looks like.

2023 was also the year my mother-in-law died – suddenly, unexpected, gone. She passed away in December, a week before her birthday. She was a very important person to our family, logically for my husband, but also for me, and she was a beloved grandmother for my two sons. Her death was a great loss to all of us.

There is this saying: “We die twice: First, when we cease to be; second, when we are forgotten.” My mom-in-law had a lot of family and friends, and she will be remembered a long time, I am sure. The Mexican tradition of Dia de Muertos will help as well; putting up an altar at your house, with a photo of your loved ones that parted and their favorite food or drink or something they liked. There would be a tequila for her, maybe some liquorice (she liked the German sweet Lakritz, very unusual for a Mexican), a book of poetry. I have a lot of memories of her. She will live on, in my heart, for many, many years.

So, with these experiences, December and xmas have gotten even more meaningful to me than they already were. They also taught me to appreciate life, every single day, and be grateful for all the good things I have. There are a lot, and my memories are part of them. So are my plans for the future, and my deeds in the present.