“Damned If We Do, Damned If We Don’t”

“If passion, loudness, and conviction are crimes for a woman, then yes, I am guilty. Guilty as HELL” … Read More Below:

I am sick of lying, of softening myself, of being told to “tone it down” simply because I exist as a woman with a voice.
 I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently – not just about debates, or losing debates, or the endless cycle of judges telling me one week I am too quiet, the next week too assertive – but about women in every space that demands a voice: politics, literature, music, life itself. The constant, unending pressure to be just right. Never too loud, never too meek, never too assertive, never too passive.  To find that impossible Goldilock-zone. And yet, somehow, always judged. Always scrutinized. Always found wanting.

Take The Great Gatsby. Honestly, I can’t read it anymore without grinding my teeth. Daisy Buchanan. The way she is written about, the way critics describe her, makes my blood boil. She is pathetic. Boring. Meek. Simplified. Reduced to her money, her pretty voice, her indecisive fluttering. And why is she like that? Because she is taught to be. To survive in her world. To protect herself. She doesn’t act on her desires, doesn’t break rules—she obeys them. And what do critics do? They tear her apart for it. Look down on her for existing within the constraints imposed on her. Disgusting, pathetic, boring, plain. I swear these are words I’ve read. Words describing someone who is surviving in the only way she knows how. And we celebrate men for the same passivity, the same caution, the same compromise.
Then there’s Myrtle Wilson. And oh, how everyone loathheeees Myrtle. Vulgar. Loud. Pushy. Dressed in flashy, almost desperate clothing. Speaking with a brashness that makes men uncomfortable. Cheating on her husband, climbing socially, reaching. And people are disgusted by her. Modern readers still judge her. Still look down on her. Yet Daisy, who is passive, is pitied – or worse, mocked – and Myrtle, who dares, is condemned. What the fuck do we want from women? What is the acceptable amount of ambition, assertiveness, desire, or personality?
 
This pattern repeats itself everywhere. Mary Daly, for example. I know some would say she is too radical. Too extreme. Too angry. And maybe she is. But even if she is, it doesn’t erase the point. She is a woman with a voice, with impact, with ideas, with audacity. And people hate her for it. They want her silenced, written off, reduced, belittled. And the reason is obvious: women are not meant to be too much. Not loud. Not assertive. Not powerful. There is a box, and if we break out of it, we are told its too much.

I see it in debates, too. I am passionate, assertive, engaged. I speak with conviction. I argue with energy. And then of course, I am told I am “too much.” Too loud. Too aggressive. Too overwhelming. Meanwhile, a male peer can speak, argue, and shout in the exact same way – and it’s celebrated as “bold,” “engaging,” “dynamic.” There is no balance. There is only judgment. Too much or too little. Never right. And it is exhausting. I can feel my energy shrinking, my voice shrinking, as I try to navigate this impossible world.
 
There’s a song that came out recently called The Hand, and a lyric hits like a hammer:
“Every time I open my mouth I think, wow, what a loud noise / Still on the soapbox, just hoping I seem underwhelmed.”
Yes. Precisely. Every time I assert myself, I am reminded to tone it down. Every time I speak with clarity, energy, passion, I am told I am too aggressive. And if I do tone it down, I am too quiet. Too passive. Too small. There is no winning. There is no “right” way for a woman to exist with a voice, with ambition, with intelligence, with passion.
Politics is the same. Look at every female politician who dared to raise her voice. Hillary Clinton: “shrill,” “overbearing,” “unlikable.” Margaret Thatcher: “Iron Lady,” feared, hated, vilified. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez: aggressive, rude, unfit. And their male counterparts? Bold. Strong. Leaders. Even men who lie, cheat, shout, or bully are celebrated as decisive, authoritative, charismatic. Women? Punished for the exact same traits. And do people even realize how systematically this is enforced?
They treat female passion as aggression, female energy as obnoxiousness, female conviction as a threat.

I am sick of this. I am sick of living in this limbo, unsure if I should amplify myself or shrink myself. I am sick of being told to “dial it back” and then “be bolder.” the very next day! I am sick of being told that my natural tone, my natural energy, my natural engagement, is unacceptable simply because I am a woman. Men can speak, act, and be “normal,” whatever that means, and no one questions it. Me? I am “aggressive.”
 And it is not just debates. This is everywhere. In literature, in music, in politics, in the workplace, in everyday life. Women are forced to negotiate themselves constantly, to figure out the “acceptable” amount of personality, assertiveness, sexuality, humour, anger, cleverness.
 
It fills me with a rage that I can barely articulate. It is not just frustration; it is fury. Because I see it everywhere. Daisy and Myrtle. Mary Daly. AOC. Hillary. Margaret Thatcher. Me, in my school debates. All of us, navigating the impossible paradox of being too much or too little. And it is systemic. It is cultural. It is enraging because it is everywhere, and yet so invisible. People don’t notice their complicity. They think it is normal. That women should adjust themselves. That women should learn the “right” way to exist.
 
And let me be clear: I am not meek. I am not vulgar. I am not asking for permission to speak. I am not waiting for approval. I am not here to soften myself so the world will like me. I exist fully. I speak fully. I assert myself fully. And I will continue to do so, no matter how “too much” it is considered. Because if passion, intelligence, and conviction are crimes for a woman, then yes, I am guilty. Guilty as hell.

We are not too much. We are not too little. We are not vulgar. We are not pathetic. We are human. And to the people who want to box us, diminish us, and punish us for existing fully: the problem isn’t us. It is you.

So yes, I am angry. And I will stay angry. Because if I stop being angry, then I stop existing fully. And I refuse. I refuse to be quieted. I refuse to be diminished. I refuse to live in the shadow of someone else’s comfort. I will speak. I will act. I will assert. I will demand space. And I will not apologize for it.