My mother loved words. She knew a lot of poetry by heart. She had been a writer before I was born, though I didn’t know that till I was in my teens. Because she had given up her life [to raise a family] she was very depressed often, and unable to function. In many ways I feel I’m living out her unlived life.
I used to be a “pretty girl”, if I made an effort. But I was never considered beautiful until I was a [well-known] feminist. Then I became aware of the reductionist commentary on “what a feminist looks like”, and this attitude that if you were pretty enough to get a man, why would you want equal pay