Always Too Young

As a 25-year-old woman of colour in a leadership role, I am always aware of my body. I have to be. I am aware of my voice, how elegant but un-intimidating my clothes look, how I stand, and how I sigh. I’m a small person, and I look young; I remember that every time I stand in front of a room.

Regardless of how hard I work or the experience I bring, our society places more confidence in some bodies over others. That’s the part I knew. Young women have never been considered a source of wisdom; we’re silly and we giggle too much. The stories associated with us — certain genres of films, books, TV, music — are deemed trivial. Think of how often teenage girls are mocked for their taste or how rom coms are degraded while male-dominated sci-fi, action, and crime stories are lauded and invested in.

I expected to fight harder professionally for respect and opportunities. I expected to be called bossy, and demanding, and difficult to work with, because I don’t take things lying down. I expected less qualified men to try and override me and “mansplain.” So many women have experienced similar things that full books have been written and new terms invented. What I didn’t expect was how these demeaning preconceptions would also trickle into my personal life in insidious ways.

Five months ago, my relationship of 8 years ended, and I heard it all. I was selfish, immature, lacking judgment. The worst comment was “impulsive,” as though it hadn’t cost me everything to follow through, as though we hadn’t tried for years to find another way.

I had people explain to me the concept of a honeymoon stage — as if after 8 years, we had just gotten out. Criticism centred on my youth, on my naiveté, my apparent inexperience. Our separation was mutual, but he received none of the blame.

I should not have been surprised. After all, how many women have been told that they are too young to know whether they will want kids? How often are men doubted in the same ways? Certainly, no laws regulate their bodies or reproductive rights, and boys have always been encouraged to take charge and grab life by the horns. Importantly, they have also been allowed to fail; consider the enabling of adults who rush to defend the mistakes of young men with comments like “boys will be boys.” Women are expected to mature quicker, but we’re not trusted when we do, not even with our own lives.

I realized that too well this year. To escape condescension, women’s drives and desires must line up with established societal roles: mother, homemaker, caregiver. These are tried and tested norms that work. A young woman’s deviation from them is not seen as a leader forging her own path; it’s someone who doesn’t know what they want.

Buying into these judgments fuels our patriarchal system, whether individuals intend to or not. This lack of trust placed in young women — our decision-making, our judgment, our critical thinking — deliberately keeps women un-intimidating and unimportant. This entire premise disregards the maturity, intelligence, and drive of young people who have always paved the way for meaningful social change, but youth (often unfairly) is pervasively associated with ignorance. If a woman is young, she knows nothing, and she can be dismissed.

This is also why we have the dichotomy of smart girls vs. pretty girls — a pervasive concept that some stories (perhaps most notably Legally Blonde) have tried to dismantle. I was always a smart girl, and it took years of unlearning, well into my twenties, to realize that I could be both. Embracing that meant doubling my arsenal, but it comes with consequences.

What does that look like in action? Among the first words Trump used to speak of New York Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was to call her a “real beauty.” He followed it up with: “She knows as much about the environment . . . as that young child over there. . . . She certainly knows nothing about the economy.” Her Green New Deal plan was highlighted as being “conceived by a young woman.” The link is clear: she is a pretty thing to look at. Not a threat.

It is easy to defend AOC by saying that she majored in economics and international relations, but formal education — as an overvalued, white-centred, colonial system — is no qualifier of intelligence or good judgment. Besides, if young women are questioned and challenged right down to deeply personal choices, what fancy degree solves that? The problem does not lie with our qualifications.

Many could argue we ignore the critics and move on. Who cares what others think? However, these harmful mindsets permeate every part of our lives. They’re responsible for informing the salaries we earn, the opportunities we’re offered, and the empathy (or lack thereof) that we are shown in hard times. They affect how we carry ourselves in every setting, from leading workshops to coping with personal grief.

When I make decisions, I am asked to justify again and again. My knowledge — be that my self-awareness, emotional intelligence, experience, or otherwise — in itself is not considered enough, and I wonder when exactly women do become old enough to contribute to larger issues or even to know ourselves. How many years before our judgment becomes sound? 30? 40? I don’t intend to keep quiet that long.