By Jillian Stacia

The personal is political. This is one of the most commonly recognized feminist arguments. It highlights the connection between what goes on in a woman’s personal life and the current political infrastructure. Essentially, it means that you are not alone- that what you go through on a day to day, moment by moment basis is not something to ignore or discredit, because it’s not just “your problem”. It’s not individual, it’s collective. It’s a call for the government to defend and reflect the values and needs of women in the same way it defends and reflects the values and needs of men.

But with this election, I’m learning that the reverse is also true. Not only is the personal political, but the political is also incredibly personal.

I love Hillary Clinton for a myriad of reasons, 90% of which are related to her political actions and viewpoints. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also love her because she’s a woman. And for a while, I felt shame about that, like being a woman is something that really shouldn’t matter to me so much. But it does. And that’s okay. I’ve never had a president who looks like me. Hell, I’m an educated, politically active woman and I struggle to name five women politicians who I admire. For me to have a presidential candidate who I can relate to on a personal level? That’s huge. I’m allowed to love the fact that our candidate is a strong, badass woman without feeling bad about it or having others assume it’s the only reason I’m voting for her.

But when people speak badly about Hillary, I get viscerally and gut-wrenchingly angry. To be fair, I’m always a passionate person. I’m not afraid to mince words. But I pride myself on being open to hearing opposite viewpoints. I firmly believe that there is both value and truth in views that I myself do not hold. I spend way too much time trying to understand where other people are coming from. And I try not to hold people’s beliefs- especially their political beliefs- against them.

But with Hillary, I can’t. The sexist rhetoric that I hear? The bullshit media coverage? It makes me downright red-faced- toddler-throwing-a-temper-tantrum kind of enraged. Because the political is personal.

When people tell me Hillary doesn’t smile enough, I’m reminded of all the times I’ve been told to “cheer up” when I’m not grinning like a buffoon. I’m reminded of when my first internship told me to control my facial expressions, because apparently PR girls can’t do much beside smile and nod. I’m reminded of the “resting bitch face” phenomenon and how annoying it is that the default for women is happy and chipper, even when life is not especially happy or chipper in that particular moment.

When people make fun of Hillary’s clothes, I’m reminded of all the times I’ve been embarrassed of my own outfits. I think about shopping for my first big girl job and searching desperately for clothes that made me look professional, yet stylish. My attire needed to be young, but mature. It needed to be flattering, but not revealing. Of course it shouldn’t be too bold or bright, but boring and beige wasn’t acceptable either. And certainly, for the love of God, not a pantsuit.

When people make fun of Hillary’s voice, I’m reminded of my male friends poking fun at me and asking why I always yell when I get “fired up” about certain issues and topics. “This isn’t yelling,” I’d retort. “This is the tone women take when they have shit to say. You don’t recognize it because we’re constantly underselling our opinions, but this is what an authoritative, passionate woman sounds like.”

When people worry about Hillary’s health and criticize her for campaigning with pneumonia, I think about how I’ve gone to work sick as a dog, afraid to be seen as weak or fragile or not able to cut it. I think about my stupid office air conditioning that always gives me a summer cold. I think about my mother taking care of two toddlers when she herself is sick with the flu. I think about woman after woman, decade after decade, tirelessly doing what needed to be done regardless of their physical, mental, and spiritual health. I think about how strong that is. How that’s truly what it means to be a woman – getting up and doing the work regardless. And then I think about how Hillary was criticized for that very fact. How, through the right lens, even raw strength can be twisted into a woman’s failure.

When people tell me Hillary needs a facelift, I’m reminded about how, at the end of the day, the only thing that matters is how I look. I’m reminded of all the hours I’ve spent dieting and exercising and plucking and primping, all in the service of being liked, of being respected, of being valued. I think about how I will need to get plastic surgery when I’m older if I want to be liked and respected. Hell, I should probably start the Botox now. I am reminded, for the bazillionth time, that what I look like matters more than what I have to say.

When people talk about how cold Hillary is, when they explain that they don’t like her because she’s awkward and aloof and seemingly untrustworthy, I think about all the times I’ve been judged for my emotions. I think about how many times people have told me I’m being too loud, too sensitive, too passionate. I think about the struggle I face every day between wanting my contributions to be heard and wanting my true self to be seen. When your “youness” is seen as weakness, you put up a shield. That’s why Hillary looks cold. She’s spent years with her guard all the way up. I think about my own guard. I’ve spent years hiding who I am to be taken seriously, to be liked and approved. Is there any wonder Hillary’s done the same? Can I fault a fellow woman for doing what it takes to survive, as a woman and a politician, in the public eye?

The political is personal.

And I’m watching. I’m watching a woman who is arguably the most qualified candidate to run for President, be criticized for her appearance, her voice, her demeanor. I’m watching. Women everywhere are watching. Little girls are watching. What are we seeing? What are we hearing? What are we learning about how to succeed as a woman?

Smile. Dress nicely. Talk softly. Keep up with your looks. Be accommodating.

The political is personal. When you demand Hillary to act a certain way, to look a certain way, to smile a certain way, you’re telling your daughters, your wives, your sisters, your friends that that’s what they need to do, too. It’s all connected. The rules don’t change because she’s a politician. How she is being treated is a direct parallel to the way we’re all being treated on a personal level.

The political is personal. The personal is political.

Either way you spin it, we need to do better.

Jillian is part of the Contributing Writer Network at Thirty On Tap. To apply to become a contributing writer, please click HERE.

{featured image via politico}