This theology of uber-submission enraged me. But it also shook me to my core, because the arguments for it relied upon the same Scriptural, theological basis that supported what I already believed: men should lead in marriage and in the Church.

Were these Christians right? Was it wrong of me to live out my basic nature? Was it wrong to, essentially, exist as myself?

I had a thousand arguments clenched in my fist like weapons, armed and ready to prove such people wrong, but a sliver of doubt always haunted me, lurking at the back of my mind.

That doubt made me second-guess myself. The freedom I felt as a young girl—the carefree way I dreamed of reaching for the stars, the boundless ambition that had been as natural and unthinking as breathing—became stunted, crippled.

The freedom I felt as a young girl — the carefree way I dreamed of reaching for the stars, the boundless ambition that had been as natural and unthinking as breathing — became stunted, crippled.

I wrestled with this issue into my early twenties.

Until at last, I had a defining moment.

Finding feminism

When I was twenty-three, someone I loved—who had been “submitting” to her husband for decades—experienced betrayal in her marriage.

On top of all the horrible pain that comes with betrayal, she was terrified. She had always relied on her husband financially, and wasn’t sure if she could anymore. The ground had been snatched out from under her.

As she curled on the floor, weeping, I sat with her in silence, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

In that moment, something important shifted within me. Everything in my mind sharpened, as if a turbulent storm had vanished, the clouds had blown hastily away, and the tossing sea had settled into clear, placid glass.

No one should have to feel like this. No woman should be reliant on a man for her own stability and sense of security.

I decided right then that I didn’t care what the supposedly Good Book had to say about the role of women in society. I drew a line in the sand and said, “This here is my dignity; none may cross it, not even God. I will stand up for myself. I will defend myself. I will not compromise my independence or self-respect.”

I decided right then that I didn’t care what the supposedly Good Book had to say about the role of women in society. I drew a line in the sand and said, “This here is my dignity; none may cross it, not even God.”

For me, it felt like an act of self-defense. I built a fortress against the armies that were marching against me.

The armies’ generals tried to justify their aggression. “We come in the name of God,” they blabbered. “It is our divine right to subjugate you.”

I was no longer willing to listen to their nonsense. I didn’t care if they came in the name of God or not. I built up my battlements, raised my drawbridge, lined my walls with archers and said, “No. You will not defeat me.”

If God actually approved of having my dignity trampled on, screw him.

And that was how I became a feminist.

#SocialJusticeWarrior

My decision to become a feminist set me on a bold new path.

The moment I elevated the rights and dignity of the individual over the oppressive dictates of theology and tradition, I liberated myself from the shackles of my mind.

The moment I elevated the rights and dignity of the individual over the oppressive dictates of theology and tradition, I liberated myself from the shackles of my mind.

I was, again, as I had been in early childhood: Free to pursue any dream, without any guilt or second-guessing.

As one question led to another, I tumbled down the very “slippery slope” that fundamentalists warn each other about. Rejection of gender roles quickly led to an acceptance of same-sex relationships, and a beat after that, the long-overdue admission that I wasn’t even straight myself.

It took only months before I began sliding from moderate conservatism into full-out progressivism, as my curiosity drew me to explore all sorts of ideas I’d always seen as false.

I participated in marches. I spoke out on social media. I wrote on my blog. I read Everyday Feminism. I came out as bisexual.

I needed feminism. It empowered me to reject harmful, restrictive theology, and to affirm and accept my own sexuality.

I needed feminism. It empowered me to reject harmful, restrictive theology, and to affirm and accept my own sexuality.

But after about a year of being swept up in progressive, feminist culture, I started to feel a disconnect.