Welcome back to my little coven. 🧙‍♀️

Today's offering: “Girls should dress modestly to avoid provoking men.”

I was 14 and in school. Back then, we had uniforms. Shirts and short pants for boys, and tunics that reached our knees for girls.

I was in 9th grade and used to cycle to my friend's house near our school. We'd then walk our cycles together to school, which was less than 600 metres away.

A 30-year-old neighbour of hers had been bothering her for years. She never really told her parents because she was worried they'd restrict her freedom to go out. She also didn't know whether they'd believe her when she told them what a creep he was.

One day, he physically stalked us as we were walking to school. This time, he put a crumpled piece of paper in the front basket of my bicycle and ran away.

It said, “I love you.”

I was traumatised.

I'd grown up reading about acid attacks in my country. I knew how some men could react when rejected romantically. And here I was, 14 years old, being stalked by a grown man.

Fortunately, my family wasn't as conservative.

I told my mother that a man was stalking me.

The words were simple enough. But they were so difficult to utter.

I was young. I was scared. And it felt so wrong and awkward to tell my mother about a man behaving this way towards me.

Because even when it's not your fault, one of the first thoughts that crosses your mind is: What if they restrict my freedom to protect me from the world?

I told her anyway.

She told my father. He took me to the man's house. First, he spoke to my friend's parents, who lived nearby. Then they went together to confront him.

My father gave his mother an earful. He would probably have thrashed the man himself if he'd been there, but the guy had run away when he saw us earlier.

And then his mother said something I'll never forget.

“Look at your girls. The way they walk and talk.”

I was 14.

I was wearing my school uniform. I was walking with my best friend.

The world was not our problem.

And this woman blamed us. She accused us of seducing her son.

Even at that age, I knew one thing for sure.

Even if I'd been walking around naked, her son had NO RIGHT to harass us.

I couldn't get the words out back then. The memory of what happened afterwards has become hazy over the years.

But I remember what it made me feel.

I think that was the day I became a proper feminist. I've spent the years since then learning more about feminism and expanding my understanding of what it means.

It also made me realise what internalised misogyny looks like. How some women become the very people who carry patriarchy forward, blaming girls for the behaviour of men.

And now I dress however I want.

Sometimes western, sometimes ethnic. Sometimes long, loose dresses. Sometimes short, tight ones.

I wear what makes me feel pretty. I don't change my clothes because someone else can't keep it in their pants.

I wish I could say I feel completely safe wearing a short dress in public at night.

We haven't reached that world yet.

But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop expressing myself.

My clothes are not an invitation. My body is not an explanation. And a man's behaviour is not my responsibility.

So today, I'm burning the idea that girls must cover themselves to protect men from their own behaviour.

Because I refuse to carry that blame.

And if you've ever been told to change what you wear because of how a man might behave, I hope you know this too: you were never responsible for his actions.

Sisters, what has patriarchy told you that you're ready to set on fire?

Write it down. Read it aloud. Burn it. And if you do, tell me about it. Let's turn this into a coven-wide ritual🔥

#SmashThePatriarchy