Dear Younger Me: Your 'Difficult' Phase Was Actually Your Superpower

I met my younger self for coffee today. She was right on time – wide-eyed, excited, and ready with her two cents on any topic. She ordered the beverage with the most chocolate, a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. I smiled and ordered an iced Americano – no sugar for me anymore, just the basics to keep me moving through long and full days.

My hard-earned calmness almost seemed boring in front of her energy – across the table sat a version of me who was just discovering freedom while grappling angrily with the realisation of the costs freedom always came with.

As we spoke, she visibly lit up at points when she felt heard, points where my most obvious agreements came to her as the rare encouragement she longed for.

10 year Evolution of an Indian Feminist Woman

Maybe that was our first tug towards feminism: a deep desire to understand why it felt so hard to feel heard and claim space and why so many women we knew struggled to hold it.

She spoke about "Pads Against Sexism" – terrified of the spotlight yet drawn to the cause with a fierce love she couldn’t fully explain. Doing it with her friends made it feel safer. To her, feminism meant "the right thing", but practising it wasn’t always clear, and she often wondered if she was doing it "right".

We reminisced about how my friends and I had worked tirelessly to come up with slogans for the campaign. We channelled our anger, grief and hope – especially with Delhi coming up in the news at the time for all the wrong reasons– into bold declarations we pasted across the city. We agreed that the problem was never with us – it was never our blood, our bodies, or our existence.

We agreed that the shame should never have been ours to carry; that the burden is not for us; it belongs to those who harm and silence.

She shared how heavy the labels felt – ziddi, difficult, aggressive – when they were thrown at her for refusing to conform. I told her those were her superpowers. That questioning too much, refusing to fit in, and being "difficult" – these would become her greatest strengths. She just needed to keep them close, always.

We talked; I understood about how radical everything she did seemed back then – and how, in some ways, it always will. That even if we can't topple entire power structures, we can make it harder for them to thrive.

We can still make noise.

We can still hold space.

I assured her she would be choosing the right paths, as long as she remembered to keep walking even when it felt scary. I reminded her to acknowledge the support she did have and not just the gaps. I filled her in on the sheer number of campuses across the country that stood with the cause she was fighting for currently – strangers who shared the sentiment that this was important to talk about. 

We talked about how her feminism was instinctive and emotional. It felt right, in her bones, even if she didn't have the language to define every nuance. Her feminism was deeply personal – rooted in the fight for her own freedom and safety.

I shared with her that today, I understand feminism differently – as a lifelong practice of learning, unlearning, and questioning.

That there’s no one perfect way to be a feminist – you need a willingness to change your mind, confront your biases, continue learning and unlearning. I shared with her how mine has grown broader today, becoming more layered.

It's about leaving no one behind. It's about understanding privilege, questioning power structures, and fighting even when change feels impossible.

I told her something she hadn’t fully realised yet: That the goal is not just to be a "strong, independent woman" – but to become a relaxed woman, one who doesn’t have to be vigilant all the time just to survive.

We never saw women like that modelled around us. But we can dream of it now.

We acknowledged the hard truths too.

The streets are still not safe.

Crimes against women have only increased.

Period stigma still exists.

She winced a little when we talked about how, even now, we have to defend feminism against accusations rooted in insecurities & ignorance – that it meant "hating men", that it was "too extra".

With that in mind, understandably, wearing the label of "feminist" came with stigma for her.

Today, I wear it with pride – it empowers me and lifts up the women around me.

I made sure to highlight to her the small, everyday glimmers of hope that keep me going:

How my mother questioned old biases and offered me freedoms she never had, how my sister is learning about the layers the concept of gender encapsulates & makes space for real conversations, and how my friends debate and challenge the status quo openly.

How today, my husband, brother, and father carry tampons without hesitation, question gender norms, and treat the women around them with more care and respect, being aware of their privilege.

How I have created space for myself to truly make my own decisions, no matter how controversial.

I’ve learnt that I may not always be the direct cause of every shift, but all feminist wins are a win for me, too. That movements are bigger than any one person, but every step forward, no matter how small, matters.

We must celebrate each step, because they build the world we dream of.

As we got up to leave, I held her close and whispered to her: Keep fighting. Keep learning. Keep questioning.  Your fire will shape you – and your world – in ways you can’t even imagine yet.

Views expressed by the author are their own.