I remember being thirteen years old when the idea of feminism was explained to me. I knew right then that I was all for it. I was a liberated woman. I admired the suffragettes, and the ERA. They were my sisters. The soldiers who blazed the trail before me. I was going to honor their legacy and respect their sacrifices. I read Faludi. I read Steinem. I am woman, hear me roar!

I feel as passionately today about women’s rights as I did then. If anything I have more perspective, more information and a better understanding. I’ve sat in board room meetings and been patronized because of my sex (and youthful appearance). I’ve seen my sister get passed over for promotion. I am aghast as the younger girls behind me seem to willingly allow themselves to be viewed and treated as nothing more than glamorized strippers. I am saddened by the sexualization of our young girls.

None of that passion, determination, or energy left me when I quit my career to be a stay at home mom. And yet, I get the message that I must have abandoned my sisters when I made that choice. Section 1 of the Equal Rights Amendment (which has not yet been ratified and made an amendment) states; “Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex”. Equality of rights – my rights – my right to choose. My right to choose a career, a house, a job, a family, a spouse, ownership, etc. I have made thousands of choices in my life. Some of them that would be shocking for a woman to make – especially if I lived in another culture, or another country. I chose what school I wanted to attend. I chose to get a driver’s license. I chose to travel extensively and alone, for work. I’ve worked for men and have had men work for me. I chose my own husband and sometimes I even tell him that he’s wrong. But most importantly, I CHOSE to stay home with my kids. And somehow, that one choice negates all the other choices I have made.

Yet, that one choice is more important than all the others. That one choice insures that the role model my daughter will have in her daily life will be me. The mother who has a graduate degree, and who can also make heart-shaped pancakes. She won’t be determining her value, or her self-image based on the mysoginistic messages she sees in TV and on the internet. She will have her independent, strong-willed mother to be her mirror. My choice is not detrimental to the feminist movement. My choice is exercising the very freedoms the feminist movement fought for me to have. My choice may be different from the choices of other women, at other times in their lives, but that is the power of choice. That is freedom.

When I put my apron back on I did not forfeit my feminist membership card. I became the worst kind of feminist, because I’m raising the next generation.