A Letter to My Nieces:

In America, You Are Not Equal (Yet)

To My Incredible Nieces,

You are two young girls capable of doing anything you set your minds to. Why do I write you this letter? Not to curb your goals or quash your dreams, but to prepare you for what you will face. Because I was not prepared.

I grew up in the waning years of the twentieth century, fully secure in the belief that as a woman, I was equal to men. That the fight for gender equality had been fought and won. That I could do anything I set my mind to, even become President of the United States one day if I was so inclined. I never questioned why a woman had yet to hold the office—it was just a matter of time. After all, women were running companies, held seats in Congress, and were even on the Supreme Court. The Oval Office was simply the last glass ceiling to be shattered, and it was inevitable.

I was wrong.

But I did not know it. No, as a child, even though I was objectified while my male peers were not, even though “my” movies revolved around being worthy of and finding a love interest, while my male peers’ movies centered around action and achievement, I still thought we were equal. After all, I could watch their movies if I wanted to, just as they could watch mine. Besides, there was even a movie about a female action hero—G.I. Jane! My friends and I all had gear that had fun slogans like, “Girls Kick Butt!” I even remember a friend’s T-shirt that said on the back, “Yeah, I’m a girl…and I’m in front of you. Girls Kick Butt!” It was all about Girl Power, and we were certain we had it.

After all, our moms had all gone to college with our fathers (Yes, I recognize that it was a great privilege to have had that childhood), and many of them worked full-time. And we would go to college and start careers, too, right alongside the boys in our classes.

So, even as judges continued to tell victims of rape to “just keep their legs closed” and the media lamented the ruined futures of rapists who, God forbid, might have to pay for their crimes, I grew up convinced that gender equality had been achieved, and that the final pièce de resistance—a woman POTUS—was just a matter of time. A simple formality, really.

But now, as an adult, all these years later, I stand corrected. A woman POTUS was not an inevitability. Two women eminently qualified for the job lost their elections to the most despicable human being ever to run for the office…because he was a man.

Not once, but twice, America chose an unqualified man to run this country rather than cast their vote for a woman.

Even worse, that man openly loathes women. He cheated on each of his trophy wives, has been found guilty of sexual assault, and openly bragged about using his fame to assault women.

In a presidential debate on live television, he derided his first opponent, calling her a “nasty woman”—a moment I naively cheered as the final nail in his election bid’s coffin; after all, he was clearly outclassed and showed it with such an offensive comment. And yet, while my friends and I wore the moniker of “Nasty Woman” proudly, a large chunk of the population apparently agreed with the candidate’s sentiment. “How dare a woman have the audacity to outperform a man?” I was so foolish not to see it.

What’s worse is—eight year later—when another woman sought the Oval Office, coming up against this same man, her attackers hit a new low, accusing her of sleeping her way to the top. They couldn’t even be bothered to attack her credentials or experience or ideas – they simply accused her of gaining her position by manipulating men. Because how could a woman ever earn the success she had achieved?

Twice, the American population had the opportunity to elect a qualified woman to the highest office in the land. Twice, America instead chose to elect a man who mocks and assaults women. And twice, my heart was broken.

The first loss was hard, but it felt like it could be a fluke. Perhaps it was an older generation’s backlash, a reflexive punch against too much change too fast. After all, we’d just had our first Black president. Maybe all we needed to do was wait that older generation out. As one mentor said to me at the time, “A dying mule kicks the hardest.” Not all of America was ready to let go of the patriarchy and misogyny on which it was founded, and we just needed to be patient. Our time would come.

It sounded plausible. But then it happened again.

A qualified woman lost to the same unqualified, misogynistic man. And this time, one of the biggest swings in the electorate was seen in young men, who gleefully voted for the unqualified man in record numbers. It wasn’t the dying mule kicking; it was the men even younger than me letting me know in no uncertain terms that they did not see me as their equal, and that they would revel in exalting a man known for debasing my gender.

And my heart was broken again.

They broke my heart, and they tried to break me, but I did not let them.

And, my girls, I tell you of this not to break your hearts, too, but precisely the opposite—because I do not want to see your hearts break the way mine did. I want you to know now, before you learn the hard way, that gender equality is not an inevitability. Women have fought long and hard, but our fight is not over. I tell you that we have not achieved our goal, not to discourage you, but so that you can fight for it with your eyes wide open, and win.

Do not let your hearts break. Harden them so that those who continue to work against us do not break you, as they almost broke me. Your generation is not naïve like mine was, and that is your greatest strength. The fight remains before us, as yet unwon. But we will not falter, and we will not fail. Not now that we can see the battlefield with clear eyes.

I will fight alongside you, and we will win. If not in my lifetime, then in yours.