Reading We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie stirred something in me. It did not feel like I was simply reading words on a page. It felt like I was being asked to look inward, to sit with uncomfortable truths and to ask myself the kind of existential questions that do not leave you unchanged: Who am I? What do I want to be? Who am I growing into? How much of myself is truly mine and how much has been shaped by the world around me?
What struck me most is how simple and clear Adichie makes feminism feel, even while speaking about something so layered, so misunderstood, and so widely distorted. Feminism is not about women ruling over men. It is about social, economic, and political equality. It is about dismantling the gender hierarchy that has been normalised for centuries. It is about refusing the idea that one gender must always dominate while the other must adjust, shrink or obey.
Even though Adichie grew up in Nigeria and spoke from a deeply specific cultural context, the power of her words travels far beyond place and time. Published in 2014, the essay still feels painfully current because the inequalities it names are not confined to one country, one generation, or one kind of society. They are global. They are lived. They are ordinary in the most disturbing way.
One of the things I found most powerful was how she speaks about the way gender is taught to us so early that it begins to feel natural. We are not just born into gendered roles; we are trained into them. We keep seeing the same things over and over again until they stop feeling strange. Men are seen as breadwinners. Women’s paid work is treated as secondary. Girls are taught to be careful, polite, quiet and make themselves smaller so that others can remain comfortable. Boys are taught to be hard, distant, fearless, and in control. And because these ideas are repeated so often, they become normal. That is what is so dangerous about them.
Her words about masculinity being a “hard, small cage” stayed with me because they reveal that patriarchy does not only harm women. It also traps men. Boys are denied softness, vulnerability and emotional freedom. They are taught not to feel too much, not to appear weak, not to ask questions that might make them seem less masculine. And then girls are made to carry the burden of that fragility, expected to shrink themselves so that men can remain comfortable.
This truth made me pause. It made me think about how much of gender is performance? How much of it is pressure? How much of it is inherited?
That is what made the book feel both beautiful and devastating to me. Beautiful, because Adichie speaks with clarity, courage and truth. Devastating, because the reality she describes is still so present, so widespread, and so deeply misunderstood. It made me think about the sad plight of the world we are living in and the even sadder plight of ignorance, how people can live inside systems of inequality and never stop to ask whether they are fair, humane or just.
At the same time, while reading, I also felt something else: gratitude. Gratitude for the upbringing I had. Gratitude for the women role models who shaped me. Gratitude for the example, strength, and quiet wisdom I was able to witness growing up. Their presence gave me something many women are denied, the chance to see strength, dignity, tenderness and self-worth modelled before me. That is not something I take lightly.
But alongside that gratitude was sorrow. Because I became even more aware that this is not the reality for the vast majority of women. So many do not grow up with role models who affirm them. So many are raised in homes, schools and societies that teach them to diminish themselves before they even learn who they are. So many are denied the freedom to ask, to dream, to speak, to choose.
That is why Adichie’s words matter so much. They are not just political or social statements. They are deeply human. They ask us to imagine a fairer world, one where women do not have to disappear to be accepted and men do not have to pretend to be invulnerable to be respected. A world where we are allowed to be full, complex, honest human beings.
I was also drawn to how simply and beautifully Adichie writes about such a difficult subject. Her personal experiences make the essay feel intimate, relatable and accessible, which is perhaps why it remains such a foundational read for understanding feminism. In a world where feminism is still surrounded by misconceptions, stereotypes and unnecessary fear, there is something powerful about beginning with a voice that is both honest and easy to enter.
And maybe that is why this book stayed with me. It reminded me that my choices in the past, my choices now and the choices I will make in the future are all part of who I am becoming. It reminded me that freedom is not only about opportunity, but about consciousness, about learning to see clearly, to question deeply and to refuse what diminishes the human spirit.
I agree with every line that spoke to me. Because each one felt like truth. And it lingers, asking you not to ignore it anymore.
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