Raising Daughters Who Know When to Push Back, Talk Back & Disobey
Originally published on Medium April 2023
It was the Fall of COVID 2020. I was working from home with two kids attending their private Christian school via Zoom. On this particular day, there was an all-school chapel. I walked into my eldest daughter's room as the Vice-Principal addressed the students. He was speaking on the virtue of obedience,
"When you obey your parents, it is pleasing to God, you honor God when you obey."
A common lesson in such a space, one that I have heard many times in my own upbringing, but I was surprised at how uneasy it made me feel when I heard it. For context, I was baptized in the Church of South India and raised in the Anglican tradition. "Trust and Obey" was a hymn regularly sung during worship,
"Trust and obey, for there's no other way. To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."
Obedience and knowing my place was foundational to my spiritual and cultural formation. In South Indian Christian culture, propriety was everything. I did not rebel against this; in fact, I found much safety in being an obedient child who followed the rules and respected authority. So why was a lesson on childhood obedience so bothersome to me at that moment?
"Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you." Hebrews 11:17
I hated literature class my sophomore year of high school, mainly because of the teacher, Mr. Lighthouse. Whenever I'd get called to his desk, Mr. Lighthouse would make comments about my appearance, he taught photography and invited me to pose for him. It was never overtly inappropriate but it always made me uncomfortable. At times he would even brush his hand against my face and tell me I was "cute." I couldn't stand it, but it never occurred to me that he was acting inappropriately. I was taught to respect my elders and not to talk back to adults. Inherent in this teaching is an assumption that adults and authority figures will always act in my best interest and that a disobedient child is a bad child. Naturally, I assumed Mr. Lighthouse was just being friendly, and that the uneasiness I felt was me overreacting. One day Mr. Lighthouse called me up to his desk and said that he wanted to meet privately after class. He did not provide a reason for this meeting, but I panicked at the thought of being alone with him. My guardian angel that day came in the form of my classmate and best friend, Metztli, a queer Chicana, proud atheist, and the only person who knew how Mr. Lighthouse made me feel. When I returned to my seat, I told her what he said,
"Don't do it!" Metztli advised.
"I can't just leave. What if he calls my parents?" I protested.
"Who cares?! Tell them why you left! You can't stay!" She rebuked.
Although I did not want to stay, the belief that it was wrong to disobey him would override every rational inclination to flee. I contended that I had no choice but to meet with him.
"When the bell rings, we are leaving together… I will drag you out if I have to!" She warned.
I knew it was not an idle threat. At 15 years old Metztli spoke with a conviction that compelled me to leave with her when class ended. I needed her strength at that moment because I would not have left on my own. In the end, Mr. Lighthouse never called my parents, nor did he bring it up the next day or ever again. Relieved to have avoided the private meeting, I put it behind me and did not think much of it. A few years after graduation, I learned Mr. Lighthouse was fired for assaulting a female student. My heart sank when I heard this. I couldn't help but imagine what might have happened to me if I stayed after class all those years ago. I knew that if he tried something, I would not have known how to stop him. Obedience would not have protected me then, nor would submitting to authority or respect for my elder. It was Metztli's courageous act of defiance that shielded me from harm. She navigated a world that was hostile to her existence and had the wisdom to know when defiance was justified and necessary. She also knew that she was worth protecting. I had to witness the righteousness of resistance when compliance meant harm. It was after all the mid-'90s, long before social media and #metoo.
As the mother of young daughters, I have had to interrogate the lessons of my upbringing and reconcile my deep respect and love for my parents, culture, and faith with the truth of my lived experience. Young girls are made to believe that it is not only within their ability to curtail someone else's behavior but their duty to do so. How we move in the world is constantly scrutinized. Our bodies, the way we express ourselves, and our very existence is incessantly critiqued. We are taught to be afraid of strangers lurking in the dark, but no one ever talks about the dangerous people in our midst, the ones hiding in plain sight in our families, institutions, and faith communities. The ones with unfettered access who exploit and violate our trust. The societal preoccupation with being "nice" with no mention of when it is appropriate to get loud, be assertive, and show anger.
Women and girls are often at the mercy of a system that extracts from and controls us. We are made to believe that when we serve it, it will protect us. We trust that if we are ever harmed, it will come to our defense, only it seldom ever does. Our word, our integrity, and our actions are questioned first. The same mechanisms that we submit to will blame us for our suffering. History has proven this time and again.
The Christian ideal of the virginal and submissive female is a framework that robs women of their power and agency. It impacts all aspects of life. It doesn't make room for us to listen to our inner wisdom, think critically, and trust our judgment. Instead, it teaches us to dilute our personhood in deference to male leadership or authority outside of ourselves. We often second-guess our intuition and engage in internal gaslighting. But our worth is much greater than the image we are taught to embody in the church. An image cultivated in paternalism, patriarchy, colonialism, and oppressive theology. When we fixate on these traits as the only way for a woman to righteously exist, we limit the expression of the wonder of who God created us to be. I think of how much the church suffers because of this, and how much our families and communities suffer when our gifts are regulated. When women and young girls fight against their authenticity, shrinking and contorting themselves to fit an ideal that is not of God but of society, we all lose.
I can attest that having agency does not make children less reverent toward their elders and educators. It offers an option beyond compliance and unconditional obedience when things don't make sense. They are invited to be curious, to push back, to disagree, and to decide for themselves. They are encouraged to trust their wisdom to keep them safe even if it means disobedience.
I want my daughters to honor their inherent wisdom. To recognize and nurture their gifts. I want them to practice being brave and part of that is knowing how and when to dissent, even when it is against me. I want them to know the discernment of anger, what righteous indignation feels like in the body, and not to be afraid of it. I want them to know that maintaining decorum will never be more holy than pursuing justice. I want them to know the power and weight of their voice and how to wield it before God and humanity. I want them to live into the truth that God created them with intention and called them "good." Above all, I want them to have the freedom to be exactly who their Creator made them to be without limitation.
Rebekah's Note: This article is written from the lens and perspective of a cishet woman. My children no longer attend a private Christian school. The names of my friend and former teacher have been changed for privacy.
