there’s no ONE way to be a feminist, queer, or a mother (or anything else)

when empowerment turns to judgement: from identity to imprisonment

I’m Tuğba, a Greek-Turkish artist living in Berlin - as slow as possible is a newsletter exploring the in-between spaces of our lives that we see but often do not notice. Interested in reading more of my work?

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“I really would love to be in a relationship,” said my friend.

A few seconds later, she added,
“But it’s all good. I’m an independent woman. I’m a feminist, I don’t need a man.”

I knew exactly what she was doing. I’ve done it too. That emotional ping pong of wanting something, followed by the reflex to shut it down. The internal back-and-forth—wanting to be in a relationship but also feeling guilty for wanting that. Because aren't we women supposed to be self-sufficient? Independent? Content on our own?

That was me in my mid-thirties. Always carrying some kind of guilt. Guilt for wanting a partner. Guilt for betraying the idea that I should be fine on my own. Guilt for knowing that, eventually, I’d act on that longing. I told myself I should be happy alone because I’m a feminist, and feminists don’t need a partner to be happy.

Feminism has long championed autonomy and self-sufficiency, especially in response to decades of patriarchal dependence. But over time, independence turned into hyper-independence, where needing or even wanting a partner is seen as weakness.

But what about those of us who still align with feminist values but no longer feel the need to prove that we don’t need anyone?

That question led me to reflect more—not just on feminism but on all the other boxes we live inside.

Being vegan.
Being an environmentalist.
Being a mother.
Being queer.
Being a minimalist.

These identities and movements were meant to make us feel safer, more seen, more connected. And many of them did. Until they didn’t.

Feminism was about empowerment and equality, then became pressure to never ask for help or admit you want a partner.

Body positivity said all bodies are worthy, then demanded we always love ours without exception.

Queerness promised freedom from norms, then added pressure to “look” queer enough.

Clean eating was about caring for your health, then turned into guilt, obsession, orthorexia.

Motherhood was meant to be nurturing, but often came with guilt for wanting more than being a mom.

Spirituality was about peace and growth, but got tangled in toxic positivity.

Minimalism offered freedom from overwhelming amounts of stuff, then became an aesthetic competition.

Sustainability asked us to care for the planet, but piled guilt onto every plastic wrapper.

Veganism began in compassion, then became a test of moral purity.

Self-help was meant to guide us towards growth, but somehow turned life into a never-ending project.

We stopped being fluid humans and started trying to fit the mould!

Something that’s meant to give us more space and more community started to shrink us. It turned into a checklist of what we have to do, wear, believe, avoid… in order to be a “real” vegan, feminist and queer. As if there's one way to be a feminist, or vegan, or queer. As if one version fits everyone.

The Performance Trap

The internet is the perfect storm for all of this. Shaming, subtle gaslighting, the pressure to perform your identity the “right” way. Rules are easier to shout from behind a screen. It’s easier to guilt-trip, to argue about whether someone is “really” vegan if they eat cheese once a week.

But human beings aren’t rigid. We’re layered. Messy. Shifting. Our emotions and opinions don’t sit neatly in boxes.

What I’ve found especially hard—and also fascinating—is how much of this judgement comes from within. There’s a term for it: intra-community judgement. It’s when people within the same identity group turn on each other. Queer people gatekeeping other queer people. Vegans calling others out for not being "pure" enough. Artists criticising each other for being too commercial or too abstract. It’s painful because it comes from people you expect to understand.

It ties into purity culture, too, not just in the religious sense but also in how we expect people to be ideologically consistent at all times. A feminist gets side-eyed for liking makeup. An environmentalist gets shamed for flying once a year. A queer person gets told they don’t “look” queer enough. There’s this pressure to never slip, never contradict yourself.

And of course, there’s gatekeeping—the old classic. Deciding who gets to belong, who’s a “real” member of the group. It starts early. When you’re younger and still figuring yourself out, it’s easy to believe there’s only one right way to be. That to belong, you have to shape yourself to fit the mould.

One of the hardest things is resisting all the rules these identities and communities quietly (or loudly) create. It takes real work to define things on your own terms. Even after years of therapy, I still catch myself struggling. Though less so around relationships. That’s a part of me I’ve mostly made peace with. I know now that I can want a partner and still be independent. That being in love doesn’t cancel out my feminism.

Where it still gets tricky sometimes is queerness. I enjoy being with women now and then, but mostly on a sexual level. I’ve never dated a woman and haven’t yet had the desire to. And sometimes, that makes me feel like I don’t qualify. Like my “but” disqualifies me from being included. As if I’m stepping out of the queer club before I even walked in.

And yes, in the grand scheme, does the label really matter? Maybe not. But also, somehow, it still does.

Why are we so attached to labels?

Belonging. If I know who I am, I know where I fit. We’re social creatures. A group identity makes us feel safer, less alone.

Order. This is who I am, so this is what I do. Life is unpredictable. Identity creates structure. It reduces decision fatigue.

Meaning. These roles give us direction. The activist, the healer, the minimalist, the good mother, the rebel. They shape how we move through the world.

But identity can also become a cage.

Even liberation can turn into performance. We start living as a version of ourselves that fits the label. We tailor our clothes, our words, even our emotions to match the identity. And when we feel something that doesn't align, we call it failure. We silence it. Or we carry guilt, like I did, for not being “fully” feminist.

The spiritual person hides their anger.
The feminist swallows their longing.
The mother buries her dreams.

We start editing ourselves down to what the role allows. We mistake identity for truth.
We over-identify with the label until there’s no space left for contradiction, softness, or change. What once felt like liberation turns into a new kind of pressure.

Freedom in Fluidity

My biggest hope moving forward is to grow out of all that: To stay close to what I believe but let go of the need to do it perfectly. I still care deeply about feminism. But I don’t need to earn it or perform it. One part of me doesn’t have to cancel out the other.

There is no final judge deciding if you're feminist enough, or vegan enough, or queer enough.

I’m holding out hope for more fluidity. Because where there’s fluidity, there’s also space for understanding and empathy.

And I know our current political climate isn’t a reflection of this. It feels like we are more divided than ever. But I still believe change starts close to home—in our communities, in our circles, and most importantly, in ourselves. When we make space for fluidity within us, we’re more likely to offer that same grace to others.

Take care!

Your friend Tuğba

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