How Feminists Made One Man A Better Partner

I don’t enter every relationship with my feminist beliefs at the forefront, but I’ve always desired a partner who recognizes that men and women are equal and can share a marriage as equals. I witnessed my mother’s struggles to maintain her marriage. My father failed to grasp that both partners share the responsibility of keeping the relationship intact. My mother worked tirelessly to uphold their marriage while my father contributed little, believing that providing financially was enough. He would sleep while my mother prepared meals and watch TV while she cleaned the house. All the mundane tasks fell to her, yet he enjoyed the best of the meals she cooked.

They both seemed content with this arrangement. My mother never complained, and my father saw no need to help out. I never liked this dynamic and promised myself that if marriage meant a man lounging around while a woman did everything, I wouldn’t marry at all. I wanted to be in a relationship where responsibilities were shared and my opinions mattered.

My first serious relationship was with Adams. He appeared to have his life together—he had a stable job, a nice place to live, and clear goals. Our connection was easy; he was funny and prioritized happiness. However, his views on women in relationships were lacking. He had a clear idea of what women should do but little understanding of what men should contribute. Whenever a woman made a mistake, he generalized it to all women. His go-to phrase was, “Women are like that…”

I often countered, “Not all women are like that. Just because one woman made a mistake doesn’t mean all women do.” These discussions often turned into debates I could never win, as nothing I said seemed satisfactory. This was a red flag for me. He reminded me of my father, and since I couldn’t be my mother, I gradually distanced myself. When he asked, “What did I do wrong?” I replied, “You didn’t do anything wrong, but I don’t think we can go far.” He thought I was being unreasonable and suspected I had found someone else. He said, “You women are like that. It’s hard to understand what you really want. How can you leave someone who hasn’t wronged you?”

“That’s the issue right there,” I thought, but he refused to see it.

Then there was Kwame, who wanted everything but wouldn’t commit. Our relationship didn’t last long. Sam came next; he had a habit of disappearing for days and then reappearing as if nothing had happened. He was not the right fit for me, so I moved on. I decided to take a break from dating to reflect on my priorities.

During that break, I met Derrick.

He seemed to check all the boxes and appeared incapable of saying anything wrong. At the start of a relationship, men often go above and beyond to impress you. It’s only after spending time together that their true colors emerge. I didn’t expect much from him; I just wanted him to see me as an equal partner. He didn’t exhibit many stereotypes, which made me comfortable. When the lockdown was announced, he suggested I move in with him to quarantine together.

The next morning, I packed my things and went to his place.

On the first day, I cooked and served the meals. We enjoyed dinner, watched movies, and went to bed late. He woke up around 8 a.m. and sat in the living room playing video games. I slept until about 10 a.m. When I joined him, he asked, “What are we having for breakfast?” I replied, “You tell me, what do you want?” He went on about his food preferences—how soft he wanted it, the type of stew, and how he wanted it served. I told him, “Go to the kitchen and make it. If you need help, just ask.”

He looked at me incredulously and asked, “Are you serious?” I responded, “Or can’t you cook?” He admitted, “No, I can’t cook.”

I said, “Put down the game controller and follow me; we can cook together so you can learn.” He just stared at me. I asked, “Or are you not hungry?” He repeated, “Are you serious?” I assured him I was. “We both need to eat, so we both have to cook.” Reluctantly, he set down the controller and followed me to the kitchen. I showed him how to chop tomatoes and grind spices. The result wasn’t perfect, but the effort was genuine. We worked together, cooked, and set the table.

I told him, “It’s not your fault you don’t know how to cook, but it is your fault if you don’t learn. There are many things you can do that I can’t, and I’m willing to learn.” I felt proud of what I had encouraged him to do, but more importantly, I felt proud of myself. A few years ago, I would have walked away, but this time I stayed. We made it a point to share all household chores.

During the second week of lockdown, we watched a TV program that discussed feminism. He expressed many negative opinions about the movement, claiming it was a scheme to undermine men and that only bitter women identified as feminists. He insisted he would never date a feminist. I jokingly replied, “You’re already dating one.” He asked, “Are you a feminist? Do you agree with everything feminists say and do?”

That night, we engaged in a lengthy debate about feminism. I realized he was misinformed, and much of what he said stemmed from ignorance. I tried patiently to help him understand, but he wouldn’t let me speak. When I told him I was a feminist, it seemed to shut down his ability to reason. He was determined to win the argument, so I fell silent. Then he said, “Oh, I see why you’re making me do this and that. It’s because you’re one of them?”

“One of them? I’m your girlfriend, and I haven’t shown any of the traits you mentioned. What makes you think being one of them is a bad thing?” He replied, “It’s just a matter of time. That’s why I won’t marry a feminist. They seem calm, but once you marry them, they’ll walk all over you.”

That’s where the argument ended. He was so angry that I couldn’t understand the root of his frustration. It felt personal. I asked, “So you won’t date a feminist either?” He said, “You should have told me from the beginning.”

The night after our debate was quiet. I didn’t speak to him again until I went to bed, and he remained silent too. The next morning, I woke up to find he had cooked something and was eating in the living room. I took a shower, got dressed, grabbed my bag, and told him I was leaving. He asked why, and I said I needed to go home for something.

I returned to my place.

I was unsure how to feel about the whole situation. It hurt to think about the progress we had made, but I knew some people aren’t worth holding onto. In the end, they can easily hurt you.

He didn’t call for several days. The day after the president extended the lockdown, I saw his call on my phone.

“Hello, I was just checking to see if you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. God has been good.”

“Were you able to finish what you went back to do?”

“Yeah, I finished days ago.”

“Oh, I thought you’d come back when you were done.”

I paused on the phone and said, “I wasn’t planning to come back.”

He called again three days later, saying he missed me and wanted to see me. I told him I had been exposed to others and needed to self-isolate. The next time I heard from him was when the president lifted the restrictions. He wanted to come over, and I told him he could. He didn’t show up and didn’t call to explain why.

We might not get back together, but whoever he becomes from now on should thank a feminist. It’s because of a feminist that he learned to go into the kitchen and prepare something for himself. Anyone who teaches you to feed yourself isn’t a bad person.

—Queenie,

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