Embodied Feminism: Understanding Self in a Patriarchal World
By Thistle Pettersen
“Mind over matter” was my first thought when I discovered what the human body could achieve in gymnastics through dedicated practice. How was it possible to a) imagine such precise positions in time and space, and b) actually train the body to execute them? I did it myself at ten years old. I couldn’t tell you my exact method, but one thing that clearly helped was watching other girls perform back handsprings and backflips. Their confidence was contagious; it created a sense of kinship and strengthened my own belief that I could do it myself.
That memory now feels layered. There it is—the dreaded word “self.” The self, a creation of the mind, is what I perceive myself to be: an “I” housed in a body that carries stories of everything that has happened to it. Is the self in the body? OR is it of the body? What even is the body—pure matter, or something more? These questions follow me as I align myself with other women, with gymnastics, and with feminism. For me, they have become intertwined.
I am well into my fifties now and have left gymnastics behind, but I still regularly sing and dance at open-to-the-public spiritual events held at area yoga studios. Last night I attended an ecstatic dance following a kirtan group singing and chanting event in a male-dominated spiritual community. Dance and song themselves are liberating, but in a patriarchal setting it can also feel risky. History reminds us that predators exist, so I moved with a strong personal boundary around me.
During the kirtan, the main singer shared a quote he had found on Facebook: the body is merely a vessel, while the soul—pure consciousness—is what truly matters. The idea landed heavily. It echoed the very perspective I had just been reading in feminist literature: the devaluing of the body, especially the female body, in favor of an abstract, “higher” spiritual self. To me, it sounded like “death to the body” and reminded me of all the accounts and evidence of this male persuasion/perversion in Man Against Being: Body Horror & the Death of Life by aurora linnea.
During the break, I joined in a conversation with some of the women. One was the cheerful wife of a band member, wearing a baseball cap that read “Stay Human” and passing out blackberries from a basket. Another was a singer in the group. I shared that I was reading feminist authors and listening to voices like Amy Sousa, who argue that we are our bodies—that there is no clean separation between body and soul, and no need to diminish the physical self.
The band wife responded immediately: “I’m gonna tell you something. And what I’m about to say is not popular in the community but I think it’s all bullshit, the spiritual shit. We need to feel embodied, to be in our bodies and love them as much as possible.”
I added that this “body as mere vessel” ideology often seems to come from men—men who do not give birth and may feel envy or fear toward women’s physical power. It can stem, I suggested, from a deep-seated discomfort with female embodiment itself.
She was soon pulled away by her child and her duties handing out berries. Another woman, Cassandra, stayed. We fell into a lively, wandering conversation: Are we in the body, or are we the body? We didn’t resolve it before the dance floor reopened. I enjoyed dancing in my personal bubble and then I left early, around 9:30, tired from a long day at my job.
There I go again, using that pesky word “I.” I speak as though I am a clear, stable “I,” yet pinning down what that means is slippery. Let’s try: The “I” is the total assemblage of oneself—a body with consciousness, existing on Earth at this moment. My cat has an “I” too. And this “I” need not stand in opposition to the body. You and your body are not separate. This idea is still difficult for me to fully grasp, but I love turning it over.
What happens when we die? The “I” disappears, yes—but what we were is not lost. It transforms. Matter and energy recycle. If you were buried beneath a young maple tree, your body would become soil, nourishment rising through roots into branches and leaves. That doesn’t sound like a bad ending. It sounds like a new beginning and belonging.
Still, letting go of the “I” is hard. We cling to it because it is how we perceive and express our experience. We fear disappearing into the whole. Yet perhaps some knowledge is collective, lived simultaneously by all of us, the way newborn sea otters instinctively know how to swim.
In a feminist context, these questions matter deeply. Isn’t it essential for women to believe in themselves—to affirm their “I,” their selfhood? Yes. Women’s sense of self has been attacked, minimized, and denied for centuries. Reclaiming and affirming it is not ego; it is resistance and wholeness.
I love living on this planet, watching my species stumble through these big questions. The women, especially, continue to amaze me.
Thistle Pettersen is the founding member of WLRN, an eco-feminist, and a singer/songwriter in her home state of Wisconsin. She focuses on arts and culture and their role in building liberation and justice movements. You can learn more about Thistle and hear her original music at ThistlePettersen.com