I have a confession to make: I’m a feminist that loves trashing some women

I am a feminist.

I believe that instead of tearing each other down, women are better off building each other up and being allies against the patriarchy.

And for the most part, that’s what I do: I cherish, support, and encourage other women, and mainly, I abstain from passing judgement on other women, thinking that just because someone is making a choice I wouldn’t necessarily make, is no reason at all for me to form an opinion on her.

But there are some women that even the better part of me just can’t refrain from judging, from seeking out their flaws just so I can feel better about myself.

Because how can you think anything good about someone who constantly makes you feel small? How can you wish the best for someone who has only wished the worst for you?

And most important of all, how can you prevent yourself from hating someone who fought you in a race, won, and never fails to rub it in your face?

Sure, some people might say that karma will do its work and each will pay for their wrongdoings- no need to fret about anything. But somehow, hearing that has never comforted me in the least.

I can’t be all Gandhi and offer my other cheek, no matter how hard I try. I can’t not hold any grudges and forget about the pain and embarrassment that some women have caused me, no matter how many times I tell myself that we’re all allies.

Because the truth is, some women just aren’t interested in being allies.

Some women do not care about the greater cause (or may not even be aware that there is one), and that’s why they have no qualms about putting down other women for their self-satisfaction, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

So where does that leave me, the self-proclaimed believer in women empowerment?

While I know that the ideal thing to do would be to be the bigger person and forgive the women who have knowingly hurt me, I don’t think that for the time being I’m at a place where I can actually do that.

Of course, I don’t spend my days pricking voodoo dolls of those women and wishing the worst on them, but I can’t pretend to like them either, and I can’t help indulging in a little bitchfest every once in a while, where I bash on the women whom I justifiably don’t like.

So for now, I guess I have to settle with being this living contradiction: I say that I don’t believe in girl hate, but if you happen to be my close friend, you might occasionally hear me trashing the girl who used me for her own benefit.