Embodying The Hag at the Edge of the Forest: Writing Without the Worry of Being Popular

A lot of us can look back on our lives and see the turning point(s) when everything as we knew it completely altered. One of those such moments that changed my brain chemistry forever was when I published an essay that had been sitting in my drafts for a year in which I criticized my boss at Planet Granite, now Movement, in so-called Portland, Oregon back in 2016. You can read it here. Reading over this essay almost a decade later, I reflect on how mired in white feminism I was.

Here's the backstory: One glorious day, my boss invited me to host an all-women climb night—an opportunity I was thrilled and honored to lead. However, he refused to let me choose the event's name. Corporate had decided to call it "Beta Babes," a name that didn't sit right with me.

At the time, as a dedicated climber, it felt important to be divorced from any kind of language that had the potential to be belittling. I especially loathed the name because this was going to be an event for the women at this gym’s location and it only felt right that we name it.

However, by my boss’ decree, the name would remain on the flyers and website unless I brainstormed something “more marketable.” This was doubly infuriating as he was implying that sales were more important than ensuring that his employee (me), the host of the event, felt comfortable with the title—not to mention that a good amount of women in the community weren’t fans of the name either.

You know how on the internet we’re all sharing moments that radicalized us? This was one of the many moments that radicalized me. His refusal to change the name to something I was more comfortable with like “Women Climb Night,” was a reflection of how we live in a society where insecure, mediocre men with no personality are put in positions of power to make the final decisions. Of course, I’m aware of how insignificant this incident is compared to the myriad injustices that people who are exponentially marginalized face. At the time, while I wrote a very white feminist article about the way things unfolded, I understood that if a white woman like me armed with all the privilege in the world was still being dismissed, looked over for promotions, and ultimately silenced for noticing the cracks in their progressive facade, how could this possibly be a safe space for anyone who had less privilege than me?

It was one among many lessons I was learning at the time about the hypocrisy of the climbing “community,” (because so many white bro climbers will laud each other for how open and inclusive they are, meanwhile climbing remains a cesspool of toxic masculinity). It was confirmation of how the outdoor industry as a whole purports these grand, spoken values of “inclusivity,” “equity,” and “integrity,” without any proof or action behind these claims. What radicalized me even more were the equal amounts of backlash and praise I received for writing the article.

““That essay taught me that writing isn’t just a tool for personal catharsis—it’s a mechanism for accountability.””

I had always been anti-capitalist before I even knew what the word “capitalist” meant, starting off strong at the Starbucks kiosk in the mall when I was 15. You could reliably find me handing out whippets to my friends for free (now I know what they were using these for—baby Erin was so naive), giving free coffees to mall workers at 7:30am, and upgrading customers' drinks to Ventis (the supersize option for non-Starbucks drinkers out there—we're boycotting Starbucks by the way because Free Palestine). I'd add free espresso shots, extra, extra whip, and gratuitous drizzles of caramel willy nilly without a second thought. Having no real understanding of the economy at the time, I intuitively knew that giving away free things at this large corporation was objectively the right thing to do. There was no question that it was absolutely justified to take every chance I got to shove a free pastry or brownie into someone’s hands.

Fast forward eight years later, my intuition about corporate exploitation came rushing back when my boss at Planet Granite made it clear that he valued the profit margins of this climbing gym monopoly over my valid concerns and experiences. It was a painful reminder that profit, not people, is the priority in these spaces, and my bubble finally burst regarding the climbing "community." Now, in 2024, nothing has changed at that gym. In fact, they’ve been bought out by private equity and are actively trying to squash any and all attempts by their employees trying to unionize.

Looking back, this was my "villain origin story.” It planted the seeds of a deeper understanding of systemic oppression.

To be honest, I cringe when I read that essay now. Admittedly, it was a bit dramatic. As I wrote here, “The writing is completely outdated and mired in white feminism…A huge part of me wants to take the essay off the website, but I’ve decided to keep it up to show that we can change and evolve in our thinking.”

I hadn’t yet read Angela Davis' Women, Race, and Class or Ta-Nehisi Coates' Between the World and Me. Reading Angela Davis, Ta-Nehisi Coates, bell hooks, Audre Lorde, Toni Morrison, and James Baldwin, as well as learning from Ericka Hart and Ebony Donnley (to name just a few), fundamentally shifted my understanding of oppression. Through Black feminist and marxist teachings I began to see how white feminism fixates on personal grievances instead of systemic inequities. Black feminism illuminated for me the pervasive reality of “white supremacy in heels” as Rachel Cargle wrote, how white women like me often avoid confronting the systems of oppression we both participate in and benefit from.

““Black feminism illuminated for me the pervasive reality of “white supremacy in heels” as Rachel Cargle wrote, how white women like me often avoid confronting the systems of oppression we both participate in and benefit from.””

The word “babe” has taken on a new meaning and life for me since I embraced my queerness a couple years ago. “Babe” in a gender neutral context is divine. I now see many incredible groups using variations of "babe" in their names, and I love it. For example, I'm smitten by Fat Stoner Babes Hiking Club here in so-called St. Louis, Missouri where I live. I don't hate the word "babe" when chosen and used by folks who use it in a context that resists and rejects cisheteronormative patriarchal gender norms. Much like how Bitch Magazine reclaimed the word "bitch," there’s so much joy in using “babe” to refer to fellow queer people as a term of endearment and even reverence. Trust me, it’s just different when a cute trans boy calls you a “babe” vs. a cis man.

While I had always used writing as a personal outlet and tool for personal catharsis, publishing that essay taught me that it’s also a mechanism for accountability. This series of events led me to scrutinize the company's actions more deeply, from their performative Black Lives Matter signs despite having no Black employees, to their ongoing hostility toward houseless people, to their role in gentrification with high entry fees and a location in the Pearl District, one of the city's most expensive neighborhoods.

After I left my job, my friends who worked there celebrated receiving a 50-cent pay raise. No, that's not a typo. These were folks who had worked there for over 3 years. One co-worker who lived and breathed that gym hadn’t received a substantial raise in over a year.

My friend told me, “baby steps,” and this is the sentiment that is echoed throughout our society when it comes to any kind of change. It’s the same logic that had Democrats begging rightfully disillusioned voters to worry about holding Harris accountable once she got into office. Those of us who know this country’s allegiance to “incrementalism” know better than to believe any president can truly be held accountable. Joe Biden is our prime example.

That summer, "baby steps" became shorthand for the corporate logic of incrementalism—a logic that alienates those of us pushing for systemic change. Losing friends in that process was painful but also clarifying: I learned that meaningful transformation, healing, and truth-telling often comes at the cost of comfort. My process of "waking up" led me through a turbulent time with my family too. I've now reached a point where I recognize that sometimes the work involves learning how to maintain relationships with people who might never see the writing on the wall.

Writing that essay plunged me into the depths of the Lilith archetype. We all have Lilith somewhere in our astrology chart and mine just happens to be in the 3rd house of communication and writing (surprise, astrology is real). It brought into focus for me the truth that writing is a weapon we can wield for many purposes and over the years I’ve been striving to hone the craft towards the purpose of contributing to collective liberation.

Writing is memory-keeping, a crucial, indelible labor that guards against a government and society seeking to dull, jar, and fog our consciousness through gaslighting, lies, misinformation, disinformation, and christofascist propaganda (see the trad wife craze). By documenting and reflecting, we preserve truths that oppressive systems seek to erase. This is a form of resistance. This is why I proudly call my work feminist killjoy propaganda, because propaganda itself is a writing weapon that can serve either justice or oppression.

Publishing that essay made me ask, if a piece of writing could make a grown man's blood pressure skyrocket so high you can see his forehead veins bulge, what else could it accomplish? How else could I wield this powerful resource for the greater good?

““Writing is memory-keeping, a crucial, indelible labor that guards against a government and society working to dull, jar, and fog our consciousness through gaslighting, lies, misinformation, disinformation, and christofascist propaganda (see the trad wife craze).””

Arundhati Roy explains in an interview how writers are tasked with being unapologetically unpopular, a very Lilithian sentiment:

“I never accepted that added profession of being an activist because I think that reduces what writers used to be…Many writers write about the world they live in without needing to be called activists. That’s a very new word, and that word has been added on because the idea of what a writer is in the world today has been reduced into a commodity. You’re supposed to be an entertainer who lives between literature festivals and best-seller lists or something. So, for me, I am a writer. I write about the world I live in…Especially today, when majoritarianism is on the rise, it’s our job to be unpopular. It’s our job to stand alone and say what we really think, not as activists, but as writers.”

What was your villain origin story? Was there a moment or many for you? When did you realize the power you could wield with your words, written or spoken? Or is there something bubbling inside you waiting to be released, unfurled, that you know has the potential to lead you into your Lilith initiation? I want us all to feel empowered to be the metaphorical hag living at the edges of the forest. I hope you see the beauty and value of dropping the search for proof of acceptance and instead embrace fearless truth-telling, finding your resolve among kindred heretics, citizen journalists, renegades, mutineers, and satirists.