Daring to Take up Space

Be quiet. Be good. Don’t be rude. Don’t be loud. Don’t be disruptive. 

I guarantee nearly every girl has heard a variation of these words—these rules—growing up.

The wording varies some, sure, but—whether we heard it from our parents, teachers, or role models—the general message is the same: don’t take up too much space. 

I have never been a quiet person. I speak my mind, raise my hand in class. I am often outspoken. I have made enemies this way, and I know many of the boys in my classes—particularly my STEM classes—find me annoying. But despite all of that, I still feel like I do not deserve to take up space. Even when I try my hardest to play by the rules, to be quiet and small, I am still too much. No matter what I do, there is never room for me. 

In my three years of high school, I have taken numerous advanced Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM) classes. By far the most toxic classrooms have been the ones with male teachers—AP Physics 1, AP Physics 2 (not sure why I did it again!), AP Calc BC. These classes have far more boys than girls, yes, but I have noticed the boys take up a disproportionately large amount of the space in the room.

The boys in my classes are often loud and disruptive, and rarely chastised for it. They make incredibly rude comments, assuming they understand the experiences and views of female students without ever bothering to ask. On the other hand, if girls are disruptive in the slightest, we are nearly always reprimanded for it. From boys in AP Lit saying female characters are shallow and claiming that they somehow “asked for” the violence inflicted on them to boys in AP Physics laughing at our projects and making snide comments when we make mistakes, I have dozens of anecdotes and examples from throughout my educational career—and my life. Dozens of stories of boys being loud and disruptive, shared to friends with eye rolls and exasperated sighs. A boy who is not rude is the gold standard, while a girl who is not rude is the bare minimum. 

In the United States today, very few spaces and roles are closed to women, at least formally. But even when we have a seat at the table, so to speak, we are not allowed to take up the same amount of space as our male counterparts. In nearly every room, men take up more mental space. They occupy far more of the air in the room, so much that it feels suffocating. While it is, of course, not all men, it is so many. It is enough of them that girls are choked out of these spaces, and the ones that stay are constantly checking themselves, constantly exhausted. Whether this is actual space—in my calculus class this year, all of the girls sit at one table, in the corner—or metaphorical, it is a feeling that is nearly impossible to describe yet one I believe almost every girl knows. 

Boys mansplain, assume we are dumb, think we don’t deserve to be in the classes that we worked twice as hard to get to—and now have to work twice as hard to succeed at, because our teachers ignore us or don’t answer our questions or grade us more harshly.

But really, this is not the boys’ fault either. It is the fault of a society that tells boys they deserve everything and tells girls we do not even deserve ourselves. A society that tells boys they can demand the world and tells girls we cannot demand anything, even ourselves. It is ingrained so deeply within us that we start to believe it. 

It is this shared experience that made the Rising Voices Fellowship (RVF) so incredibly special for me. When I walked into the first RVF retreat in August, I was incredibly nervous. While I had anxiously read everyone’s bios—multiple times—I had not met any of them. I worried that I would be too much, that nobody would like me. Like many girls, especially neurodivergent girls, I am always scared of being too much.

But, in our writing and in our workshops, we have been given powerful knowledge and tools to use our voices. From learning about our history and dreaming of a better future during a feminist utopia workshop to discussing how to build the future we dream of and being given the space to use our words in all their power, RVF has given me the space to demand the world.

RVF was one of the first times I have been in a room without men, and certainly the first I had been in a dedicated Jewish feminist space. And having that space was such an incredibly special experience. For the first time, I got to be in a room full of girls with strong voices, shared experiences, and unique passions—passions they were unashamed to share, voices they were unafraid to use. I would guess that many—if not all—of my fellow RVF participants were told, at some point, to be quieter, more “normal.” But a room full of girls that use their voices is a powerful thing.

Through RVF, we have written about, learned about, and dreamed of a world that makes room for us. And we have also been taught how to demand it. 

But I know that a seat at the table is not nearly enough. It is not even enough for us to take up half of the seats at the table. It will not be enough until we take up the same amount of space as the boys do—literally and metaphorically. It will not be enough until they stop assuming we are lesser than, and until we stop believing it. It will not be enough until we stop trying to shrink ourselves to fit the roles we are expected to play.

Nearly everything in our society today tells girls to be smaller—in every way. We are told to be quiet and good. When we ask for things, we are rude. When we speak up and use our voices, we are bratty. When we become aware of our power—or, G-d forbid, command too much of it—we are labeled bitches. Sluts.

But it is in taking up space—even when we feel like we cannot—that we reclaim our power. I have learned to do this through my RVF writing this year. The forum I have been given through RVF for my words is such a special one. My RVF pieces are one of the very few places I can fully unleash my thoughts and self. They are the only place I can voice my true thoughts without feeling like I am too angry or too much.

RVF has taught me many things, but I believe the most powerful thing I have learned is how to unashamedly take up space. And in a world that wants girls to shrink ourselves to fit, that is a powerful thing indeed.