Stop Waiting – What Two Generations of Women Taught Me About Surviving Patriarchy
When fish was cooked at my mother’s house, the best pieces went to the boys. The girls quietly learned to eat the head or the tail. No one called it discrimination. No one argued about fairness. It was simply how things were done. Patriarchy rarely announces itself loudly. It lives in small, ordinary moments that slowly teach girls where they stand.
Every year, International Women’s Day brings conversations about women’s rights and equality. This year’s theme, “Give to Gain,” made me reflect on something deeply personal … how two generations of women in my family learned to survive in a system that quietly expected them to stay smaller.
My mother grew up in the 1960s in a lower middle-class farming family in Kerala. There were five siblings. Her parents worked hard, but neither had formal education. Life revolved around survival, discipline, and tradition. In that world, boys and girls were not treated the same. But the differences were subtle enough to feel normal.
When food was served, the boys received the best portions. When decisions were made, their opinions carried more weight. The girls were raised with an unspoken understanding – their real home was somewhere else, after marriage.
No one explained this directly. It was absorbed through everyday life. My mother never called it unfair. That was simply the culture she inherited.
Forty years later, I believed things had changed.
At 22, I received an opportunity to travel to the Netherlands for work. No woman in my family had ever travelled abroad alone. In fact, none had worked outside the country. I was excited. I imagined the experience would be a proud moment for my family.
When I told my mother, she responded with a sentence that revealed how deeply old beliefs still lived within new generations.
“Ask your brother. He is the man of the house.”
My brother was two years older than me. At that time, he was unemployed. I was younger. I had a job. I had earned an international opportunity. But I still needed permission. Because I was a girl.
Patriarchy is often spoken about as something imposed by men. But many of its rules are carried forward by women who themselves grew up inside those structures. My mother was not trying to limit me. She was repeating what she had been taught all her life – that authority belonged to men.
Moments like these are rarely dramatic enough to make headlines. Yet they shape how women learn to see themselves.
Today, I am a motorbike rider. Not because it was my childhood dream, but because it became a lesson in independence.
When I was growing up, my mother owned a scooter. But I always wanted to sit on a motorbike. Back then, riding one was almost entirely a “boys’ privilege.” I lost my father when I was young, and my brother never rode a bike either. Somewhere in my mind, I carried a small wish: one day someone would take me for a bike ride.
Years passed. At 30, I realised something quietly uncomfortable … I was still waiting. Waiting for someone to make that small dream happen. That day, I decided to stop waiting. I learned to ride a motorbike myself. I have been riding ever since.
The lesson from that experience stayed with me long after I learned to balance the bike.
Many of us grow up waiting … waiting for permission, waiting for encouragement, waiting for someone else to lead the way. But sometimes the most powerful step we can take is deciding to move forward on our own.
That realisation eventually led me to create Let’s Live and a community space called The Orange Room.
Through these spaces, we try to build something many of us never had while growing up – safe environments where people can talk openly about their struggles, learn life skills, and seek support without fear of judgment.
In societies shaped by patriarchy, silence often becomes the norm. People internalise their struggles and assume they are alone. But when someone speaks honestly about their experience, it creates permission for others to do the same.
This is where the theme “Give to Gain” begins to make sense.
When we give our stories, we gain connection.
When we give honesty, we gain understanding.
When we give space for others to speak, we gain stronger communities.
My mother’s generation survived by accepting the rules they inherited. My generation has begun questioning them. Perhaps the next generation will grow up without having to ask for permission to pursue their dreams.
Until then, there is one lesson I carry forward …one that has nothing to do with motorcycles and everything to do with courage.
Stop waiting for someone to come and fulfil your dreams. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is learn to do it for yourself.
Sherin Noordheen (Founder-Director, Let’s Live)
Today, I have shared my story. In the coming days, you will hear from many other strong and successful women in our Unfiltered Women series … candid conversations on patriarchy, resilience, and the many meanings of “Give to Gain.”
