Internalized Misogyny

When most people hear the word misogyny, they think of the obvious acts. The man who makes crude jokes about women in the workplace. The father who refuses to let his daughter go to school because “she belongs in the kitchen.” The politician who openly dismisses women’s rights. Those are clear. They are loud. They are undeniable.

But there is a quieter kind of misogyny that slips into our lives every day, one that women themselves often repeat and enforce without realizing it. This is what people call internalized misogyny—when the biases and beliefs of a society that undervalues women take root inside women, and then come out in the ways we treat ourselves and each other.

It is not always harsh or violent. Sometimes it sounds like encouragement. Sometimes it feels like advice. Sometimes it even looks like protection. And that is what makes it so insidious.

Think about this: a girl is told to keep her voice down because “girls shouldn’t be too loud.” She might laugh it off, but over time she learns that her presence has to shrink to be acceptable. Later, when she becomes a woman, she might tell another young girl the same thing, believing it is a lesson in good behavior. She is not trying to be cruel, but the cycle continues.

Or picture a group of friends where one woman calls another “too emotional” during an argument. Men get angry too. Men cry too. Without realizing it, we repeat the very stereotype that has been used to dismiss us for centuries.

There is also the way women sometimes police each other’s choices. A woman who chooses not to marry might hear another woman say, “But don’t you want someone to take care of you?” A woman who prioritizes her career may be called selfish by her peers for not rushing to have children. A mother who does have children may be judged by other women for not being “present enough” if she works outside the home. In each case, the criticism does not always come from men. It comes from women who have been taught to measure their worth by the same narrow standards.

Internalized misogyny shows up in beauty standards as well. When a woman criticizes another for being “too dark,” “too fat,” “too masculine,” she is enforcing the same system that has convinced her that only a narrow version of femininity is desirable. The judgment may sound like casual gossip, but at its root it is a form of control.

Even in conversations about safety, it appears. Women tell each other not to wear certain clothes or not to walk at night alone. Of course, this is often meant to protect, but it also reinforces the idea that responsibility for violence lies in women’s choices rather than in men’s actions. The message is, “If something happens, it will be your fault.” Over time, many women begin to believe it.

One of the most subtle forms is competition. Many women are raised to see other women as rivals. Rivalry for male attention. Rivalry for the one “spot” at the table in a male-dominated space. Rivalry for approval, for validation, for visibility.

The most heartbreaking part of internalized misogyny is how natural it feels when you are caught in it. You might not even pause to think about why you made that comment about another woman’s outfit, or why you roll your eyes when a female colleague speaks up. You might even feel proud of being “not like other girls” because you have learned that distancing yourself from femininity wins you respect. But all of these are quiet ways of absorbing the same old belief that being a woman is a disadvantage.

Breaking out of this cycle requires more than pointing fingers at men or society. It requires an honest look at ourselves. How often do we silence another woman under the guise of advice? How often do we measure her worth with standards we did not choose but inherited? How often do we shrink ourselves to avoid being labeled “too much”?

The truth is, many of these habits are so normalized that they feel ordinary. They hide in the jokes, in the warnings, in the expectations, in the offhand remarks. They hide in the ways we raise girls differently from boys, in the ways we praise one woman while subtly tearing down another. And because they feel ordinary, we rarely stop to question them.

But questioning is the first step. When you catch yourself criticizing another woman’s choices, pause and ask where that judgment comes from. When you find yourself minimizing your own voice, ask who benefits from your silence. When you hear advice that sounds protective but feels limiting, ask why women alone are burdened with those rules.

Internalized misogyny thrives in the shadows of daily life. Bringing it into the light does not make us perfect overnight, but it gives us the power to choose differently. And that choice matters. Because every time a woman supports another woman, every time she refuses to pass down an old bias, every time she claims her space without apology, she chips away at a structure that has stood for centuries.

Misogyny may be woven into the fabric of society, but we do not have to wear it as our own skin.