The women's movement gave me a set of tools to think about things

When Naomi Alderman declared, “The women’s movement gave me a set of tools to think about things like my body and how people react to me and the way that my dating life was going. It’s a very practical movement — yes, it’s about issues like how we can get more women MPs elected, but it’s also about how feminism affects things like your relationship,” she spoke as both a writer and a seeker of truth. Beneath her calm, reflective tone lies a revelation that reaches beyond politics — the understanding that feminism is not an abstract banner, but a living philosophy that reshapes how one perceives self and society. In her words, the movement ceases to be merely an engine of reform and becomes what the ancients would have called a school of the soul — a way of seeing, of being, of understanding one’s power and one’s worth in the world.

The origin of her quote lies in Alderman’s personal awakening — not as a slogan, but as lived experience. She describes how the women’s movement gave her “a set of tools” — a profound metaphor for knowledge that liberates. For tools are not just ideas; they are instruments of change, meant to be used, to shape, to build. Through these tools, she learned to question the silent scripts of culture: how her body was viewed, how her relationships were shaped by expectation, how her ambitions were framed by centuries of inherited limitation. This is the kind of enlightenment that the ancients sought in philosophy — the moment when a person learns to distinguish what is natural from what is imposed. Feminism, in Alderman’s telling, is not only about justice in the public sphere — it is a discipline of inner freedom.

To the wise of old, the transformation of society always began with the transformation of the individual. Socrates taught that the unexamined life is not worth living; Alderman reminds us that the unexamined womanhood — the unexamined self under patriarchy — is not fully lived. Her words echo the lineage of thinkers who have insisted that the liberation of the mind precedes all other forms of liberation. The feminist consciousness, for her, is not confined to parliament or protest — it is in the mirror, in the home, in the lover’s gaze. It teaches one to see the invisible strings that bind daily life, to trace each thread back to its origin, and to decide, with clarity and courage, whether to cut it or to weave it anew.

The ancient world itself offers a story that mirrors this revelation. In the time of Hypatia of Alexandria, one of the first female philosophers and scientists, knowledge was both shield and sword. Hypatia did not lead armies or hold public office, yet she wielded her intellect to challenge the prejudices of her age. She taught her students to look beyond superstition, beyond inherited dogma, to see truth as a living thing. Like Alderman’s feminism, Hypatia’s teaching was not purely theoretical; it was profoundly practical. It shaped how her students thought, spoke, and lived. Through thought, she freed them — just as feminism, in Alderman’s life, frees the individual to see her body and her relationships not as destiny, but as choices.

Alderman also reminds us of something easily forgotten in modern discourse: that movements of justice are most powerful when they transform the everyday. She points to “dating life,” to “relationships,” to the small, unseen moments where inequality hides behind habit and tradition. It is here that true change begins — not only in laws passed or offices won, but in how people see one another, in how a woman learns to say no without apology, or yes without shame. This is why she calls feminism a “practical movement.” It is philosophy translated into action, belief made flesh. The ancients would have called this praxis — the marriage of thought and deed, the harmony between wisdom and the living of it.

Her insight also speaks to the timeless struggle between appearance and essence. The world has long told women what they should look like, how they should behave, what they should desire. Feminism, as Alderman describes it, gives the power to look back — to analyze, to question, to reclaim. It teaches that the self is not a performance written by others, but a story authored by one’s own hand. The body, once seen as an object of judgment, becomes an instrument of agency. The relationship, once a script of roles, becomes a dialogue between equals. In this way, feminism fulfills one of the oldest of human callings: to replace illusion with truth.

The lesson her words offer is clear and enduring: that liberation is not something given; it is something learned, practiced, and lived. Each person must acquire the tools of awareness, must examine the hidden structures of their own life, and must choose authenticity over expectation. To those who seek equality, Alderman’s message is both gentle and firm: begin not only with the laws of the world, but with the laws of your own heart. Ask where your habits come from, whom they serve, and whether they honor your spirit.

And so, let Naomi Alderman’s words stand as a testament to modern wisdom clothed in ancient spirit. Feminism, as she defines it, is not a distant ideal — it is the daily act of awakening. It teaches that the revolution does not begin in the halls of power, but in the quiet, courageous moments of thought, when one looks within and says, I will no longer live unexamined. In that moment, the personal becomes political, and the ordinary becomes sacred. And through that awakening, generation after generation learns anew what the ancients always knew: that the truest freedom begins in the mind, and from there, it transforms the world.