What to Say Instead of “Womxn” and Why It Matters

originally published November 18, 2021; revised April 18, 2025; expanded 2026

QUICK LINKS:

+ THE SHORT ANSWER
+ TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN
+ THE HISTORIES BEHIND THE WORDS
+ NONBINARY & GENDERQUEER PEOPLE
+ THE LARGER PATTERN
+ GENDER & OUR AUDIENCE
+ WHAT TO SAY INSTEAD
+ FOUR QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER

+ “DOESN’T THIS ERASE WOMEN?”
+ LANGUAGE IS A BEGINNING
+ COMMON QUESTIONS
+ FURTHER LEARNING

THE SHORT ANSWER

Use women when you mean women. Women includes trans women, and it always has. And also, be sure you’re ready to truly welcome, serve, and affirm trans women.

When you mean something more specific—a body, an experience, a life transition, a form of oppression—name that thing directly. People who menstruate. People impacted by misogyny. Women and gender-expansive leaders. Specificity does the work that an x or a + was reaching for.

Wondering which language fits your particular work? Try the free Gender-Inclusive Marketing Language Tool →

When we seek to use inclusive language, our intention might not always match the impact of our word choices.

Words like womxn and women+ were once applauded in so-called radical spaces for attempting to acknowledge and include trans and nonbinary folks. Today, these terms aren't as inclusive as they once claimed to be.

Let's break this down.

Trans Women Are Women—No Asterisk Needed

Terms like womxn and women+ imply that trans women are somehow separate from the word women. This suggestion—that trans women require an "update" to the word to be included—is based on a misunderstanding at best, and an act of exclusion at worst.

If we affirm that trans women are women (spoiler: they are), then the word "women" already includes them. No additional symbols or characters are necessary. The idea that we need to modify the term is rooted in a cisnormative understanding of gender—a belief system that centers cisgender people and sees their identities as the default.

Using the word women, full stop, is inclusive of both cis and trans women. The fact that dominant culture doesn't yet recognize this truth is part of the cultural shift we must work toward.

The Histories Behind the Words

(This is a super abbreviated history.)

There's important context to understand about how these alternative spellings came to be:

Womyn emerged in the 1970s as an effort to separate the word "women" from the word "men" as part of feminist language reform. However, it was quickly co-opted into trans-exclusionary feminist spaces, most notably the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival, which enforced a "womyn-born-womyn" policy that explicitly excluded trans women.

Womxn was initially offered as a more inclusive term—one that sought to honor the existence of trans women and signal inclusivity. In its time, it was a well-meaning attempt. But as our collective understanding has evolved, many of us see how it still subtly reinforces transness as "other" and risks upholding the very binary it claims to subvert.

Language evolves. And as our understanding of gender and inclusion deepens, so must the ways we communicate.

What About NonBinary and Genderqueer People?

Here's where it gets even more complex: These so-called "inclusive" terms—womxn, women+, womanish—are often used to signal inclusion of nonbinary and genderqueer people. But in doing so, they risk reducing us to the margins of a binary framework we don't belong to in the first place.

Nonbinary people aren't a footnote to womanhood. We aren't an afterthought to men or women. And placing us under a "+" or a stray "x" is not the liberatory gesture it's often framed to be. It's another example of how dominant language frameworks—even well-meaning ones—can reinforce the very systems of power and exclusion they aim to disrupt.

The Pattern is Bigger than One Word

Altered spellings are one version of a much larger habit. Watch what happens in phrases like these:

• for women and anyone who menstruates

• for women and pregnant people

• for mamas and pregnant humans

• for women and nonbinary folks

• for women and people of all gender identities

First comes the main category: women. Then comes everyone else, arriving through an and.

Read structurally, the message lands as: this work is primarily for women, and also for some others who might fit here. The intention behind these phrases is almost always care. The structure still does something the intention did not choose.

Womxn, women+, and womanish are the same move compressed into a single word. An x, a +, and an and are all doing the same job: holding one category at the center and attaching everyone else to the edge of it.

Nonbinary people are not a footnote to binary identities. Trans people are not an addendum. And bodies, hormones, cycles, and reproductive experiences belong to people across the full range of gender identities.

Gender is Often a Shortcut

"I work with women."

It's one of the most common phrases in bios and taglines. Sit with it for a second, though, and a question opens up underneath it: which women?

Do you mean cis women? Cis and trans women? And what does that phrase say to someone who would benefit enormously from your work and happens to be a gender other than a woman?

Much of this traces back to conventional marketing advice, which has taught us for decades that the path to clarity runs through niching by identity:

• Women entrepreneurs

• Female founders

• Marketing for women

• Leadership for women

These phrases feel precise. They're built on assumptions, and assumptions—about gender and about everything else—flatten the actual experiences of the people we hope to reach.

Here's the irony: most of the time, gender is doing very little work in your marketing. The people navigating the experiences you support will recognize themselves the moment you're clear about what you actually do.

So the useful question shifts. Rather than asking is this for men or women?, we get further with:

• What experience is this for?

• What need does this meet?

• What context is this person navigating?

• What language helps someone recognize themselves and understand that this work is for them?

Clarity is available without the binary.

What to Say Instead

Here are six situations, and what to reach for in each:

• When you actually mean women

  Say women. The word already includes trans women, and using it plainly is part of how that becomes obvious to everyone else.

  When you want to be specific about who you're gathering, name them:

  • Women

  • Cis and trans women

  • Queer women

  • Women of color

  • Black women and Black nonbinary people

  • Women and gender-expansive leaders

  That last construction earns its and because both groups are named as full categories rather than one being appended to the other.

  NOTE: if you’re not yet prepared to meaningfully hold space for trans and nonbinary people, that is work to note and do as you start to shift your messaging, positioning, or marketing.

• When you mean a body or a bodily experience

  Bodies and gender identities are separate things. Name the body directly:

  • People who menstruate

  • Pregnant people

  • Birthing parents

  • People navigating perimenopause and menopause

  • People with uteruses

  • People navigating fertility treatment

  • People experiencing pelvic pain

• When you mean a life transition

  • People navigating career change

  • People in the early years of parenting

  • People recovering from burnout

  • People navigating identity shifts and change

• When you mean people shaped by a system

  • People impacted by misogyny

  • People affected by gender-based violence

  • People whose careers are shaped by sexism

  • People navigating gendered expectations at work

  • Women and gender-expansive people living under patriarchy

• When you mean a practice or a need

  • People building a sustainable business

  • Practitioners rethinking their relationship with visibility

  • Caregivers looking for support

  • People learning to rest

• When gender is doing no work at all

  This is the most common case, and the easiest one to miss:

  • Participants

  • Clients

  • Practitioners

  • Business owners

  • Community members

  • Parents and caregivers

  • Leaders

WORKED EXAMPLES

• A WELLNESS OFFERING

  Instead of: for women's wellness

  Try: for people navigating menstrual and hormonal health

• A BUSINESS PROGRAM

  Instead of: for female entrepreneurs

  Try: for small business owners who care about impact and profit

• A COACHING CONTAINER

  Instead of: for women in transition

  Try: for people navigating life transitions, identity shifts, and change

• A LEADERSHIP PROGRAM

  Instead of: a leadership program for womxn

  Try: a leadership program for women and gender-expansive leaders navigating sexism and gendered expectations at work

  Or, when gender is beside the point: a leadership program for values-driven nonprofit leaders

• A MENOPAUSE OFFERING

  Instead of: menopause support for womxn

  Try: support for people navigating perimenopause and menopause

• A REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH EVENT

  Instead of: women's reproductive health

  Try: reproductive health education for people with uteruses

• AN AFFINITY SPACE

  Instead of a plus sign that asks people to guess whether they're included, name the actual community: a gathering for Black women and Black nonbinary people

Specificity is more respectful than a symbol.

Four questions before you use gender in your marketing:

Is gender actually relevant here?

Sometimes it absolutely is. A support circle for trans women, a program addressing workplace sexism, a space built around shared experience of misogyny—gender is the point in each of these, and naming it plainly might be the right call.

Am I naming a lived experience, or making an assumption?

Assumptions carry bias by design. They're worth interrogating every time.

Who might read this and feel like an afterthought?

Then ask the follow-up: who do I want to include, and how do I show that alongside telling it?

Could I be more specific without leaning on the binary?

Usually yes. And the more specific version is almost always the stronger marketing.

"Doesn't this erase women?"

This objection comes up often enough to answer directly.

Terms like pregnant people, birthing parents, and people with uteruses exist because of three straightforward facts:

• Some women cannot become pregnant.

• Some people who become pregnant are men or nonbinary people.

• Many people harmed by reproductive injustice are something other than cisgender women.

Language that accounts for everyone affected by gender-based oppression makes a movement more accurate, and accuracy makes it stronger.

Women's rights and trans rights move together. Reproductive justice advocacy reaches everyone affected by abortion bans. Work against gender-based violence addresses harm across all marginalized genders. Solidarity that centers the people facing the most compounded oppression—BIPOC/PGM, disabled, and unhoused members of trans communities among them—builds a better outcome for everybody in the room.

A feminism that excludes trans people is a smaller, weaker, more exclusionary thing than feminism.

Saying women clearly, and saying people who menstruate clearly, in the situations where each is accurate, adds precision. Nobody loses a word.

Language is Where the Work starts

‍Changing your copy shifts what people read. Shifting power in a room takes more.

In my workshops we talk constantly about intent versus impact, and about the difference between allyship as a signal and co-conspiratorship as a practice—Bettina Love's framing, and the more useful of the two.

Before you invite people in, work through this:‍ ‍

• Do your forms let people enter their actual name and pronouns?

• Are pronoun fields optional rather than required?

• Are your facilitators prepared to interrupt transphobia in real time?

• Do your examples and images include trans and nonbinary people beyond tokenization?

• Are your physical spaces and bathrooms accessible and inclusive to use?

• Do your policies name discrimination and harassment specifically?

• Is there a process for feedback, harm, and repair before harm occurs?

• Are you prepared to serve the people you're about to invite?

‍If a handful of these are open questions, that's where the real work is waiting.

And a few prompts to sit with, which tend to surface more than a checklist does:

• Who do I picture when I say women?

• What assumptions about gender are already built into my offerings and my content?

• When I describe my work as inclusive, how do I demonstrate that beyond the word itself?

• Who might feel uncertain or unwelcome in my space because of how I've described it?

• What would it mean, for me specifically, to decenter patriarchy in my work and my marketing?

Common Questions

• What if I want cis men to know my work isn't for them?

  This is the question underneath most gender-based niching, so it's worth answering plainly.

  Start with the practical: how often do cis men actually seek out your offerings? For most people I work with, the honest answer is rarely—and the language built to keep them out does far more work excluding trans and nonbinary people who genuinely want what you offer.

  Then the deeper piece. Building your marketing around who you're keeping out lets patriarchy set the terms. Relying on binary gender norms for your niching and your keywords is not the feminist flex it can feel like.

  When your work centers people navigating gender-based oppression, say that:

  This space is for people impacted by gender-based oppression, including cis and trans women and nonbinary folks.

  Notice the structure. The experience comes first and the groups are named inside it, rather than one group sitting at the center with everyone else attached at the edge.

  And when a space is genuinely restricted for safety—a survivors' circle, a specific affinity gathering—name that clearly and hold the boundary. Specificity serves you there too.

• Is womxn offensive?

  Intentions behind it are usually generous. The impact is that it marks trans women as a modification to womanhood and folds nonbinary people into a binary we sit outside of.

  Most trans and nonbinary people I know would rather see women used plainly, with specific language reserved for specific situations.

• Does "women" include trans women?

  Yes. Trans women are women, so the word already covers them. Cultural recognition of that fact is still catching up, and using the word plainly is part of how it catches up.

• Should I use "women+"?

  The plus sign asks readers to determine on their own whether they count. Name who you actually mean instead.

• Is "women and femmes" inclusive?

  It repeats the women and structure, with a second category attached to the first. If you're gathering people connected by an experience of gender-based oppression, name that experience. If you're gathering a specific community, name that community.

• Should I say "people with uteruses"?

  When you're talking about uteruses, yes. When you're talking about women, say women. The terms serve different purposes and both are useful.

• What does "people socialized as female" mean?

  It refers to how a person was raised and treated based on the sex assigned to them at birth. It carries assumptions worth examining before you use it, and it's rarely as precise as naming the specific experience you have in mind.

• What should I do after someone corrects my language?

  Thank them, change the word, and move on without an extended apology that puts them in the position of comforting you. Then look at whether anything underneath the word needs to change too.

• What about the term "biological sex"?

  I recommend sex assigned at birth, which is more accurate and less frequently weaponized. I've written about that here.

WANT TO LEARN MORE?

+ Apply this to your own work.
The Gender-Inclusive Marketing Language Tool walks you through five questions and returns language suited to your specific offer, audience, and context. Free, no email required.

+ Go deeper on the underlying ideas.
· Debunking the myth of biological sex
· Beyond the buzzword: why "safe spaces" aren't always safe
· Spiritual work shouldn't harm

‍+ Bring this work to your team.
I offer consulting, workshops, and training on gender-inclusive language, trans solidarity, and building cultures that hold up under pressure.

+ Keep reading.
Visibility Is Not Neutral, my Substack articles on marketing, power, and showing up online.

“Too Angry”: The Price of Speaking Truth as a Trans Person in a White Feminist Space

published May 5, 2025

I was fired for being “too angry.”

Not for being dishonest. Not for being incompetent. Not even for being wrong.

I was fired for expressing anger—righteous, reactive, protective anger—in response to repeated harm. And because I’m a trans person, that anger was pathologized, policed, and ultimately punished.

When I raised concerns about unchecked bias and a repeated, dangerous misrepresentation of gender diversity in the work we were agreeing to market together, I was told:

“You keep saying ‘impact over intent,’ but intent is important!”
“You’re asking us to teach people calculus when they need to learn basic math.”
“Your feedback is accurate. I just wish you could’ve communicated it in a nicer way. You seem so angry.”

This is what tone policing can look like. This is what gaslighting can sound like. And it’s a common dynamic many marginalized people face when offering feedback in systems that aren’t set up to receive it well.

Tokenization ≠ Liberation

I was hired, in part, because of my trans identity. My lived experience was named as valuable—I was repeatedly celebrated as their trans-marketing "unicorn," until it became uncomfortable. Until I named harm. Until I expected people to live into their claimed values.

When I began to offer feedback about the mistaken and dangerous narratives in their body of work, unfortunately, the conversations followed a pattern many of us might recognize:

• Harm is named.

• The response centers intent over impact (repeatedly).

• There’s a request to "be nicer" in the delivery.

• The conversation shifts to the feelings of the person receiving the feedback alongside a claim that the feedback isn't the issue. There might even be tears. 

• Tone becomes the issue. Professionalism becomes a shield—"when you said you couldn't separate the personal from the professional, that was like a red flag for us," they told me.

If you’ve found yourself on the receiving end of a call-in or call-out (which are different things, according to Loretta Ross and her book, Calling In: How to Start Making Change with Those You'd Rather Cancel), here are some things to consider:

• Are you focusing on defending your intentions instead of listening to the impact?

• Are you asking someone from a marginalized identity to explain it more gently while they’re still hurt?

• Are you asking someone from a marginalized identity to teach you how to "fix it quickly" as if we can simply make it all go away?

• Are you making it about your pain or discomfort instead of staying with theirs?

• Are you reacting—or getting curious?

These are questions I’m trying to learn to ask myself, too.

Allyship isn’t a title—it’s a practice. It’s about making space for hard truths, staying in the room, and tending to the harm rather than trying to avoid it.

If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. — Desmond Tutu

None of us gets it right all the time. But when we’re in positions of more power or privilege, we’re called to do better—not perfectly, but courageously.

What Safer Spaces Actually Require

Real safety doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from honesty, relationship, and the capacity to hold each other through hard moments. That includes making space for anger—especially when it’s the result of compounded hurt or harm.

Anger isn’t the problem. Avoidance is. Fragility is. The refusal to be uncomfortable is.

As Mia Mingus says:

Apologizing well is a fundamental part of accountability. It is a skill that we should all understand and practice consistently. You cannot take accountability if you do not know how to apologize well.

Many of us weren’t taught how to apologize well. I know I wasn’t. My default was once, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” And that’s what I heard, nearly word for word, from the people who fired me last week.

But that’s not accountability. That’s avoidance dressed up as empathy.

So what does real accountability sound like?

• “You’re right. I caused harm.”

• “I take responsibility.”

• “Here’s how I’m working to repair this.”

• “I won’t ask you to hold my learning process or my emotional reactions.”

These are skills we can learn. And they’re essential if we’re serious about solidarity. Full transparency: I’m learning them, too.

From Performative Allyship to Actual Practice

If you’re someone building an organization, community, or brand: please consider this an invitation, not a condemnation. The call is to us all—to deepen our practice. To move from stated values into embodied ones. To show up even when it’s hard.

And when we are on the receiving end of feedback, especially across lines of difference: this is an opportunity to slow down and ask:

What is this moment asking of me? Can I shift from defensiveness to curiosity? From self-protection to responsibility? What would allow me to do so? Do I need a pause? Space from the conversation to digest with someone else? How can I stay in the conversation—even if I need a break, and take responsibility, rather than seeking to avoid my own discomfort by denying someone else's experience?

Because if our values only hold up when things are easy, they’re not really values. They’re just PR.

We don’t need perfection. We need people willing to stay with the discomfort long enough to transform it.

The Courage to Trust Ourselves—and Be Responsible for What Moves Through Us

In moments like these, when things break down, we’re invited to remember: we are not the systems we’ve been shaped by. Still, those systems do move through us. White supremacy, transphobia, fragility, avoidance—these are patterns we’ve absorbed through culture and conditioning.

They aren’t necessarily our fault. They are our responsibility.

To be in community across lines of difference, we need to trust that we are who we say we are. That we are capable of staying open, learning, and making repair. That being called in isn’t a threat to our identity—but an invitation to grow into it more fully.

That takes courage. That takes self-trust. And that takes a willingness to believe that our capacity for relationship is bigger than our reflex to protect ourselves.

When we can hold that truth, we stop reacting—and we start responding. With care. With humility. With accountability.

Growth and comfort don’t live on the same block.
—Mia Mingus

This work isn't easy and we have to do it anyways.
—Michelle Cassandra Johnson

Beyond the Buzzword: Why “Safe Spaces” Aren’t Always Safe

Published August 8th, 2024; revised April 18th, 2025

It’s a phrase many of us hear a lot: “This is a safe space.”

And while the intention behind it is often rooted in care—a desire to create environments where people feel welcome, respected, and included—I’m increasingly aware, especially moving into 2025, that it’s not trauma-informed to promise that any space is inherently safe.

Because safety is personal. Each of us brings our own lived experiences, identities, and traumas into the spaces we occupy. What feels safe to one person might feel uncomfortable, disorienting, or even harmful to another.

For many trans and nonbinary people, for example, spaces that are labeled “safe” often still uphold systems, behaviors, or unconscious dynamics that exclude, tokenize, or harm us. Sometimes it's a lack of gender-inclusive practices. Other times, it's a refusal to name power dynamics, or a culture that prioritizes comfort over accountability.

This isn’t about dismissing the good intentions behind “safe spaces.” I truly believe many people mean well when they use that language.

And yet, when we make that promise—explicitly or implicitly—we risk unintentionally erasing the complexity of people’s lived realities. We flatten difference in the name of comfort. We silence necessary conflict. We prioritize a feeling over a practice.

So, what’s the alternative?

Credit to Michelle Cassandra Johnson, who was one of my first teachers on this topic: she taught me that safer spaces are the more honest and aligned aspiration.

Safer spaces don’t pretend to be perfect.
They don’t claim to be free from harm.
They acknowledge that conflict, rupture, and discomfort are part of the work of being in any relationship, and especially in relationship across lines of differences of identity or power.

What makes a space safer is the commitment to try—to take responsibility, to repair when needed, and to orient toward practices that reduce harm and build trust over time.

Safer spaces require care. They ask us to consider:

• Who holds power in this space?

• Who feels most at ease—and who is being asked to stretch, explain, or accommodate?

• What are we willing to do when harm happens—not if but when?

These are the questions that can guide us into deeper integrity. Because creating safer spaces isn’t a checklist. It’s not a bullet-point on a flyer. It’s an ongoing practice—personal and collective—that asks us to stay engaged, especially in relation to power, privilege, and oppression.

It asks us to be brave enough to move at the speed of trust, even when that trust has to be rebuilt again and again.

Reflection Prompts

I invite you to sit with these questions, whether you’re a facilitator, an organizer, a participant, or simply someone who wants to move through the world with more care:

• Have you ever been in a space that claimed to be “safe” but didn’t feel that way?

• What would creating a safer space look like in your community or workplace?

• What’s one commitment you can make to help build a safer space for trans and nonbinary people in the years ahead?

Want to keep this conversation going?

I write regularly about trans inclusion, collective care, and equity-informed marketing and business. You can sign up for my newsletter here or check out more articles and free resources.

Let’s build something better—together.

LGBTQ+ Allyship for Yoga Teachers

Originally published as “Want to be a True Ally? Do the Inner Work” with Yoga Journal magazine.

We can create “safer” spaces for trans and non-binary people in yoga spaces. Here’s how. 

In yoga and wellness communities, the term “safe space” has intended to mean that “all are welcome.” But, the truth is, we cannot guarantee safety for every single person in a yoga space—because each individual has different needs and a personal understanding of what “safety” means for them. It’s impossible to hold space for an entire group of people and ensure that each person’s individual needs are constantly met, especially when what they need may shift or change.

But, while we might not be able to guarantee safe spaces, we can create safer spaces, says yoga teacher and social justice warrior Michelle Cassandra Johnson. Our yoga practice can show us how.

What is a safer space?

As a transgender, nonbinary, and queer person who has been practicing yoga for twenty years, I know firsthand the need for safer yoga spaces for those of us who don’t conform to gender norms, assignments, or expectations—spaces that welcome and respect trans and non-binary students, spaces where we aren’t misgendered or subjected to transphobic remarks, where we aren’t given dirty looks for being “unreadable” as a “man or woman,” where we can use a public bathroom or changing room in peace.

Safer spaces and communities are created by and with allies who see, validate, and affirm trans and non-binary community members. But genuine allyship—also often referred to as being an “accomplice” or a “co-conspirator”—is rooted in inner work. We cannot be in solidarity with others without committing to the deeper practices of noticing and questioning our thoughts, our actions, and our relationships. The truth is that allyship, like yoga, is a practice of inner work. And we must commit to this deeper work in order to create safer yoga spaces for all.

Finding the ally within

As a yoga teacher, you cannot guarantee the safety of your trans students. But aiming to create safer spaces for trans folks is within everyone’s reach. Doing so calls on the teachings of yoga, beginning with the yamas and niyamas—the ethical precepts contained in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras that are intended to guide our thoughts, actions, and relationships.

On our yoga mats, we learn to watch the nature of our minds, to observe our reactions and thought patterns, and to return to the present moment. This is Yoga Sutra 1.2, Yogas-citta-vrtti-nirodhah, in action. Melissa Shah, a yoga therapist trained in the Viniyoga tradition, interprets this Sutra to mean “directing the mind with sustained attention.”

Slowing down and practicing mindfulness is a yogic practice that supports us in engaging in the inner work we must do before we can fully engage in the outer work of allyship. When we slow down and when we practice mindfulness, we can remember the things that help us to become stronger allies.

Through present-moment awareness, we might be better able to notice our biases, the assumptions we make about others, and the ways in which our minds might be conditioned to see gender. By staying mindful, we can shift our minds, our behaviors, and our language choices in the moment.

When we practice mindfulness, we can remember that we can’t assume someone’s gender based on appearances. We can take the time to slow down and remember someone’s pronouns—or find the humility to ask if we’ve forgotten. We can choose to replace gendered language and heteronormative images with gender neutral words, cues, and imagery in our practice space and communities. Most importantly, we can acknowledge when harm has occurred—whether we’ve been the perpetrator or a witness—and we can engage in the practice of repair. We can take responsibility and hold ourselves and others accountable.

Applying the yamas and niyamas

Practicing this way is ahimsa, or non-harming, in practice. But it is also about svadhyaya, or self-study. When you look within, you can reflect on what narratives you might have internalized relating to your own experience of gender. Reflect on the ways you’ve personally experienced internal disconnects, suffering, or harm because of the gender binary and our gendered systems. These are constructs and systems that impact us all, regardless of our gender identities.

Trans, non-binary, and gender non-conforming folks suffer in this system, while cisgender folks benefit from it because they’re seen and upheld as the “norm.” And still, this is a both/and scenario. Cisgender folks also experience harmful effects.

For example, cis men and people socialized as men may limit emotional expression, a characteristic associated with toxic masculinity. A system that reinforces heteronormativity also proliferates Western cultural beauty standards. It promotes body shaming, fatphobia, diet culture, slut-shaming, and other harmful behaviors and beliefs that affect people of all gender identities.

Beginning the Culture Shift

In order for us to subvert the gender binary and create safer spaces in which all of us can thrive—and especially those of us most impacted by oppressive systems and structures—we must reflect on what we’ve internalized from harmful messaging and how that plays out in our lives.

This is what it means to take responsibility for yourself and others; this is what it means to commit to the work of holding yourself accountable. Yoga invites us to commit to our individual and collective transformation and liberation, creating a more welcoming and inclusive world for everybody.