I was nine years old when “I Am Woman” came out and the people around me mocked it. The song was not celebratory or empowering; it was embarrassing. My parents turned it off when it came on the radio. People said mean things about Helen Reddy and attacked her appearance.

This is what I remember. So, being nine, I learned the lesson. Don’t roar. You are not strong. Better not to be noticed than to be mocked. Fade into the background. And I did. For a long time.

The fact that I ended up a feminist, a teacher of women’s studies and an abortion rights advocate on the local and sometimes national stage for twenty five years is an absolute wonder to me when I think about the way I was raised. And when I think about my resistance to Helen Reddy. Sure, it was always a cheesy song. But these kinds of anthems often are. I was probably in my 30s or 40s the first time I actually sang along to it at a rally. Somehow, I knew all the words. They had made their way into me. They were always there.

What does this teach me? First of all, the power of bullying and mockery is intense. There’s a reason why people do it. There are a lot of kids growing up in Tr*mp’s era (and the years leading up to it that enabled this kind of shitshow) who have been silenced. They have had their natural inclination toward fairness and justice squelched. Those poor kids.

It might take them decades to find their way back, and the only way they will is if they find examples, over and over and over, to counter the baloney they are being fed. Be those voices. Talk about justice and social responsibility and kindness and the importance of holding each other up. Talk about healing wounds—in people, in the environment, in our relationships to each other and the world.

Secondly, these initial wounds CAN be overcome. I overcame them, and did it with very few teachers. Very few. I can count on one hand who lifted me out of the misogyny and racism that I learned as a child. And I am so grateful to them. And then I was resourced. I had a brilliant liberal arts education at some of the top universities in the country. I was granted scholarships so I could go, the first in my family to earn a degree. These scholarships were funded by people who knew the importance of education, of specifically an arts education, to open minds. They helped me, these strangers.

And I was held up and helped by my community, especially, (of all the places to note) in Calgary. I met good feminists in Alberta—too many to name. The kind of women that Helen Reddy sang about. It’s where I did most of my teaching. It’s also where I was subjected to the same kind of mockery and bullying that I experienced when I was nine. I wasn’t always successful in the way I handled it, but I wasn’t a child anymore. And this time I had help.

Now when I hear, “Yes, I am wise, but it’s wisdom born from pain. Yes, I’ve paid the price, but look how much I’ve gained. If I have to, I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible,” I don’t feel embarrassed by the cheesiness of the song. I feel grateful. Thanks for the anthem, Ms. Reddy, and thanks to all the women along the way who gave it meaning for me.