FYI: Important life development, my bookshelf looks awesome. You know the book that makes your collection—the one you didn’t even know you needed until you find it, place it, and realize that suddenly you’re going around saying you have a collection? I found that book.

Only problem is—I can’t bring myself to read it. I’m paranoid the content might ruin the title and I like it too much. It’s bold, red, and angrily stamped on the spine: Bitch. The subtitle on the front cover completes it: In Praise of Difficult Women.

I am a difficult woman. I can be a bitch. And no one—excepting my Swedish-born mother (and we all know how those Viking women are), and now Elizabeth Wurtzel, the author of this gem—has ever told me to be proud of that. No social setting has ever unquestionably indicated to me that standing up for myself and expressing my opinion—even when it doesn’t come out sounding like syrup and honey—is a positive choice.

This has become particularly apparent at Yale, where I, like all students, am finding extracurriculars I’m passionate about, organizing events, and generally discussing topics of personal interest. Now that the dazed confusion of freshman year has (somewhat) worn off, my opinions have taken on new importance in my life. Parents and teachers don’t monopolize my choices and my independence supersedes the lemming-like mentality of high school friendships. Thus I find myself increasingly expressing my thoughts exactly as I feel them, and increasingly asking: Am I wrong to accept that this sometimes means being a bitch? Do I need to stop, rewind, and choose a different recording?

This is a personal problem. But I think it is a topic relevant to our community at Yale. Women are obviously accepted as intellectual equals here. But I’d argue that there remains a stark difference between the progress that’s been made on the educational front and the attitude with which women are expected to approach those opportunities. Almost unequivocally, social decorum still calls for us to express ourselves following the same dated docility that decades ago excluded us from Yale in the first place. (For clarity: I am not advocating ’90s power-suit-style aggression. The main objective shouldn’t be to make anyone within a 20-foot radius cry.)

Of course there is something to be said for social propriety. I in no way want to undervalue kindness, cooperation, or respect for the ideas of others; these qualities are of supreme importance. This description of social grace, however, applies to both genders. What I’m referring to is the female-specific social inculcation to remain docile. We’re taught that it’s unladylike to voice blunt disagreement with someone. We observe that passive girls are those who date, while the outspoken ones have friends that are boys but never boyfriends. We come to interpret that “being mean” essentially encompasses all vehement expressions of opinion, regardless of malicious intent. And who wants to be mean? Who wants to be a bitch?

Well, I guess I do.

This is not a yearning for the drama to make life interesting. Drama can go stick its head in a public toilet and pull the flush lever. Nor do I want to be offensive or harmful to others. I’m just not sure that being called a “bitch” is something to be afraid of.

If I’m getting technical about it, I should clarify what I mean by the term. There seem to be two colloquial subcategories of definition. The first refers to Mean Girls, Regina George-style bitchery—those bitches are evil and I hate them. But the second is the type I refer to: The woman who doesn’t always choose her words delicately; who, when in the throes of anger and irritation, isn’t afraid to vocalize those sentiments; who accepts that sometimes, for purposes of self-preservation and personal pride, it’s okay to sound snarky while standing up for oneself. Sometimes, she is a bitch.

This image doesn’t portray a positive character. There are always ways to express sentiments in a thoughtful and considerate way. And in most cases, calmness is the path best chosen. But oftentimes rather than express such feelings in a more positive tone, we mask their true message. There reaches a point where hypersensitivity in interactions becomes counterproductive. This is where the topic at hand becomes particularly relevant to Yale, a community where intellectual discourse plays a vital role in our daily lives.

The fundamental concept underlying the general argument is one of basic rights. Logic suggests that amid the approximately 9,000 commitments a day we Yalies face, not all interactions will be positive. And when you’ve been drenched in unforecasted rain, dropped your beaker halfway through an experiment, and seen your ex drooling over a new flame, it’s the kind of day where you have no obligation to be sweet—the extra stress just isn’t worth it. I think these are the same reasons guys sometimes act like jerks. But we’ve been conditioned to accept that guys have the license to be blunt or insensitive: This, we joke, is their nature. But women must have the same right to express frustrations. Sometimes no one will listen to us unless we get angry, sometimes we just feel that strongly about the subject at hand, and sometimes we’re tired of people saying flat-out stupid and offensive things. Women generally aren’t acting the “bitch” to be bitchy.

Part of the problem is that girls themselves sustain the stereotype: Engrained social paranoia confines them to docility and unwavering sweetness. I have a friend who, whenever she says anything borderline unkind, panics. Typically, comments that make her feel terrible are what I would consider factual truths. She once rejected a date by noting it made her uncomfortable that he had already pursued half the girls in her suite. She afterward felt terrible about including the comment; I argued he should feel terrible for being a creep. As long as girls refuse liberation from these expectations of infallible kindness, it is impossible to expect the gender dynamic to change. People will continue to be appalled and disgusted when women are bluntly outspoken. Males will, subconsciously or not, expect that females remain compliant or composed regardless of context. Worse, the general public will continue to believe those women who act in such a way are inconsiderate, uneducated, or desperately seeking attention via the “shock factor.”

A parallel—and specifically academic—problem is that in the female’s reflex to find socially delicate, non-blunt phrasing, girls often hinder their own intellectual capacities. We are at fault in rendering a conversation dishonest by avoiding precise expression. As such, we degrade the intellectual potential of a serious discourse. This is a huge problem particularly in our short time at Yale. It is unlikely we will be faced with such a dynamic, brilliant group of varied intellects after leaving this college. In refusing to capitalize on such an environment as fully as possible because of social graces, we are hurting not only ourselves but also those with whom we communicate—after all, we have as much to contribute intellectually as any other student.

As I look back on all this, I’ve realized the fundamental reason why I don’t mind being this kind of “bitch.” The kind of bitch who never hurts feelings, but sometimes gets relegated with a sneer to the angry, granola feminist corner. Quite simply, I have yet to find a good reason not to be. True, people may misinterpret my bluntness as rudeness or a personal attack; I may be labeled uncooperative, inconsiderate, or belligerent, and thus, a bitch. But I’m willing to accept the title if it means staying true to expressing the thoughts and opinions that I feel entitled to express. I wish more women would. Sorry if I offend you; I hope you won’t take it personally.