The Emotional Rollercoaster of Young Women's Activism in Australia
From rage to hope to burnout and back again; the feelings no one talks about when you're trying to change the world
You know that moment when you first realise the world is deeply unfair, and you feel like you're the only one who can see it? That burning sensation in your chest when you learn about the gender pay gap, or watch another climate report, or see how sexual assault cases are handled in the media? Welcome to the beginning of your activism journey—and trust me, it's going to be one hell of an emotional ride.
The Awakening: When Anger Becomes Fuel
For many young women in Australia, activism doesn't start with joining a group or attending a rally. It starts with rage. Pure, clean, clarifying rage that makes everything suddenly make sense.
Maybe it's scrolling through social media and seeing the statistics about domestic violence. Maybe it's watching how Brittany Higgins was treated when she spoke out. Maybe it's realising that your male classmates earn more in their casual jobs, or that your ideas in group projects get ignored until a boy repeats them.
That initial anger is intoxicating. It feels powerful and righteous and urgent. You want to shake everyone around you and ask why they're not as furious as you are. You want to fix everything immediately. You start sharing posts, signing petitions, arguing with relatives at dinner. You're awake now, and everyone else seems to be sleepwalking.
But here's what nobody tells you about that initial rage: it's both your greatest strength and your biggest vulnerability. It'll drive you to do incredible things, but it'll also burn you out faster than you think possible.
The Rush: When You Find Your People
Then comes the discovery phase, when you realise you're not alone. You find the activist groups, the protests, the online communities. Suddenly you're surrounded by people who not only share your anger but have been channelling it into action for years.
This is the honeymoon period of activism. You're learning constantly, meeting inspiring people, feeling like you're part of something bigger than yourself. Every rally feels electric, every campaign feels winnable, every small victory feels like you're personally changing the world.
In Australia, this might mean joining the School Strike 4 Climate movement and feeling the power of thousands of young people demanding action. It might mean getting involved with university women's collectives or joining campaigns for reproductive rights. You're making connections, developing skills, and feeling genuinely hopeful about the future.
The adrenaline is real. You're living on purpose, fighting for causes you believe in, surrounded by brilliant, passionate people who make you feel less alone in the world. You start to think this is what life is supposed to feel like.
The Weight: When Hope Meets Reality
But then reality sets in. You realise that change is slow, that systems are entrenched, that some people will never listen no matter how compelling your arguments are. You start to understand why older activists sometimes look tired in a way that sleep can't fix.
You learn about the history of the issues you're fighting—how long women have been advocating for equal pay, how many decades we've known about climate change, how many times the same arguments about reproductive rights have been had. You realise you're not pioneering new ground; you're joining a long line of women who've been having these same fights for generations.
This is when the emotional complexity really kicks in. You're simultaneously inspired by the courage of women who came before you and devastated that the fights aren't over. You feel grateful for the progress that's been made and furious about how far we still have to go.
The Overwhelm: When Everything Becomes Your Problem
Here's where it gets dangerous. When you're passionate about justice and equality, every injustice starts to feel like your personal responsibility. Climate change? You need to fix it. Gender inequality? That's on you too. Racism, homophobia, economic inequality—suddenly everything wrong with the world feels like something you should be actively fighting.
For young women especially, this is compounded by the socialisation that teaches us we're responsible for everyone else's emotions and wellbeing. We're raised to be helpers, fixers, carers. When you combine that with activism, it's a recipe for taking on way more than any one person can handle.
You start feeling guilty for taking breaks, for having fun, for caring about anything other than The Cause. You feel selfish for buying coffee when you could donate that money. You feel complicit for going to a movie when there's a rally you could attend instead.
The Trolls: When Fighting Back Fights You
And then there are the people who actively oppose what you're doing. The online harassment, the dismissive comments, the people who tell you you're too young, too emotional, too naive to understand the "real world."
In Australia's often aggressive political landscape, young women activists face particular scrutiny. You're either too radical or not radical enough. Too angry or not angry enough. Too privileged or not qualified enough to speak. The goalposts move constantly, and the criticism comes from all sides.
The emotional toll of this constant criticism is exhausting. You start second-guessing yourself, wondering if you really know what you're talking about, questioning whether you're doing more harm than good. The confidence that sustained you through those early months starts to crack.
The Guilt: When Self-Care Feels Selfish
Perhaps the most insidious emotion in activism is guilt. Guilt about taking time off when there's so much work to be done. Guilt about feeling sad or angry when others have it worse. Guilt about your privilege if you have it, guilt about not doing enough if you don't.
Young women are particularly susceptible to this because we're conditioned to put everyone else's needs before our own. In activism, this becomes magnified. How can you complain about being tired when people are literally dying from the issues you're fighting? How can you take a weekend off when the planet is burning?
This guilt is reinforced by activist spaces that sometimes glorify burnout as dedication. The idea that "rest is resistance" is slowly gaining traction, but many activist communities still operate on the assumption that if you're not constantly doing something, you're not committed enough.
The Burnout: When Your Body Says No
And so, inevitably, many young women activists hit the wall. The constant emotional intensity, the feeling of carrying the world's problems on your shoulders, the criticism, the slow pace of change—it all catches up.
Burnout in activism doesn't just mean being tired. It means feeling cynical about causes you once believed in passionately. It means dreading events you used to find energising. It means questioning whether anything you do actually matters.
For many young women, this feels like personal failure. You feel like you're letting down the movement, letting down other women, letting down your future self. The shame of burnout can be almost as painful as the burnout itself.
The Resilience: Learning to Fight Differently
But here's what I've learned from talking to young women activists across Australia: burnout doesn't have to be the end of the story. Many women find ways to stay engaged while protecting their emotional wellbeing. They learn to set boundaries, to specialise rather than trying to fix everything, to find joy and community within activism rather than just anger and obligation.
Some step back from frontline activism and focus on behind-the-scenes work. Others channel their passion into their careers, becoming teachers, lawyers, journalists, or politicians who can create change through their professional roles. Some find ways to integrate activism into their daily lives without making it their entire identity.
The most sustainable activists I know have learned to hold complexity—to be hopeful and realistic simultaneously, to be passionate without being consumed, to care deeply while also taking care of themselves.
The Evolution: From Anger to Strategy
What changes isn't the caring—if anything, many activists care more deeply as they get older and understand issues more nuancely. What changes is the approach. You learn to pick your battles, to work within systems while also challenging them, to find allies in unexpected places.
You develop a longer-term perspective. You start to measure success not just in immediate wins but in cultural shifts, in conversations started, in young people inspired. You realise that your role might not be to solve every problem but to contribute your piece to movements that are much bigger than any individual.
The Community: Why We Keep Going
Ultimately, what sustains most young women in activism isn't the wins or the adrenaline—it's the community. The deep friendships forged in campaign offices and at rallies. The mentorship from older women who've been in the fight longer. The knowledge that you're part of something that extends backwards and forwards through generations.
There's something profound about being surrounded by people who share your values, who understand why you can't just ignore injustice, who celebrate small victories and support each other through defeats. This community becomes a source of strength that carries you through the inevitable ups and downs.
The Long Game: What I Wish I'd Known
If I could go back and talk to my younger self, here's what I'd say: Your anger is valid and valuable, but it's not sustainable as your only fuel. Learn to cultivate hope alongside rage. Find joy in the work itself, not just in the outcomes. Build relationships that nourish you, not just causes that drain you.
Most importantly: you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. The problems you're fighting existed long before you were born, and they'll probably exist long after you're gone. Your job isn't to solve everything—it's to contribute your unique gifts to the long arc of justice that bends slowly but surely toward progress.
Your emotions, all of them, are part of the work. The anger that motivates you, the hope that sustains you, the grief that grounds you in reality, even the burnout that forces you to rest and recalibrate. They're all valid parts of the journey.
To the Young Women Reading This
If you're just starting out in activism, know that everything you're feeling is normal. The overwhelming rage, the urgent need to fix everything immediately, the despair when change seems impossible—thousands of women before you have felt exactly the same things.
Your passion is not naive. Your anger is not excessive. Your hope is not foolish. But also: you are not responsible for saving the world by yourself. Find your people, pace yourself, and remember that sustainable activism is a marathon, not a sprint.
The world needs your voice, your energy, your fresh perspective. But it also needs you to take care of yourself so you can stay in the fight for the long haul.
What has your experience with activism been like? What emotions do you struggle with most? Share this piece if it resonated, because no young woman should have to navigate these feelings alone.
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