A Catholic Feminism Manifesto
a state of the newsletter, of sorts
In 2017, on International Women’s Day, I launched the Catholic Feminist Podcast.
I listened to Amy Porterfield and Jenna Kutcher and Pat Flynn and learned the importance of building an e-mail list. I did giveaways to grow our Instagram account. I styled flat-lays. I got high-profile guests and launched 5 episodes to start in order to immediately boost our downloads. I did a lot of cocky, obnoxious things like claiming nobody was talking about! the important issues I alone was discussing. But I also do believe I was one of the first Catholic influencers to really utilize a modern aesthetic in social media with business tactics that appealed to millennial women—I obviously wasn’t the first to use Catholic feminism as a phrase, but I was early in turning it into a hashtag, if that makes sense.
We had advertisers. E-courses. Brand colors. 3 million downloads.
I sunsetted that project because a) I felt God asking me to very strongly in prayer b) I was a one-woman show and it was no longer sustainable to stay that way, but I didn’t want to hire anyone and c) I no longer felt like that format was the best way for me to discuss faith topics. I launched this newsletter while my husband nervously bit his fingernails and stared at our bank account.
Here we are, in 2025, and I am no longer a Cool Youth On the Block. If I showed up to a young adult event, I would be weirdly out of place. I’m 8 years older and 2 kids past the start of the original podcast. In that time I’ve moved three times, led two pilgrimages, written a whole bunch of books, and also had more heartache than I ever could have expected. Life is really, really hard, who’dathunk? I’m well aware that this will make the real titans of Catholic Feminism chuckle, but sometimes I feel like an old lady sitting on my front porch smoking a cigarette, watching the kids in the street brawl. I see shiny-teethed 22-year-olds make reels about their modest swimwear and their tips for dating your husband. They spit out theological insight that originated in gossip sessions and should have been left there. Everyone’s arguing, which is fine, but they’re being mean, which is not.
And I just feel old, honestly. I’m 33 but I might as well be wrinkled and gray in Internet Land. I wonder what I have to offer, in this space I once felt was my own little queendom. A tiny part of me misses that easy-breezy confidence but a much larger part of me is thankful for my treacherous journey and the Jesus who is smiling at me, reminding me to be humble and charitable and stop judging people on the ‘gram because he loves those goons. I am just as immature as them. I am just as in need of mercy and grace.
The girl who used to let me use her stock photos on my website asked me to take them down because she now thinks feminism is of Satan. Another former advertiser has pivoted to working with Candace Owens. The insults I have hurled at me and my writing via my inbox, book reviews, and more have affected me more than they should. Multiple podcast guests have left the Catholic Church. Times have changed, but my messy beliefs still can’t be summed up in a political ethos. I just want to talk about Jesus and women. I want to shoot the shit with Dorothy Day over a cup of coffee. I spend a lot of time talking to Mary Magdalene. Where does that leave me, really? Put me out to pasture, folks: I don’t Tik and I don’t Tok.
But last week I spent time with good friends who I know from college. And it felt so…college, in the best ways. Back when we were all 20-year-olds about to go save the world as missionaries, drinking shitty coffee in a building that looked like a bomb shelter after an 8 AM holy hour. These people, who love me so deeply, have no interest in the ridiculous binaries that dominate so much online church discourse. They just chase Jesus. They like to lay hands on one another and pray, and some of them teach Latin and some of them aren’t vaccinated and some of them do yoga and some of them volunteer at the Catholic Worker and some of them started a ministry for conservation of the environment. You could start crying or drop f-bombs or mention that you accidentally hit someone with your car and ran off the night before and they wouldn’t bat an eye because their love for you is that holy + pure. If the entire internet canceled me tomorrow they wouldn’t care or possibly even know because they aren’t online. These are my dearest people, and I have no idea who any of them voted for. I could guess, but it’s far from my mind. It’s so meaningless in that sacred space. It’s so far from what matters when we’re expressing our deepest hurts and sorrows, and talking about what Jesus’ face looks like in the midst of them.
And a tiny voice in my heart goes, this. This is what we’re always trying to get back to.
International Women’s Day actually originated from labor movements. Lenin, the murderous dictator-slash-psycho, first declared March 8th (aka, tomorrow) a holiday for women. People don’t like that because they don’t like communism, and I don’t either, but these women were, in fact, starving. The Disney version of Anastasia is that the Czar was just this big cuddly teddy bear and Those Bad Guys killed him but the more complicated truth is that millions of people were barely surviving while he dined on caviar, and he refused to modernize the country or give up even a smidgen of power, so he and his family were brutally murdered.
I like that International Women’s Day has such rough-and-tumble beginnings; that its history is stained and tawdry. It kind of reminds me that our constant search for moral perfectionism will only be fulfilled in Heaven—feminism’s beginnings are sticky, and we know it. But it was about a surge for the disenfranchised, and mothers desperate to feed their children. These people weren’t willing to live under abuse and oppression any longer. Did they take the right road? I mean, most of them had no real power or choices, and the ones who turned into murder-happy Bolsheviks did not. But there’s still some sort of stirring that happens in my heart when women take to the streets, demanding change, demanding bread.
I don’t even know who you are anymore, an angry un-subscriber yells at me across the internet. She doesn’t realize that I am not, sadly, going to transform my worldviews to earn her six dollars a month. But I will give her this: many things have changed and shifted since 2017. But while I am many ugly things I am not someone who is embarrassed to proclaim what she believes to be true1. I thought it was time for a manifesto of sorts. A Claire Creed, if you will.
If you no longer know what I believe, know this:
I believe in Jesus. I believe in civil discourse, and trying to not let hurt feelings turn into lightning bolts of trauma-rage. I believe Catholics can read Harry Potter. I believe in one, holy, Catholic, and apostolic church. I believe in democracy. I believe in reading big, long history books. I believe in speaking your mind and keeping your heart open. I believe in Theology of the Body. I believe in taking all things one day at a time. I believe in supporting young girls with fertility education. I believe in aiming for virtue no matter the circumstance. I believe in Heaven, Hell, and purgatory. I believe that women are wildflowers, and each has a unique, blessed purpose and calling. I believe in just war theory as laid out by St. Thomas Aquinas. I believe international relations are messy + complex + opaque but I sure as hell believe Russia invaded Ukraine. I believe all women are mothers, in some way or another. I believe in antidepressants and therapy. I believe we’re meant to carry our crosses together. I believe in working hard and resting well. I believe in the four pillars of the feminine genius: receptivity, sensitivity, generosity, and maternity. I believe you should go to Mass every single Sunday unless you’re sick or caring for sick kids or it would require a 3-hour trek through the mountains to get to. I believe in paid maternity leave. I believe in going outside. I believe in praise and worship music. I believe in abolishing the prostitution “industry”. I believe in Catholic Social Teaching and a preferential option for the poor. I believe in women supporting women, which sometimes means holding one another accountable. I believe in a world without abortion or capital punishment. I believe in bringing meals (or DoorDash gift cards) to mothers with new babies and women whose hearts are aching. I believe in welcoming the stranger and supporting refugees. I believe homemade margaritas are always better than the store-bought stuff. I believe in the right to change my mind. I believe each of us has the capability, with God’s grace, to reach Heaven. Because I don’t just believe in God: I believe God. And I believe the saints carry our prayers to Jesus, and that he hears ‘em. Every damn one.
St. Therese, pray for us.
St. Peter, pray for us.
St. Joseph, pray for us.
St. Frances Cabrini, pray for us.
St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, pray for us.
St. Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us.
St. John Paul the Great, pray for us.
Servant of God Thea Bowman, pray for us.
Servant of God Dorothy Day, pray for us.
St. Gianna Molla, pray for us.
St. Mary Magdalene, pray for us.
Mama Mary, pray for us.
I’m so grateful you’re here. And I’d love to hear what you believe in the comments.
I also want to invite you to upgrade your subscription. Our paying subscribers keep our lights on, so to speak. They also have access to our summer read-alongs, entire archives, and more. If my work has ever been useful to you, if you’re interested in nuanced, long form writing on cultivating a feminist discipleship, or if you just love Jesus + justice—I thank you for prayerfully considering an upgrade.
Lastly, I wrote a very brief poem about St. Bernadette last month2 that I wanted to share. I hope it brings your weary heart some solace today.
On My Nightstand
The Postcard by Anne Berest: Easily one of my top books of the year. One of my top books of my life. I could not put down this part-memoir, part-historical-novel of a woman who receives a postcard in the mail listing the names of four family members killed in a concentration camp during the Holocaust and decides to track down who sent it. Stunning writing, thrilling story, heart-wrenching characters…10 billion stars.
US Bishops Say Refugee Program is “Work of Mercy”: A response to JD Vance that I appreciated.
Are Churches Sanctuaries?: And, related, I can always depend on
to help break down hot topics with a Catholic lens.Pope Francis vs. Trump/Vance on Migrants: An extra for today—this isn’t an article but a video; however, I found it really nuanced, thoughtful, and interesting. Let me know thoughts if you watch. Apparently my nightstand has a theme today!
In case you missed these Letters:
Did you know I write fiction for kids?
Part of why I ended the podcast back in 2020 was because my fiction career, which I feel immensely blessed to have, was beginning to take off. My latest is called Take it From the Top, and it’s about two former best friends at a musical theater summer camp. I’d be honored if you’d consider it for the middle grader in your life (grades 4-8…ish) who’s currently obsessed with Wicked.
At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I often get asked where I get this say-it-with-your-chest attitude from. I would remind you that I do actually get nervous to say things—I just hit publish anyway. And I would say that comes from my very real fear of getting up to Heaven, Jesus saying “ummm why did you not say the thing I wanted you to say” and me having to glance at all 12 apostles and St. Agatha and the Coptic martyrs and St. José Sánchez del Río before going “uhh…people were—well, they said something kinda mean about me. On the internet.” (Footnote to the footnote: I AM NOT COMPARING MYSELF TO A MARTYR. That is my literal point. I am such a chickenshit I can’t even do this sometimes! And this is not that hard!!!)
This year I’m trying to write 8 poems about saints—not for public eye (usually), or profit (ever), but for my own artistic heart. And maybe as gifts for people. It’s been the absolute joy + delight of my writing life.
Claire, thank you for writing this. I have been following you quietly for several years now - actually some time after you stopped your podcast and in a space where I felt like my brain could not wrap itself around the shift in Catholic influencers. As a working 34 year old mother of 4, the internet feels like a space difficult to strike a healthy relationship with these days and I am thankful for newsletters that come to my email. How millennial of me. Thank you for exemplifying being unapologetically Catholic and charitable and for women and babies and everyone in between. I so appreciate you.
Claire, I wanted to let you know that your work on the podcast was a Godsend for me at that time in my life. I too felt quite alone in my beliefs, struggled with what it meant to be a Catholic Woman today, was frustrated by superficial discussions and felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to about these issues. I was so relieved and enlivened to learn I wasn’t the only ‘Catholic feminist’ out there. Thanks for your bravery, openness, and hard work. God Bless.