I cannot really remember the time when I didn’t think about myself as a feminist. There certainly was one: I do recall reading The Second Sex and A Room of One’s Own in my early twenties and being almost shocked by the truths in them, so I cannot have been very advanced in my feminist thinking at the time. I did plot wearing a ‘This Is What A Feminist Looks Like’ t-shirt to enrage a particularly chauvinist professor at the university, though, so there were some promising signs.

Usually I’m a constructive, nice feminist, trying to have reasonable conversations with people and to focus on the positive. Sometimes I go for months without experiencing what I call Righteous Feminist Anger, but inevitably, there’ll be something that sets me off. Gang rapes of teenage girls, female genital mutilation, commentary on the looks of female athletes at the Olympics, the usual. Or a morning dispatch from a well-known media outlet that announces a wife of a politician has died, the mother of HIS three children. Holy mother of Mary Wollstonecraft, what century is this?

Sometimes, a feminist rant can be triggered by something positive. I bought the Newsweek yesterday and read about Hillary’s queenmakers – the women who have supported her throughout the years, financially and otherwise. (I wanna be a queenmaker when I grow up!) And that of course got me thinking: why is it still inconceivable for many – including many women – to have a female president? To have a female in any prominent public role? Why does it still happen so rarely?

I’m going to do some name dropping now (only relevant for Estonian readers), but Raul Rebane is one of the very few Estonian men – probably the only one of his generation – who has publicly given the issue of underrepresentation of women serious consideration and all credit to him for that. A few years ago, I was having coffee with him and talking about why there were still so few women in the government, in the parliament, on the boards, in top management positions. And I had a thought then that many feminist thinkers have had before and after, but for me was a revelation: it’s because for women, ambition is a dirty word.

I’ve had time to think about it since then and I’m only growing more convinced. Obviously, this is an extremely complex issue and there are so many variables that influence the outcome. Absolutely, the distribution of household work and childcare is a huge issue, as is the macho culture in business and politics, lack of role models and many, many other things. But the belief that women should not be too ambitious is intertwined with and often feeding all of it. If a woman is successful (she shouldn’t really, but in case it can’t be helped), success should come without strategy or desire, almost accidentally: as a result of being lucky, blessed, helped by others. Or if nothing else fits, it can be the result of years of diligent, hard work, but absolutely not a grand design and a wish to be the best. And because this attitude is subtle and intangible, it’s very damaging – and difficult to fight.

Sure, we often view extremely ambitious men with dislike and suspicion as well, but there is a huge difference in how much it influences our final assessment of the person. Being driven is considered a masculine attribute: some might overdo it ta touch, but it’s not something that destroys the manliness of a person. Ambition in women, however, goes directly against what women are supposed to be, it strikes at the heart of femininity. Go too far and the consequences will be severe, the punishment swift. Think of any prominent woman in the public eye and you’ll know I’m right. I know I’m right, because I often feel uncomfortable when a woman is assertive, clearly believes she is right about something or acts very confidently in whatever manner. I try to tell myself I would feel exactly the same about men, but it’s not true. It is there, the underlying feeling that yes, I want these women to be fabulous and powerful and determined, but, you know, couldn’t they be a bit cooler about it? Not so scarily singleminded? I have trained myself to nip these feelings in the bud. But it’s worrying that I have these feelings in the first place, a convinced feminist that I am.

There’s another difficult-to-admit thing: I believe it’s been easier for me to have larger than average ambitions partly because I look feminine.* Not that I’m particularly curvy (see any picture on the blog for evidence), but there are certain boxes I often tick: high heels, dresses, lipstick, perfume. It is easier – at least for some people – to act in traditionally unfeminine ways when there are other factors that mitigate the impact. (As it’s easier to advocate the right not to have children when you have a child or seven yourself.) And it’s more difficult to pigeonhole someone as a frigid, unfeminine career bitch when that person sort of looks pretty woman-like to you.

The thing about ambition and lack of it is that it’s difficult to judge in real time. I don’t know anyone who knowingly aims for less. Everyone thinks that they are doing what they are realistically capable of, what they can pull off, the best they can at that moment. But many women are wrong in their estimates. I generally think I’m a relatively self-confident person, not afraid to do what I want. It’s only in hindsight that I’ve been able to see the moments I should have aimed higher, dreamed – no, planned – bigger, been braver and more focussed.**

I’ve always been somewhat contemptuous of people who plan their career. Planning these things is only what people obsessed with work and status do, right? It’s taken me a long time to realise that this attitude is mostly (although not entirely, I’m still wary of people who have everything planned) driven by cowardice. If you don’t plan, you cannot fail. You drift, femininely, accidentally, towards success. But the success may not come, you may end up in a place you had no intention of going. Of course, it’s always wise to be open to chance and spontaneous opportunities, but you are not betraying yourself if you get a degree in international affairs not just because you’re interested in the topic, but because you want to be the one to bring peace to Middle East. It’s even OK to want to make money.

As I’m sure you understand, I’m not advocating a high-flying corporate or public service career for every woman. There are many definitions of success, all equally valid. But quite a few of them demand a certain level of prioritising, strategic thinking and dedication. And to make sure everyone has a decent shot at feeling successful, I believe women need to be allowed to have ambition – by others and, crucially, by themselves.

The moments when you realise that you are capable of more than you thought often come when you see others doing things. So here’s to Hillary, to Simone Biles, to JK Rowling, to Beyonce, to Emiliy Levesque; but also my to my friend who is learning Farsi, my sisters who paint and surf, my sister’s boss who leads her start-up, my other friends who kick ass at banks or ministries, to my mother and Eia who write and so many others.

Miladies, go forth: have a plan, be a Queen.

(Oh, by the way: did you notice how my first thought was about being a queenmaker, not the queen? I guess the latter would have been too ambitious.)

*I used to not realise that. A guy I had a crush on once told me that I dressed in a feminine way (meaning it obviously as a compliment) and I almost bit his head off. ‘Feminine dressing’ meant something derogatory for me and I did not associate my style with this label at all. I saw myself as a modern, versatile dresser. But he was right, of course – I often dress according to traditionally feminine codes.

**Note to the 19 year old me: OF COURSE you can be a book critic. There is no mysterious specialness required for this. Or in case there is, you have it.