Like it’s a bad thing
Bitch. You say that like it’s a bad thing. [Boomer. Cat lady. These are newer terms I may address at another time.] Yes, I may answer to any one of the monikers above, but it won’t necessarily have the same effect as the speaker probably intended. I’ve found being labeled a “bitch” usually just means I’m not a push-over, not cooperating, at my expense.
Of course, I was brought up not to say the “B” word. It ranked right up there with the “S” word (my sister got a mouthful of soap for that one), the “D” word, and the “H” word, though not as high as the “F” word. I wouldn’t have known what the “C” word stood for, and the “N” word was frowned upon as “red neck” or “low class.” If someone wanted to apply the “B” word to some indecent, deserving woman, my mother would say, “She’s a witch with a B.” Bwitch. (Not to be confused with the popular tv show, “Bewitched,” though we weren’t allowed to watch that, either.) Even when my father called his breeding beagles bitches, I felt a discomfort, though I understood the difference; if my daddy ever swore he’d say “Good golly, Miss Molly!” Or “Son of a Gun!” In Southern gentility, as I was being reared by both parents, ladies didn’t use vulgar language.
I’m reminded of a character from Kate Chopin’s ground-breaking novel, The Awakening, Mlle. Reisz, often described as “disagreeable.” The older woman, rarely invited to events unless requested to provide the piano entertainment, does not follow the social code required of women at the turn of the 20th century. She speaks her mind, dresses unfashionably, refuses small talk or nodding along with the popular opinion of her day. In short, she doesn’t comply, follows the beat of her own drum, and prefers her own company to that of the superficial Creole culture of 19th c. New Orleans. Disagreeable indeed.
Edna Pontiellier, the protagonist “awakening” to an awareness of her self as individual, chafes against the velvet restraints binding upper-class Southern women. She is drawn to the older woman as a role model, her mentor, though warned by the disagreeable lady herself that Edna’s “wings” may not be strong enough to support her desired flight from convention. She is right, as Edna’s final and desperate escape is beneath the deep waves of the Gulf, waters she barely learned to navigate just months before her determined demise.
Mlle. Reisz was a woman before her time. Sadly, Edna Pontiellier was not.
But a century later, most women have learned to swim ably enough to overcome the strongest tides of current society. And when they choose to assert themselves—and are labeled with an intended derogatory slur—they catch the tag before it falls, proudly brandishing it as a flag of freedom and accomplishment. The LGBTQ+ community even seem to have adopted the term as one of endearment.
Other feminist insults have come into their own: “run like a girl,” “weep like a woman,” and so forth, as women—and many men—embrace the unique and desirable traits of women as they break glass ceilings and social conventions with a new understanding of their worth. Like a girl? Yes, thank you very much. Shut my mouth and bless your heart.
brileyrebecca 
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