How Bais Yaakov Broke Me: My Story of Tznius and Resentment

I grew up in a religious Jewish family, where Torah and mitzvot shaped our lives. We weren’t Haredi, but our faith ran deep. Shabbat was a cozy, sacred time; holidays buzzed with purpose. I loved Judaism: it felt true, a way to connect with Hashem and live with meaning.

But when I started at Bais Yaakov, that love got buried under rules and judgment. The way they taught tznius, modesty, didn’t just frustrate me; it made me angry, resentful, and downright furious.

For six years, I sat through the same lectures: cover your collarbone, hide your knees, wear socks. Dangly earrings and long hair, they insisted, could drive boys wild, and it was my job to protect them from their yetzer hara, their evil inclination. These weren’t tips; they were non-negotiable demands and the blueprint for being a “good” Bais Yaakov girl.

I tried to follow the rules. As a teenager, I wanted to belong, so I adjusted my skirts, checked my sleeves, and watched my every move. But the constant pressure, the way teachers and peers judged every inch of me, it got under my skin.

The joy I used to feel in mitzvot turned bitter. I still dress tzniusly today, but half the time I’m glaring at my reflection, wondering why I’m still doing this. Habit? Guilt? Or some stubborn hope I can take back what I lost? Or feel anything for the way I dress? Or even really choose how to dress after it was drilled into me thousands of times?

What makes me furious isn’t just the clothing rules. At Bais Yaakov, at least where I was, tznius came with a whole mindset that felt toxic. They taught us the Haredi way was the only way, that our strict rules made us better than everyone else, less observant Jews, non-Jews, anyone who didn’t fit the mold. That didn’t make me feel holy; it made me feel stuck up and cut off.

It made me arrogant, which I still struggle with today. I really look down on everyone that doesn't dress how I was taught to dress.

Faith wasn’t about connection anymore; it was about being tznius and looking down on everyone else.

Don't get me wrong though: I believe in tznius. The Torah’s guidelines on modesty are real and meaningful, a way to focus on our souls instead of our looks. Hashem’s wisdom isn’t the problem. But when you force those rules on girls with shame and superiority, you don’t inspire them, you break them. You leave them angry, like me, or worse, hating the faith they’re supposed to cherish.

I see myself, fuming at how disconnected I feel from the Judaism I once loved. I see the younger girls, already being told their bodies are a problem, their worth tied to how well they cover up. It makes my blood boil to think they’ll grow up with the same resentment, torn between who they are and what they’re told they must be.

Judaism is beautiful. Its teachings are a guide to a life with purpose and closeness to Hashem. But when we shove it down girls’ throats, when we tell them only one way of living counts and everyone else is lesser, we’re not building them up, we’re tearing them apart. I want tznius taught with respect, not rigidity, so girls can choose it because it feels true to their faith, not because they’re scared of messing up.

I’m still wrestling with this. I dress the way I was taught, but I’m fighting myself every day. I'm fighting to feel anything for it. And for the girls coming after me, I pray they get a Judaism that lifts their spirits, not one that leaves them as angry and wounded as I am.

As for me, who knows?