I’m going to come right out and say it- I am butt hurt about
the people who call the rise of women telling their sexual harassment/abuse
stories as a “trend” or a “fad”. That implies that it started out of the blue,
and will disappear just as quickly. Sure, the hashtag #MeToo may stop being
shared or used, but that doesn’t mean that the events that happened in women’s
lives just disappeared and the world is going to go back to the place where men’s
behavior is rarely questioned, and women are always seen as liars and attention
seekers.
I didn’t choose to share my stories with the hasthag because at
the time, I was never physically assaulted. But oh boy, do I have stories about
harassment and just outright sexism. And it’s not just in my teen years. So let’s
take a walk down memory lane and I’ll show you how these stories have impacted
me- because these instances didn’t happen in a vacuum. Some of these stories still
impact my daily life.
Elementary School
My first encounter that I can recall of sexism I was sitting
in my new small town 5th grade class. I am one of three girls in a
class of twelve. Not only that, I am the new kid, so I throw all these kids for
a loop.
We’re doing our U.S. History and Government unit and discussing rights.
The example of equal pay comes up and I kid you not, my male classmates turned to
me and said, “Women don’t need to be paid the same as men, right?”
The group of four guys didn’t like my outright “Heck yes
they do!” response. It boggled my mind that they thought I would just sit there
and agree with them.
Another instance, 6th grade at the same school. I’m
sitting on a bench during recess with a friend. Up walks two boys from the
other sixth grade class. One proceeds to get down on one knee, and says in the
sweetest voice, “Daria, I just wanted to let you know,” making sure he has my
full attention before he jumps up to his feet and getting right in my face to
shout, “I f&$king hate your guts.” He and his friend then burst into
laughter and walk off as though telling me this was by far the best joke ever
told. I remember just sitting on that bench with my friend. Both of us
speechless. I don’t remember doing anything in particular to either of these boys,
let alone doing anything that would warrant an excuse to be told that. Now don’t
get me wrong, I wasn’t a complete angel in 6th grade, but when was
the last time a stranger walked up to you and told you that they hated you?
6th grade really was just full of crap from boys.
Letters telling me I was the ugliest person on the planet, that I should go die
in a hole. All of which were signed with a loving “from your ugly butt.” Because
preteen boys are so creative at their insults.
I had snowballs with rocks in
them thrown at me. I was tripped into a huge puddle of mud by a boy I knew didn’t
particularly like me.
One guy thought it would be funny to follow me around and
terrorize both me, my sister (who was in 3rd grade) and her friends.
During a dance I had a handful of guys come up and tell me that “Victor” wanted
to dance with me, but I just couldn’t believe them at this point- because I knew
that I was going to be the butt of yet another joke.
I remember being dragged
to school because I hated going to school- because as much as I
had good friends, it was still a nice little slice of hell. I even got to sit
in front of the Principal and was asked by him why I didn’t want to be at
school. But I knew he wouldn’t believe me if I told him. He was there at a school
bowling activity when I slipped and sprained my ankle and thought it was an April
Fool’s Day joke- because every kid wants to skip school and then sit there
while everyone else has fun.
Would you want to go to school where you felt singled out by
a male population that was 3 boys for every girl?
Middle School
Oh boy middle school. My 7th grade locker neighbors were
boys that thought it was funny to spray my stuff with their Axe body spray and close my locker while I was still rummaging through it. My good guy friend was
friends with a guy who constantly told sexist jokes, and was just generally menacing.
Greatest feature of this guy was him telling me every day on the walk home from
school that my boobs needed to be bigger- because my young teenage body was
there for him to appreciate, obviously.
High School
Thankfully my later teenage years were much better, at least at school. But I will never forget the summer before my Senior Year.
I was talking a
rather long walk home from a Church Carnival. I’m about halfway home when this white
car slows down and seems to try to keep pace with me. I glace at the car to see
if it’s someone I know, maybe if they were a friend messing with me. But I don’t
recognize these guys. Both are skinny, wearing white wife beaters and staring
at me like I am the juiciest steak they’ve ever seen. I quickly look forward
and keep walking. Somehow that ticked them off so they speed up, and go around
the block- and I’m hoping that they will be going off to where ever they were
heading.
I cross the street and I see something white out of the corner
of my eye, and it’s the white car again. The guys roll down their windows and
are just staring at me. One starts talking but I am so terrified I’m having a
hard time catching what he’s saying. I just shake my head and pick up my pace,
terrified because at any moment, the one in the passenger seat could reach out
and grab me. I was terrified of reaching the end of the block because they
could have turned and blocked me from crossing the street toward home. But I guess
they got frustrated with me and sped off, swearing loudly at me and calling me
very unpleasant names.
But I didn’t know if they were going to circle around again,
they’d done it once already. So before I waited for them to drive around I back
tracked and took the longest and most complex route home that I knew- making
the average 30 minute walk an hour. Every single white car that passed me
terrified me. I remember getting home and telling my parents why I got home so
late. And only my mother was sympathetic. My dad asked me why I didn’t do “this
or that?” And my sister just younger than me laughed and thought I was making a
mountain out of a mole hill.
While working at a theme park and riding the bus home, I
remember guys giving me those similar “you are a big juicy steak” look
following me off the bus.
Conclusion
So what does all this mean?
It means that I am still uncomfortable walking by myself and
a white car slows down.
It means that during high school I wore pajamas and baggy
shirts so nobody could see my body because if nobody could see it, then they couldn't comment on it.
It means that I grew up thinking that the only men that
would ever want to marry me were either crazy or extreme perverts. Luckily that
is not the case… well he’s a little crazy but not in a negative way.
It means that I rarely trusted the men around me because they either
hated me for simply existing, or only saw something they wanted to play with- I
wasn’t a person.
That messes with you! And it’s taken years to get over this.
But I still feel like I must ask my husband whether he hates me for doing/not
doing x, y, or z.
Now that I’m a mother, with both a daughter and son, I don’t
want that to be the world they grow up with. I don’t want my children to think
it’s acceptable to tell people how they should look, or shout rude comments to
complete strangers (in person or on the web). I don’t want either of my
children to think that no one will believe her when she’s facing bullying or he’s being harassed.
My hope is that I teach my children that respect means treating
every person they meet with kindness and civility.
Dear readers, I don’t tell you these stories to make you
feel pity or to demonize men. (If I thought all men were evil I would NOT have
gotten married, let alone had children). My point is to tell you that the women
who are putting their reputations on the line and their hurt out in the open to
spread awareness- that’s not a fad. That’s not a trend. That’s a cry to be
heard and validated that they are humans with experiences that affected their
lives. Whether or not you agree with how they handled things, doesn’t matter-
they aren’t asking your opinion. They are asking you to say “I see you. I see
that your experience was real.” You can have whatever opinion you want, I can’t
control your mind. But I ask that you show more kindness, both to the men and
women who have taken the brave step to speak out. We've all been vulnerable once, remember how you wanted to be treated.
In the words of a good friend of mine, "Be excellent to each other."
