Tag Archives: cruelty

The Fear of Being Female

My co-workers and I walked over to the dollar store around five this afternoon to get some things for an upcoming event. It was the end of the day and we were all in a good mood, talking and laughing. I am not sure when he started following us but I noticed him pretty quickly. He was leering. You know how creepy dudes leer at girls?

Oh you don’t? Well good for you sir!

Because anyone who reads this that happens to be female will understand exactly what I am talking about.

So he’s leering and I ignore him.

That’s the best thing to do, I’ve learned.

Just don’t give them any attention and whatever you do, DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT.

We pay and exit the store, all three of us aware and watching and whispering.

Creepy dude is in his car now. We see his eyes on us as we cross the parking lot, I see his smile.

Back in the office, we discuss who can walk who to the car because creepy dude is still in the parking lot.

As I exit, one of my co-workers, who’s husband has arrived to drive her home, watches to be sure he doesn’t follow me out of the parking lot.

He doesn’t. I am safe.

Think I am being paranoid?

Well then you must have a penis because I can assure you this is what it’s like to be female.

This is what it’s like to be afraid of men.

I worked a phone bank on a local TV station not too long ago. We got a lot of great calls but we also got some weirdos. And then there was the guy who called over and over again, cause he wanted to talk to the blonde.

That’s me. I am the blonde.

When he finally got me on the phone, he asked me out.

I said no. He persisted. In a friendly voice I told him I was married but thank you for the nice compliment.

He pointed out that I wasn’t wearing a ring on camera.

In a sea of women working a phone bank, with me seated in the background, he managed to make out that I wasn’t wearing a ring.

He knows my name, he knows where I work, and he knows I am not wearing a ring.

Awesome.

This is it.

The fear of being female.

In 2012, 346,830 US women (and little girls) were raped.

1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (14.8% completed rape; 2.8% attempted rape).

17.7 million American women have been victims of attempted or completed rape.

I work for an organization that takes care of children who have been abused by their own families. It is horrific, the stories.

It is so prevalent in our society, an aspect of our lives, our lives as women. I have to say I’m used to it.

I have been sexually harassed at work…classic sexual harassment, like you see in the movies. It was unbelievable while it was happening. I truly could not wrap my head around it it was so scary and unreal and awful. I blamed myself, I asked myself why was I so friendly when I started this job, what did I do wrong to make it seem as though I was interested in this sort of inappropriate behavior?  I looked for ways to fix it, I tried to laugh it off until I finally got serious, went to management and they asked the perpetrator to please not do that anymore. Eventually I went to work somewhere else. It wasn’t worth the battle to sue them or whatever. I just wanted away from it, I wanted to forget it ever happened.

We, as women, are so used to being treated like vessels for men’s enjoyment that we expect to be mistreated, we prepare for it. We are on guard all the time. We are afraid.

Many successful business women will tell you that they purposefully dress in pants, pull their hair back, wear glasses, avoid heavy make-up or perfume because they want the men in the room to see them and hear them, rather than be distracted by their femaleness.

It is ridiculous that we have to do this.

But we have to do it.

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Don’t get me wrong, I am not walking around with my tail between my legs shivering in fear that a man might hurt me.

I work out. I am strong because it makes me feel strong. I walk with confidence, because I don’t intend to be a victim. And I walk with confidence cause I am a badass woman. I will kick ass if I have to.

But I am hyper aware, Hyper vigilant.

I am still afraid of men. I am cautious because life has taught me to be that way.

I have had two experiences where a man approached me with his penis out, once in a car and once at a movie theatre.

I have experienced some things I would rather not write about.

I rarely walk down a busy street without being cat called. Not that I am some crazy hot chick. I am middle aged, a mother of three. It’s so common I barely react anymore. I am used it, I ignore it. As I get older, it happens less and that makes me happy.

About a year ago, this subject became popular on twitter with #YesAllWomen as a hashtag…women seeking a voice for their fear and why that fear is justified based on their own life experiences.

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It’s bad enough that we, as women, accept the fear as just a part of being female.

But what makes me crazy, what makes me want to scream from the rooftops, is that men truly do not get it.

Certainly some men do. Perhaps it’s changing, perhaps society is becoming more educated and less willing to accept such awful behavior. Perhaps men are beginning to recognize that women don’t know the difference between “harmless” cat calling or leering and the men who will follow you home and rape you or assault you or even kill you.

We don’t know the difference because to us, there is no difference.

This is one of those blog posts that has no place to go, no ending or resolution.

It’s just a rant.

I guess I can make myself feel better by sitting my sons down and telling them why it’s up to them to change it, to make it better by being better.

I can teach my daughter to be hyper vigilant, to walk with confidence, to stay fit and healthy so she can always fight back if she has to.

But I can’t take away the simple reality that fear of men is unfortunate and justifiable.

The fear is just a part of being female.

Getting Old is Awesome

Hey, got you with that title, didn’t I?

Ok, so getting old isn’t really awesome overall. My back hurts, I have a muffin top, “the girls” sag too much and my energy is lower than it used to be. For someone like me, who stays in constant motion, that’s hard.

But generally, there are some things about growing older that make all those things worthwhile.

As I reflected back on the year, as we all tend to do…I discovered that I’ve actually learned a lot…that I kinda like what I have learned…I discovered some good things over this past year, my 44th and the beginning of my 45th.

So, here is my list of the TOP TEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT GETTING OLD:

10) I don’t have time for that shit.

You know the shit I am talking about…the gossip…the cattiness…the negativity.

Not only do I not have time for it, I am no longer afraid to say it. I have reached the ripe old age of,

“Hey, ms. negative gossip girl over there…just shut the fuck up, ok?”

Drama, you like a little bit of that drama? Then I want nothing to do with you. Bye bye.

I don’t gossip. I don’t support gossip.

I don’t have time for that shit.

9) I feel better when I exercise.

I used to see exercise as a necessary evil, something I did to stay skinny and strong but not something I really enjoyed.

I am not sure if I would go so far as to say I enjoy it, but I am certain that I feel better when I exercise. And now, after ten years of running I can definitely say it’s something I need.

I think everyone should find some form of exercise and stick to it and they will likely realize they feel better when they exercise too.

8) I really don’t like getting drunk.

I have spent some time as a party girl. Then I spent some time completely sober, trying to figure out why I always had to be the drunkest, loudest, funnest person in the room. Now, I drink when I feel like it. And since going back to drinking, I have been drunk… never sloppy disgusting puke drunk…but rather drunk enough to not drive and to feel like hell the next day, probably five times.

I don’t like it. It’s really not all that fun while it’s happening. And I feel crappy the next day, mentally and physically. Drinking too much, even a little too much, is depressing.

For 2015, I am going to avoid getting drunk. Not because I have to but because I want to.  I really don’t like how it makes me feel.

7) Everyone has imperfections.

The more people I know, the more I realize that all of us are struggling to be happy, to be present, to be at peace. I think life gets significantly more clear, easier, when you realize that. All humans are flawed. I am more drawn to the seekers, the people who are striving to find the sweet spot of joy in the present moment. I prefer those people to the ones avoiding pain by sitting in their lazy-boys watching TV all day. But all of us, almost all anyway, are doing the best we can with what we have.

6) I really like sex.

Yeah, you weren’t expecting that were you? But seriously, I like sex. Not with just anyone. But I like it. A lot. I really like sex with someone I love, I like it even more with someone I trust. But sex is a beautiful expression of love, it’s fun, and when I find my lifetime partner, they are gonna have to like sex too. I need a partner that is comfortable with their sexual selves. Cause, I like sex. And that is perfectly healthy and good and nothing to be ashamed of. (I used to think there was something weird about that, loving sex and not being afraid to say I love it, I was wrong…it’s good.)

5) I am unusually forgiving.

I have seen some ugly shit in my life so far. And I really don’t hold grudges. I forgive easily and completely. I don’t even need an apology to forgive. I have “learned to accept the apology I never received.” My therapist says this trait worries her a bit because she wants me to forgive for my own mental health, while holding onto the truth of a person, or a situation, etc…and I hear this and know it’s true. There are all sorts of reasons that I am this way, all this childhood crap. But it’s who I am. I am forgiving. Once I let go of something, I let it go. Forever.

On the flip side, I have discovered there is only one thing I find truly unforgivable.

Intentional cruelty.

People who set out to be purposefully cruel. Those people. I will not forgive them. Or perhaps forgive isn’t the right word. I have no trouble holding onto the truth of those people.

I have known exactly four of those people, possibly five, in my lifetime.

I have a place in my soul where my love for these four resides. It’s locked tight. I have thrown away the key.

Those people, the four, I have learned so much from them. They taught me to be more careful. They taught me to listen to my instincts.

Letting go of the injustice and frustration and anger, is difficult but certainly not impossible.

I want nothing to do with them. Ever again. They are dead to me. I didn’t know I was like that.

I am.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, I disagree. I think the road to hell is paved with bad intentions.

Bad intentions people can kiss my grits.

4) I am a happy person.

Reading this blog, it might seem like the opposite is true. But it’s more likely that I write from pain. When I am happy, which is a LOT of the time, I am too busy being happy to write about it…although sometimes I do. But being happy, peaceful, laughter, joy, these are my absolute favorite things. I want more of this in my life in 2015. Life isn’t a bowl of cherry’s…blah, blah, blah…but generally being happy comes naturally to me. I love to make other people happy. I love to be fun, to have fun, to feel joy. It’s easy to get caught up in the minutia of life and forget your fundamental self. I forget what a free spirit I am. I am going to try not to forget again.

3) Parenting is the hardest and most important thing I will ever do.

God, I love my kids. I mean, I love, love, love them. I don’t need to explain this to other parents. They get it.

I found a greeting card recently that said on the outside “being a parent” and then on the inside it said “is like being pecked to death by chickens”. The picture was really hilarious.

When I paid for it, the woman behind the counter said, “it’s our most popular card.”

I replied, “of course it is, I am not the first person to be pecked to death by chickens” and we laughed.

Parenting is nothing like being pecked to death by chickens. But it is hard. Because of the love. Because it matters so much.

The desire to give your children all they need to grow up and be reasonably productive human beings who love you and forgive you for your mistakes is pretty overwhelming.

It’s hard. I don’t think anything is harder or more important.

“If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.” Jackie Kennedy

I believe she is correct. Completely.

That pressure is enormous.

And worth it.

Peck me again, little chicks.

Keep on pecking. I can take it.

2) I know what my issues are.

I used to think I was needy. I was actually just insecure, but more on that later.

I was in a marriage, with a good man. A kind man. A stable man.

Who wasn’t in love with me.

My need for his love, for connection, for passion, nearly destroyed me.

And it caused me to believe I was incredibly needy and impossible to satisfy.

Since the separation, over two years ago, I have made a wonderful discovery.

I am not needy, after all.

I don’t mind being alone. I enjoy my own company. I don’t scare easily. I can travel alone. I can go to the movies, dinner, the theatre alone.

I have some other issues. But neediness isn’t one of them.

But my real issues, the ones that are problematic, that keep creeping back into every relationship…I know what they are.

I can be secretive when I feel controlled.

I can easily slip away, into my head and become unreachable.

I default to anger, always, when I am not actually angry but hurt. Certain situations can shift me into super scary rage. That’s a problem. A major one to work on. It doesn’t happen much any more but it’s still there.

And there are others, issues.

Being this age, being where I am right now in my life, it’s absolutely fantastic that I know myself this well, understand myself and my triggers and patterns.

Doing something about it…I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I will. But the self-knowledge is there, the accuracy without judgment is new…a reflection of age, I suspect.

1) I am enough.

Parents who did their best but couldn’t give what their children what they needed, failed relationships, difficult children…these things can break you down, make you feel less than.

Somewhere in the past year or so I started to recognize the truth.

I am enough.

I am lovely.

Imperfect.

I talk too much.

Passionate.

Smart.

Difficult.

Withdrawn.

Funny.

Sexy.

Silly.

I am all of these things.

Good things.

Not so good things.

The sum of all of my parts is this:

I am enough.

And honestly, that’s the very best part of growing older…recognizing the truth of your enoughness.

It’s peaceful when you embrace it. Even if it slips away in some moment of depression.

It’s still there, the truth. And I will take every wrinkle in order to feel that.

Happy New Year.

Repressing Anger

I was walking into a restaurant Friday when I noticed a woman I know in front of me. We aren’t really friends, but had always been friendly. She is close friends with someone I dated, and recently I realized she had “Blocked” me on Facebook.

I enjoy Facebook for it’s good points. I love that I can keep in touch with all the people I have known over the years. I can also use it as a means for inviting people to events, and activities I think might be fun or am involved in. But I also see people use it as a means for being cruel. That’s how cruel people use it. Whiners use it to whine but that’s another blog post.

Anyway, so this woman blocked me on Facebook. I have never blocked anyone but I have been blocked a lot recently. It’s not entirely clear to me why. Perhaps the person I am dating, who used to date another person I dated, the one she is friends with…who the hell knows. Cause we are all in the 7th grade again. I wasn’t really aware of what blocking meant until I came across a conversation and noticed a response to something I couldn’t see. Wait, what are they responding to, I wondered? So I asked around. It turns out I had been blocked. All of their posts were invisible to me.

I was blocked cause I am a stalker? A jerk? A gossiper? A liar?

Um…no. I am none of those things.

I was blocked because weird controlling freaky people find some sort of fun satisfaction out of blocking people. I don’t know. The whole thing is bizarre to me. Whatever. I blew it off…laughed about it. Moved on.

Then she was standing in front of me, I ducked back…avoided her. And then I felt it.

Anger.

It shocked me. I didn’t know I was angry.

Wow, I am angry at her.

I am angry at the people in the world who are cruel for no reason. Who give blind allegiance to cruelty. The Hitlers are bad enough but the people who follow Hitler types are even worse, in my opinion. (Remember this point, I am gonna bring it up again.)

I have done nothing to inspire this cruelty. It is ridiculous.

I went to rehearsal last Friday and our director asked us to find conflict in every line. To attack. We ran the play that way.

It was exhausting. Being that angry for so long. I found myself feeling isolated. And alone. Anger keeps you from connecting to anyone. And human beings need to connect. A refusal to connect, in my opinion, is the source of cruelty. An inability to connect is what creates cruelty in people. It’s ugly.

I have had a life that could have made me cruel.

It didn’t. I am not sure why it does for some people and not for others.

Everyday, I make a choice to be kind no matter what. I am and will continue to be, kind to Facebook blockers and the type that represents.

People who choose cruelty, particularly when it is undeserved, make me super angry.

So this woman, Facebook blocking lady I’m gonna call her.

I am mad at her.

So what do I do with that anger? Where do I put it?

Should I call her up and say, “what the hell, jerkface, why you gotta be a jerkface like that?”

Yeah…no. The thought of that makes me a giggle a little.

I won’t be cruel in return. Cause that ain’t me. I won’t be that. I can’t.

But I also am unsure of what to do with this unresolved anger. I cannot confront it head on…so I must deal with it somehow.

Or repress it.

Nope. That’s not good.

My repressed anger killed my marriage. It caused me to drink too much, to be unhappy. And I want a happy life.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this…repressed anger…cruelty…blind allegiance to cruelty.

I brought it up on my run recently and one of my running partners (who is also a therapist by profession) said to me,

“It’s probably yourself you are angry with. You dated her. You loved her. You believed the narrative she was telling too. So watching someone else do it is probably bringing up your own anger at yourself. Let go of the anger you have at yourself and you will be free.”

God, I hate running with a therapist sometimes.

HA

But seriously, she’s right. I didn’t block anyone. I wasn’t cruel to anyone. But I believed her. I believed her when she said bad things about people she had dated. I bought the narrative she sold. And that is cruelty. In it’s own way. Sitting back and doing nothing, saying nothing…that’s cruelty too.

And I am angry at myself. For my stupidity. For my blind allegiance. For my desire to earn her love that caused me to give up who I am in order to get it.

It is isn’t Facebook blocking lady I am angry with.

It’s me. It’s me I am angry with.

I can choose to focus on self forgiveness and the lessons I have gained through the experience.

Or I can just stay angry.

When framed that way, the decision to forgive is easy.

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