On Being a Woman*

*in this moment when our country debates sexual assault

These times are so complicated that I’m finding my thoughts have become more narrow and they have more clarity, and I think it’s all an instinctual response. It’s as if a photographer looking at the chaos all around just out of habit manually adjusts the lens to allow for a sharper image. No beauty filters applied. Pure, raw emotion and passion and anger. Lots of anger.

I know I am not alone. I read others’ posts, tweets, and blogs. I hear the conversations in the coffee shops and lunch rooms. I’ve replied to and sent more private messages and texts in the last two weeks than I have in total in the history of my social media footprint.

I am not alone. That gives me some comfort. Not a lot, but some. I’m not afraid of other survivors who have found their voices and are speaking out for the first time. I’m not concerned when hundreds, if not thousands, gather to shout and protest about the horrible things that have happened to them. I understand that anger. I relate to that anger. It’s a healing of sorts to know that I have a group to which I belong, with members who understand the silent burden I have carried for much of my life. I no longer have to suppress my anger. Instead I am learning to manage it.

But I AM afraid and take no comfort in the other angry voices trying to shout us out, declaring that we’ve made up all these stories, or that we’ve been mistaken with our memories. Most of the people accusing us of lying are men. And part of my story contains an angry man who refused to learn to manage his anger. And many other womens’ stories contain angry men. And so what are we supposed to do now that these angry men have declared we are all liars when in fact THEY are the liars?

And not only am I afraid of those men, I am now very appalled at the women who have gone to the “other side” and also declared we are lying. I tell my husband often that he should consider himself blessed that he has never experienced an assault. But because he hasn’t, he is naïve and ignorant of what I and others have experienced. Those women who have questioned our stories and accused us of conspiring against men must also be blessed for they certainly would not be calling the rest of us liars if they had ever experienced an assault.

But what of compassion? What of empathy? Why are people so unwilling to listen to our stories and believe us despite the fact that we can’t remember every single detail? Have those people never experienced trauma to understand that it’s normal for the brain to block out snips and pieces? Or is it that people cannot believe such horrible atrocities could occur and so they cannot fathom our stories? Just as my husband is naïve and incapable of fully understanding what I’ve been through, perhaps that’s what brought a certain female Senator to declare another woman is clearly mistaken as to the identity of her assaulter. Or perhaps, as some have suggested, that female Senator has cynical motives of greed.

Here’s the thing. It’s hard enough being a woman in this world. We cannot go anywhere without being mindful of what we will do if attacked. We don’t receive equal pay from our employers. Some of our gender-specific medical care and procedures are not covered by health insurance. Women make up more than half of the population but only 19% of the U.S. Congress are women, and only 25% of state legislatures.¹ In the business world, there are only 5% of female CEOS and 17% of females on executive boards.² Given this inequality in leadership, how are women ever supposed to effect change?

And there’s the rub. Men like things just the way they are and so they resort to calling us liars when we speak up and refuse to place us on committees or boards where we can influence decision-making. They want to keep their thumbs on us and remind us regularly that they believe we are lesser beings. Heaven help those women who have color in their skin as they are treated even worse.

I’ve found the rules have changed for women. To be a woman in this moment requires us to open our Pandora’s box of old memories, to re-feel the pain and re-experience the trauma, to listen to others’ stories and cement friendships. As survivors we must be strong enough to let others lean on us and brave enough to lean on others. We must make ourselves vulnerable so that we may teach others. It is no longer a choice to do these things; it is now an obligation, if we are to survive.

¹https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2017/03/01/2017-womens-history-month/98247518/

²https://www.marieclaire.com/politics/news/a15652/gender-inequality-stats/

Body Talk

I headed out this morning to do some errands and shopping. As I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, I saw a woman getting into her car to leave. So I stopped and waited, with my blinker turned on so that anyone coming along would know I was planning to take that spot. As I was waiting for the woman to back out, another car approached in front of me and stopped. The woman who was leaving was taking a very long time, and I was waiting patiently. And so was the car that had come from the other direction. As I sat there I wondered, he’s not going to try to grab the spot when the woman backs out, is he? No, he didn’t. He must have grown impatient waiting for the woman to back out, because after a couple of minutes, he moved on passed me and over to another aisle to park. But as he passed by me, I saw his face and instantly I was taken back to another time in my life.

When a man, any man, has an anger problem, there are tell-tale signs that his body language silently yells. Sadly, too many of us women have experienced first-hand the results of that anger and we became “bilingual.” Our very lives and the lives of our children depended on being able to “hear” the body talk of anger.

As often happens when shoppers enter a store at the same time, I encountered this man and his wife and small child in several places throughout the store. In the canned goods, near the produce, by the milk. His wife was quiet. His child was withdrawn. It was painful for me, and I tried very hard to just keep on moving quickly and out of their way. I did my best to ignore them, to treat them like all the other shoppers that I encountered today but none of whom I noticed. I was grateful that they were not anywhere near when I entered the checkout. I just wanted to get home, where I knew I would be safe.

Perhaps none of the other shoppers today heard this man’s body talk in the way I did. What a blessing it would be if that was the case! And it was a poignant reminder to me of the life I once lived. I was surprised that after thirteen years of being apart from my ex-husband, I am still “bilingual.”

When I got home with my groceries, my loving husband came out to the garage to help carry things in. I gave him a big kiss and told him I love him. He probably thinks it’s for helping carry in the bags. I’ll tell him the real reason later when we have a few moments to ourselves.