I have been so overwhelmed—-in a good way—-by the response to my last, very personal, post. So many people—-men, women, close friends and people I hadn’t seen in ages—-voiced their support, compassion, and solidarity that I know sharing my story was the right thing to do. I want to thank each and every person who responded, whether in a comment or a direct message, for their kind words and love. It has made me a better person and bolstered my belief that Love Wins.
I didn’t know just how much I would need to lean on that belief until last night, when I decided that I wanted to discuss my experiences with the person who made the rape comment that triggered all this in the first place. Things hadn’t felt right between us all week, and even though I was hurt and angry, I wanted to open up a dialogue that might allow him to see things from my perspective. I approached him and asked if we could talk, because I knew things had been weird between us since last weekend’s incident. His response shocked me: “Things aren’t weird; I’m just ignoring you. And not talking to you has made this the best week so far, because I haven’t had to listen to you whining about how terrible men are. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth. I don’t want to talk to you.”
I wish I could say that the conversation recovered, and we went on to have a meaningful dialogue around personal trauma and compassion; but that’s not how it went. What did happen was that I tried to maintain my composure while dying inside, and get the conversation back on track, while he barreled on, completely ignoring/discounting my experiences, accusing me of “playing the woman card,” and maintaining that not talking to me had made his life so much better.
Needless to say, I left in tears. Again.
My emotions since then have floundered between blind rage, total despair, profound disappointment, and deep hurt. I’ll be honest and say I am really struggling not to add this man to the list of other men (namely, the two mentioned in the previous post) who I trusted to respect and support me, and instead abused my trust and left me reeling. I am struggling not to let this embitter me. I am clinging to the fact that so many other people responded so supportively when I told them my story. I am trying not to let one hateful person deter me from saying what needs to be said, or convince me that my experience is worthless, or make me believe that because I notice injustices and point them out, I am just an angry bitch who hates all men.
But of course I’m angry. I’m angry at the person who triggered all this for belittling my story and saying such hurtful things; and I’m angry in general at the fact that we live in a world where 1 in 4 women experience sexual assault at some point in their lives, and where I have to pay for a taxi home at night instead of walking because I might get followed (again), and where even though I cover my face with a scarf when I cycle to work, I still get catcalled on a regular basis.
We should all be angry. Anger doesn’t mean you hate everyone and everything; it means you recognize that something is wrong with the way things are and you want better—-for yourself, for others, for your children. And don’t we all want that? Don’t we all want to live in a world where we and our children after us—-daughters and sons—-can feel safe, no matter where we choose to walk or how we choose to dress or what we choose to drink? So get angry with me. And let’s turn that anger into something beautiful.
