Asters & Dandelions

Here we are, about to walk into a new year. We have all overcome some darkness and achieved some greatness in one form or another. We continue to battle a pandemic, millions of people have reinvented themselves, TikTok reinvented the internet. We have had so much growth and change yet here we are, walking into 2022 with the same sexism in the workplace we’ve carried for the last 70+ years.

When is the world going to admit that women have a seat at the table of a man dominated world? When will women stop giving into the ideology that we have to be nice, even when we’re uncomfortable or else we’ll be a “bitch”? When will men stop convincing themselves they have a primal sex drive that dismisses their crude, sexist, degrading thoughts they choose to vocalize? When will women stop making themselves smaller to fit into the mental grasp of the tiny men who surround them? When will men begin to accept that a no requires zero explanation from the unwilling party?

It’s so easy to say “I’ve had enough and I will not stand for this anymore” but it is so very hard to implicate it and know when the time is to implicate it. I can only speak from self experience but I grew up in an ever revolving home where my mother was physically assaulted by every man she ever “loved” and once she was gone, I was a bystander as my father had a stream of women he sucked the life and finances out of one by one until they too grew sick of the monster they realized he was and chose to leave. Needless to say, this is not a great foundation of self love and healthy boundaries. I’m trying ladies, I am genuinely trying. I have such a big bark and I can yell from the rooftops everything we deserve and every building I am willing to burn down to get it but the real leg work begins in all the things I endure every single day. It’s demanding personal space in a crowded room. It’s letting go of “friendships” that refuse clearly set boundaries. It’s the realization that being disliked is often a byproduct of demanding respect.

I joined the Army two years ago. I went through the process of enlisting over the course of a year filled with all sorts of waivers and wait times and a call to Fort Knox for my job. My journey to basic was filled with delays and speed bumps. Mix that in with juggling my job and my family and I was seeing my recruiter at least a few times a week. The drive to MEPS was a little over an hour but he always insisted on taking me. I owned my own car, there were shuttles available, but there he was; always more than willing to make that trip. By the second trip back I became very aware that I was not simply another tally as a recruiter but quite a different type of tally on his belt. The conversation quickly and often turned in a direction I wasn’t totally comfortable with. I tried my best to laugh it off, change the topic yet it always circled back. It wasn’t always so abrasive. It started small. He’d visit my work, have a meal. Then he began visiting my work several times a week, sometimes not even eating just having a drink. It continued to escalate and by the time I realized I absolutely needed to react, I had one foot out the door on my way to basic. In fear of delaying my journey longer, I chose to remain silent. He may not have known, but I was also dealing with a similar situation at my work. A specific manager that often tried to hang out outside of work and make advances within the walls of the workplace. That last trip back from MEPS my recruiter gave me his personal number, placed his hand on me and said “call me when you get back, I’m going to have fun with you”. The weight of both of these monsters crashed into me one morning as I set passenger in my husband’s truck and sobbed. I cried in shame and asked my husband what I could do better to honor my marriage. I asked him what I was doing wrong that made these men think their actions were wanted? My husband responded with the initial reassurance that it wasn’t me and then the truth I had already knew but been avoiding. His words continue to ring in my head as my forever cheerleader “Do you want me to go up there and handle it? TRUST ME, I want to but you don’t want that. You will lose your power. You know what to do. You have resources. Use them. Report them.” I did end up reporting my recruiter a week shy of the day I shipped out. I never did report that old manager. I had a bartender “friend” who said I was leading him on and it was my fault and it shamed me into thinking maybe I had done something to make him think his actions were acceptable. If I could go back, I’d tell her she is part of the problem. Uncomfortable silence isn’t acceptance. It’s not consent if you made me too uncomfortable to say no.

I wish those were the first and only moments in my life that I was put in a situation I wasn’t comfortable with. I wish I had the bravery to share all of the moments that continually made me numb to all of these unacceptable situations I continue to face. I wish I had been an adult with all of the understanding to handle it the first time I dealt with sexual harassment. I wish I hadn’t been gaslighted into silence when I had brought up instances so many times that I stopped bringing them up. I wish it wasn’t so normalized as I grew that I stopped thinking it was an issue. Dealing with any form of sexism is defeating. Dealing with it and not knowing how to is crippling. I can scream we must do better but the act of doing better is a very gray area. Of course it isn’t. But the road to get there is.

When gaslighting, societal normalization, and self doubt are added into the equation, sexual harassment and assault begin to circle inside your head and manifest into: Maybe he was kidding. Maybe I am just sensitive. Everyone jokes like that. That was just because of the alcohol. Men are just like that sometimes. [insert your choice of excuse]

This is a wake up call to every woman who sits across the table from a man who called her a friend while objectifying her. To the woman who is visibly uncomfortable and checking on her is replaced with “why don’t you smile?”. To the woman who’s name is not baby, girl, boo, or anything outside of her actual name. To the woman who makes herself small to fit into a mans world. To the woman who experienced their first sexual assault from someone who swore they loved her. To the woman who struggles with healthy boundaries because she was never taught them. To the woman who is internally screaming but everything built up too high and she can no longer grasp how to climb over it and is externally silent. To the woman who walks her dog at night in fear. To the woman who works harder to be respected less because she wouldn’t put out.. or because she did. To the woman who continues to work with a predator daily. To the woman who chooses not to have sex in fear of what other people will say. To the woman who is the subject of the water cooler talk. To the woman who wonders what she could have done differently before she was sexually harassed or assaulted. To the woman who everyone says slept around while she actually cried alone because of the things people were saying about her. To the woman who never reported her predator and now lives with the self shame. To the woman who did report her predator and now lives with the social strain. To the woman who under dresses in fear. To the woman who is talked about because she didn’t under dress. To the woman. Period.

Just because I move through a public space does not mean my body is a public space.