Me too?
Because I don’t know.
No, that isn’t right. I’m inured to it, I guess. I’ve never technically been sexually assaulted or raped, so I don’t want to falsely claim an allegiance tangentially. Not that I’m not upset, or think that survivors or I were ever in the wrong, but… I grew up with it. Old school? Too prevalent? I don’t know what to call it.
I do know a few things though:
I’ve been catcalled.
I’ve been pressured into going a little further than I wanted to.
I’ve had to have sexually charged conversations where the “wrong” word would have led to far more sensitive situations.
I’ve been locked in a room for hours with a naked man four years older than me, where only my wits and charming demeanor kept me from having to have sex when I was unwilling.
I’ve been called baby. Pretty. Darlin. Love. Sweetie. Honey. Girlie. Sweething. You. Bitch….. And those are only what I’m called in my workplace.
I’m sure I’ve been called worse. I know that I’ve been put in terrible situations. I know that I’ve been pressured into wearing “sexy” outfits that I tried desperately to pull off and pushed into acting far more mature than I had any understanding of.
But I’m still hesitant to claim the “#metoo.”
Why is that? I was raised to be an independent woman and to never NEED a man. Dudes are great, whatever, but I don’t need one to live my life. What I NEEDED was to complete my education. What I NEEDED was to do me on my terms.
There’s a song from the ’60s called “Bobby’s Girl,” and growing up, my dad and I had the best time rewriting the lyrics. When Marcie Blaine sang “I wanna be BOBBY’S GIRL…” my father and I would have a field day over dubbing the lyrics. “I wanna be, a DOCTOR OR A LAWYER…. I wanna be ANYTHING ELSE…” It was juvenile, it was silly, but it was important and it had a lasting effect on six year old me. I’m 35, and to this day, when “Bobby’s Girl” comes on the radio, I still call my dad and sing my latest rendition of the tribulations I’m facing. I do not submit to being “just” Bobby’s girl. As I learned early on, I’m worth far more than being any man’s trophy or plaything.
I have two daughters. They are smart. They are brave. They are social. They are beautiful. I fear that I am failing them every day. I want them to remain exactly as willful and independent as they currently are, but even now, even though I’m touting individuality as often as I can, my five year old is finding it easier to mute her voice and blend in with the crowd.
It breaks my heart.
I felt the same way growing up. It’s the prevailing mob mentality isn’t it? Sweep everything under the rug, everything will be fine eventually. Just act normal and you’ll be fine. I survived, but it took me a very long time, very strong parents, and some very good friends to be able to find my voice in high school. To find where my “everything is going to be fine” needed to be replaced with “no, I’m not okay with this and it needs to change.” I don’t want my baby to have to “just survive” that long, existing in that space of uncertainty. I don’t want to have to explain over and over and over again, like my parents did, that boys are not the judge and jury regarding what she likes and how she acts. I want her to be confident in herself. I want her to feel secure in her decision that her pink leopard print skirt matches her purple polka dot shirt, because “look mama, the shirt has pink eyes!” Right now, she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. As long as it’s right in her eyes, it’s the only logical solution, my opinion be damned. It kills me that other people, people who don’t even matter, will eventually overtake her mind’s eye.
It’s not fair. It’s not right.
And I don’t know what to do. She’s far more sensitive than I ever was. My youngest will happily tell you to screw off while smiling sweetly, but my eldest… How can I protect her? Why do I HAVE to protect her? Why do I have to explain the #metoo? I hope, by the time she’s old enough, by the time her sister is old enough, #metoo will be passé, just something that got everyone talking, but quickly amounted to a bullet point, because the world said, “WTF, stop hurting half our population because you feel inadequate,” and then everyone listened.
Please. My girls are perfect as they are. They’re going to have to deal with their crazy mother; they don’t need any more hang ups. Let them be themselves. Let ALL girls be themselves, without any fear, or condemnation, or prejudice, or sexualization, or discomfort.
Don’t let them need to write an article justifying their reaction to something like #metoo.
Keri Slater was raised in Cumberland, RI, then was moved to the backwoods country of Rhode Island during high school. It was there that she found her love of writing: being stuck so far from civilization and forced to only communicate through late night AIM sessions, she started a poetry journal. (So emo) She graduated from college, and after a brief sojourn back to the woods, moved to Massachusetts with the love of her life. They married and now have 2 amazing daughters and a very cute, but very annoying, Boston Terrier. Keri is a staffing manager by trade, which has the added benefit of giving her a look into the psyche of many different types of people. In her time off, she coaches her eldest’s soccer team, volunteers with their Daisy Scout troop, and enjoys reading, attempting to catch up on sleep, and pretty much any Pinot Grigio.
Well written, funny and, oh yeah, “Amen, sister!”.
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