It happens every so often. A male acquaintance will do something that makes me uncomfortable—whether an unwanted touch, an objectifying comment or a wolf-whistle—something that triggers a deep-seated sense of apprehension in my stomach. But as soon as I protest, the expression of my discomfort backfires as it all becomes about their hurt feelings.
"You're exaggerating!"
"That's not what I meant!"
"I can't believe you're treating me like I'm a random guy in the street!"
My standing up for myself becomes a betrayal of whatever bond of camaraderie said person thought we had. In their eyes, I suddenly turn into an overreacting harpy for responding so seriously to something so insignificant.
But for all the men who have ever gotten huffy at me for setting boundaries, those who have joked that "come on, I'm not gonna rape you" when I turned down a ride home, I wish I could have said:
Don't blame me.
Blame them:
- The boy who used to "flirt" with me after my theater classes in middle school, purposefully making me uncomfortable to the point where I would tear up, praying for my mother to come pick me up as soon as possible. Flirting that was supposed to be perceived as both complimentary and insulting, because I was a mousy teen with glasses and no makeup whom no one should have been attracted to.
- The twenty-something dude who asked me, then a teenager, if I would suck his dick because I was wearing a dress, causing me to embrace baggy pants for years afterwards.
- The numerous strangers who over the years flashed their penises at me in public spaces, whether at night or in broad daylight. Special thanks to the first of these assholes, whose triumphant smirk will forever stay etched in my mind, along with the crushing feeling of having lost some sort of sick game I'd never signed up for in the first place.
- The middle-aged man who once followed me and grabbed my breasts outside of my house, only a couple hundred meters from a police station.
- The drunk guy twice my age who I nearly punched at a club after he started listing the sexual things he wanted to do to me against my will. All that because I informed him (multiple times, both politely and rudely) that he should leave me and my friend alone.
- The acquaintance that I had to kick in the balls so he would stop flipping my skirt because it was "funny."
- The man who, one summer night, grabbed under my dress and tried to rip off my underwear, only to give me a look of pure disdain when I turned around and screamed at him to leave me alone.
- The guy who sent me texts and Facebook messages twice a week for two months after I told him I wasn't interested in him, culminating in the hair-raising statement that, while I may have told him "no," my body had told him "yes."
- And the well-meaning but clueless fool who actually ran after me late one night to inform me that I was being followed by two other men, only to get mad at me for being uncomfortable at his insistence.
All these men, and the many other creepy landlords, coworkers, "friends" and strangers who have in any way harassed me, assaulted me or made me feel unsafe throughout my life, are the reasons why fear is the constant hum in the back of my head that will never truly shut up.
This post has been more than a year in the making. Some evenings, after pretty bad incidents of harassment, I would come home shaking with anger, only to type a paragraph of pure rage before being overcome by sadness, and worst of all, weariness.
I was weary having to face the dreaded, unlit three blocks that separated Hamra's main street from my old house, and the anxiety that would course through my veins each and every time I had to walk there alone after dark.
Weary of fear being one of the main attributes of my gender.
Sad that so many discussions with female friends turned into endless recountings of times we'd been harassed, as if we were veterans sharing fucking war stories.
My guarded attitude is not deluded paranoia; it's the result of more than a decade of having the world tell me over and over that I am being watched and objectified, that I am seen as prey.
Blame these men for making it hard for me to trust not only strangers but men I know, regardless of their intentions.
But if you respond to my defensiveness by dismissing me and my concerns, then perhaps you should also blame yourself.
"You're exaggerating!"
"That's not what I meant!"
"I can't believe you're treating me like I'm a random guy in the street!"
My standing up for myself becomes a betrayal of whatever bond of camaraderie said person thought we had. In their eyes, I suddenly turn into an overreacting harpy for responding so seriously to something so insignificant.
But for all the men who have ever gotten huffy at me for setting boundaries, those who have joked that "come on, I'm not gonna rape you" when I turned down a ride home, I wish I could have said:
Don't blame me.
Blame them:
- The boy who used to "flirt" with me after my theater classes in middle school, purposefully making me uncomfortable to the point where I would tear up, praying for my mother to come pick me up as soon as possible. Flirting that was supposed to be perceived as both complimentary and insulting, because I was a mousy teen with glasses and no makeup whom no one should have been attracted to.
- The twenty-something dude who asked me, then a teenager, if I would suck his dick because I was wearing a dress, causing me to embrace baggy pants for years afterwards.
- The numerous strangers who over the years flashed their penises at me in public spaces, whether at night or in broad daylight. Special thanks to the first of these assholes, whose triumphant smirk will forever stay etched in my mind, along with the crushing feeling of having lost some sort of sick game I'd never signed up for in the first place.
- The middle-aged man who once followed me and grabbed my breasts outside of my house, only a couple hundred meters from a police station.
- The drunk guy twice my age who I nearly punched at a club after he started listing the sexual things he wanted to do to me against my will. All that because I informed him (multiple times, both politely and rudely) that he should leave me and my friend alone.
- The acquaintance that I had to kick in the balls so he would stop flipping my skirt because it was "funny."
- The man who, one summer night, grabbed under my dress and tried to rip off my underwear, only to give me a look of pure disdain when I turned around and screamed at him to leave me alone.
- The guy who sent me texts and Facebook messages twice a week for two months after I told him I wasn't interested in him, culminating in the hair-raising statement that, while I may have told him "no," my body had told him "yes."
- And the well-meaning but clueless fool who actually ran after me late one night to inform me that I was being followed by two other men, only to get mad at me for being uncomfortable at his insistence.
All these men, and the many other creepy landlords, coworkers, "friends" and strangers who have in any way harassed me, assaulted me or made me feel unsafe throughout my life, are the reasons why fear is the constant hum in the back of my head that will never truly shut up.
This post has been more than a year in the making. Some evenings, after pretty bad incidents of harassment, I would come home shaking with anger, only to type a paragraph of pure rage before being overcome by sadness, and worst of all, weariness.
I was weary having to face the dreaded, unlit three blocks that separated Hamra's main street from my old house, and the anxiety that would course through my veins each and every time I had to walk there alone after dark.
Weary of fear being one of the main attributes of my gender.
Sad that so many discussions with female friends turned into endless recountings of times we'd been harassed, as if we were veterans sharing fucking war stories.
My guarded attitude is not deluded paranoia; it's the result of more than a decade of having the world tell me over and over that I am being watched and objectified, that I am seen as prey.
Blame these men for making it hard for me to trust not only strangers but men I know, regardless of their intentions.
But if you respond to my defensiveness by dismissing me and my concerns, then perhaps you should also blame yourself.
Much love dear, wish I had seen this sooner. *Hugs*
ReplyDeleteThanks love :)
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