You know what I’m getting super sick of.
Get back here, let me finish.
Other women, who in the face of hearing women like yours truly talk about something that affects our lives, like street harassment, online harassment, job and wage inequality, when some asshole said something sexist, etc, will jump in ass-first to inform us that they’re just fine.
“Why don’t you just ignore it?”
“What’s wrong with you, can’t you just deal?”
“Why are you being so hysterical?”
“It’s just life/a complement!”
“This is why people HATE feminists!”
And the most infuriating:
“I’ve been assaulted/harassed/raped and I handled it just fine. Why can’t you?”
They pretty much boil down to “Why aren’t you like me?” and “Quit making a fuss already.” And seriously, fuck all of that.
Firstly, if you’re a survivor, congrats. Honestly. That shit can be life changing, and you’re doing the best you can. You go, Glen Coco.
BUT, you don’t get to hop into another survivor’s space to tell them that they’re the ones in the wrong for their reaction, if it’s anxiety or railing against the society that allow this treatment of women. That makes you an asshole of the first, second, and last water. People get to react the way that works for them, okay?
But hey, you super special Wonder Woman who possesses the exact correct way to handle trauma that doesn’t require changing our society, I don’t understand your need to dismiss other’s experiences. Especially if a dude is already up in the mix doing the same fucking thing. Are you looking for a cookie or something? A “Congrats, You’re Better Than All The Ladies” ribbon? A pat on the head?
Because let me tell you something; harassment IS a big deal. You might not be aware of this, but a simple Google search will show you the myriad of articles and Tweets and organizations all dedicated to exposing the problem and/or finding way to stop it. I would put down some links here, but it’s not my fucking job to do your homework.
Cats and kittens, I’m gonna tell you a little story about harassment. Maybe we can get through it without the ass-first inclusion of apologists. Let see!
When I was a younger hottie, Dance Dance Revolution was a Big Fucking Deal. Machines were in a lot of arcades, people were jumping up and down in their own homes, there were competitions everydamnwhere. It was awesome. I had more than a couple of friend who Danced Danced their way into losing excess weight. It combined the two things I then loved to do the most: Play video games and dance.
Now I wasn’t big on waiting in line or anything, so I found a machine in an arcade in Underground Atlanta, which is like a shopping mall, but underground (surprise!). Usually someone was just getting off the machine or there would someone waiting when I was done. It was nice, I didn’t feel like I had to impress fellow players. And I tried a few things, like turning the step-step-steps into something like dance moves, it was great for my anxiety.
Usually. There were guys who were obviously not waiting in line for who a woman on a game like that was far too interesting. Trying to take the break in the song “Dive”, to run around the back of the machine sometimes ended with me nearly careening into guys who was standing WAY TOO CLOSE to even watch the screen. Or the guys who try to hit on me while I was playing, because I certainly have the attention span to try to play a game I paid for and politely tell a guy “no thank you”.
And then there were the moments after I was done playing and wanted to leave.
“Hey baby, that looked good.”
“Hey girl, where you going?”
“You dance real good”
“You gotta man?” (shameless blog post plug!!)
Then there were the followers who insisted that I didn’t hear them properly when I booked it out of there at top speed. And if it wasn’t for the fact that I was super worried about being followed all the way back to the train or worse, I probably would have happily informed these walking boners that I WASN’T PERFORMING A FUCKING MATING DANCE.
I wasn’t doing it for attention, I wasn’t trying to be a tease, I wore jeans and t-shirt and occasional a tank top because shit gets sweaty after a round, and while my badonkadonk was pretty slamming back then, I sure as shit didn’t need the verification of a complete fucking stranger. I spent about a summer doing that…and then stopped. It was too much – didn’t help my anxiety at all.
So now what? Was I being too sensitive? Maybe the guy telling me I danced real well was just trying to pay me friendly “not informing me of the state of his dick” complement. Maybe I was being super rude, by leaving as quickly as possible when my coins ran out and not acknowledging their praise? Or maybe I’m just being a delicate flower, unable to deal with life.
Let me inform you of something, you with the “Congrats, You’re Better Than All The Ladies” ribbon and the cookie, you aren’t saying shit I haven’t said to myself. A lot of victims/survivors blame themselves in the exact same way you are chiding us. So not only are you busting in on a conversation that you weren’t invited to, but you’re not even saying anything new. So really, what use are you here anyway other than to stroke your own #notallwomen ego?
What’s worse, you’re giving cover to the jerks in the world, to the oversensitive flowers of manhood who get all in their feelings when a woman speaks or otherwise indicates disinterest. Today I honest to goodness saw a woman type:
” This is why men are becoming afraid to date and marry women because this hysteria has gotten completely out of hand.”
I would have provided a screenshot, but looks like that asshole got blocked, and rightfully so, because that is some bullshit. This is some MRA, “women run things with their vagina and boo on them for denying us that”, rank ass bullshit.
So, in conclusion, fuck the men they protect who already jump ass-first to tell us how wrong or hysterical we’re being, but double plus super fuck these women for trying to deny other women our experiences and our attempts to change the way society treats women. If you can deal with street harassment, great. No one’s stopping you. If you survived an assault or a rape and are ‘okay’, depending on your definition of ‘okay’, then great. No one is trying to take that away from you. I’m not gonna jump into your shit and tell you you’re doing it wrong.
It is too much to fucking ask that you don’t do the same to us?
P.S. This entire conversation works wonderfully in other situations with other minorities as well.