The Cure for Anything

Not-a-poem for poetry Tuesday this week.  Not an easy read, or a pretty read, but surely a truthful read. Trigger warning.

“The first time a man slapped me on the ass, I was fourteen years old, bussing tables at a family restaurant.
Catcalls make me jump out of my skin. I have never figured out how to take them as a compliment.

When I learned that “no” did not always stop slipping lips and wandering hands, I was sixteen. I was told that it was my fault for being tempting. I haven’t left the house with shorts on for years. It makes me nervous to be alone somewhere with another person when I have a dress on.

I always get uncomfortable when men make jokes about why women go to the bathroom in groups. Nobody likes to hear that we are taught from the youngest age that we should never go anywhere alone.

The second time that “no” did not stop someone, my date pulled up in front of my house and hit the door lock, wrapped his hand around my throat because I told him I just thought we should be friends.

The third time, I was sprawled out on a hammock in the front lawn with a man I’d been out with a handful of times. When I first said “no”, I thought maybe he didn’t hear me. “Please no, please don’t”. “Please no, please don’t.” “Please no, please don’t.”

Once I was told by a man that it was my fault if he ever went too far because his brain was wired like an animal. I didn’t argue. Can you believe that I didn’t argue? I wanted to say that even my dogs recognize the word “no”, but I was afraid of how he would react. I had to sit through the rest of the date with a smile on my face.

I carry my keys just to walk to the mailbox at night. I’m too paranoid to jog down my street alone.

I have been groped on the sidewalk. I have been groped at the bar. I have been groped on the bus.

The time I was followed all the way to my friend’s car by a group of men who stood around laughing and jeering and banging on the windows, not letting us pull out of the parking garage, was the last time I ever let a man buy me a drink at a bar.

I have men in my life who would call themselves my friends who have put their hands on my hips and my thighs without my permission. There is no question. They do not think they have to ask. They laugh when I bristle.

It took twenty-two years to realize only I had a right to my body.

I used to bite my tongue, but I do not say “no” quietly anymore. I bark my discomfort like an old dog, weary and uncomfortable even in its sleep.”

– Trista Maater

I read this and thought to myself that this could’ve been written by me or by any number of women that I know.  As women, we are so often told that it is our “fault” for being tempting. I know for certain that I was taught to never go anyplace alone.  Scratch that– growing up I was never allowed to go anyplace alone.  Never.  I’m trying to recall the first time I went to a public place alone.  I was at least 19 or 20 years old.  To this day, my mother still urges me not to go out alone and when I tell her that’s simply not possible, she says, “well, at least not after dark.”  Also not possible, but I try to allay her fears.  I always have my keys out and ready to get in my car as quickly as possible.  I am constantly surveying my surroundings, being aware, being prepared. It is exhausting.  Completely and utterly exhausting.

When I was attacked a few years ago my mother said to me, “This may not have happened if you were married”.  Ouch.  She meant well, and in her reality, a husband is a protector (among many other things).  This was never my reality.  Besides, why should I need someone to protect me?  Wouldn’t it be better to live in a society where women are honored and respected?  Little does she know, that was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.  I’ve learned to keep things from her because I don’t think she could bear it.  So I suppose, in a way, I’m protecting her too.

When people learn that I only have one child, I’m often asked if I wish I’d had a girl. (I never, ever understand the impetus for this question.) For a million different reasons, the answer is no.  One of those reasons is that I know too much.  I  know just how hard being a woman in this world can be.  I wish it didn’t have to be that way. It doesn’t have to be that way.  I’m trying to make a difference in the ways that I can and one of those ways is raising my son to honor and respect women.