Skip to main content

#MeToo (too many times)


I've had many discussions in recent weeks with people that have had a huge spectrum of feelings and viewpoints about the revelations that women have been harassed, assaulted and raped. And many of these were revealed for the first time by the women, some of incidents that happened more than 20 years ago. For the first time in their lives, the women have said that they chose now to reveal because they felt 'safe' or 'supported'.

In one recent conversation (just after the Harvey Weinstein/Charlie Rose revelations), I was part of, a man asked "Where's the evidence?",
 to which a woman said, "It's just not fair. I mean these women can say whatever they want and ruin these men's lives."

I held my tongue.

Another woman said, "I think they're just looking for their 15 minutes of fame."

The conversation continued around me, but I couldn't hear what they were saying because my heart was racing and blood coursing loudly. Incredulous, I took deep breaths and prayed for the right moment and the right words. As if on cue, that moment came and I hope the words were right. (I'm going to paraphrase what I said):

"I have to interject here and let you know that I empathize with these women. One of the reasons the women are speaking out after all these years is because there seems to be a sea-change and it now feels safe to speak out about this. The men's lives may be ruined now, but the women's lives were often ruined years ago and they've had to live with the shame and shattered careers or worse. And I think if women were 'just looking for 15 minutes of fame' there would be easier or safer ways to do that."

Silence. And I could hardly look them in the eye, but I took another deep breath and pressed on.

"I am one of those women. I was raped in college, molested at 9 and again at 12. I endured sexual harassment from managers and discrimination in the workplace - even a manager that would grab my breasts and make lewd comments. At my annual review after I'd had a particularly stellar year, I was told that my male co-worker would be getting the top accounts because he had a wife that didn't work and two children, while I didn't have any children and my husband was an attorney."

I looked around the room, at each face, and said, "I wouldn't have shared this a year ago, because I would have felt scorned and isolated. But now that so many other women are sharing their stories, and so many are similar to what I've endured through my life - I feel the safety of numbers by saying, Me Too. This is they way it was, but light is being shone on those dark days, so it doesn't have to be that way ever again. Not for me, or any woman in this room. Or my daughter or nieces. Or my sons or any man in this room."

#MeToo, way too many times.


Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Ten Year

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth.  And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all l...

Blubbering Idiot

While doing crunches this morning, I turned on the TV to keep my mind off the exercise I was about to do and the movie "Gran Torino" was playing. It was nearly 3/4 of the way done. Perfect, I thought, I can watch the end of one of my newest favorite movies. Fifteen minutes later, I'm a puddle of tears on the floor. The end of that movie dissolves me to tears every time - and I think I've seen it now about six or seven times. When Clint Eastwood's character goes about his last day - including a lame confession with the priest - locking 'Toad' in the basement, I begin to get weepy. SCENE SPOILER ALERT ! But when he is shot down and is splayed as though crucified on the cross, I become a blubbering idiot. So much softness and sacrifice in one so tough and gruff - it highlights the intensity of his sacrifice for his new family next door. I only need watch the last few minutes of "Gran Torino" to get the full emotional effect. The same can be said...

Hair today gone tomorrow

Before you all begin to think I’m breezing completely through chemo, let me remind you of this:   For the most part I am bald. Or if not completely bald, fuzzy headed, and not in the way I think or am thinking, but in the appearance. A little like a hedgehog or a porcupine with bald patches. On Super Bowl Sunday while most of you were overeating or filling out those little squares to wager on the upcoming game, John and I were having a unique pre-game party. In front of our bathroom mirror with clippers and scissors. Preparing for the certainty of hair loss from my chemo, I decided to buzz my locks to lessen the shock and mess of of losing large chunks of my silver, shoulder-length hair. It was in all honesty one of the most poignant moments in our 30+  year marriage. I had originally asked my friend and former stylist if she could do it . But when I shared my plan with John, he said that he wanted to do it. Certainly that was not expected. So instead of watching th...