Thar Be Women

Photo by Lance Reis on Unsplash

So there I was, stalking back up my neighbor’s driveway, past their American flag with Trump’s silhouette superimposed on it, while my neighbor’s husband shouts, “You need counseling!” at my back.

True story. It happened this very afternoon.

How, you ask? What did I do to warrant such treatment? Is he simply mental? (Opinions may vary on that last one).

I deserved to be treated that way, in his opinion, because I was a woman who had stepped out of line. Instead of politely sweltering in 90 degree heat while listening to him lecture me about gender roles, I had dared to challenge his God-and-Trump ordained beliefs, while he was wearing the hat. Worse, when he repeatedly interrupted me and talked over me, instead of shutting up like I was supposed to, I called him on it and asked him to please let me finish (he talked all the way through me saying that without even pausing). Worse still, when he let me know that I was wrong in thinking that a male-dominated culture was a bad thing, I laughed in his face, excused myself, and left. “And that’s why,” he said, laughing at my back, taking my “emotional outburst” as proof that men belonged on top. I kept walking, hoping the eggs I had just bought from his poor wife would still be fine after half a freaking hour of sweating and being talked down to like a child. I ignored him, and that was the breaking point. He started shouting, and continued until I reached the road (very coolly and unemotionally shouting, of course; he is a creature of superior intellect, after all), ending with a falsely jovial, “Have a nice day!” (in case any other neighbors were listening, because he’s really a nice guy).

I was shaking with rage by the time I got home, literally shaking. Rage, and fear. It is not possible for me to stand up to belligerent men without them triggering my small, helpless child who’s still afraid of her dad. But now, after a summer’s crash course in standing up for myself, she was surrounded by all the older, incensed versions of me; a protective wall of dragons. I will not be made small or quiet by fragile men with inflated egos. For as long as men have been taking all the exalted positions for themselves, women have been fighting to join them; and as long as women have been fighting for space, the men who take their space for granted have struggled to learn how to share. This is not our fault, nor are we the ones who are being “rude” or “obnoxious” or “out of bounds.” I am tired of shutting up every time a man throws a tantrum because he’s being “unfairly” crowded by women. Demanding my own space, demanding to be treated with equal respect, is not demeaning to men. Unlike some, I do not need to step on others to lift myself up. Call it our “servant nature,” but women are really good at lifting each other up, mutually. It’s a survival instinct learned over the centuries beneath patriarchy, so at least one good thing has come out of all that.