Why I Kept Quiet About Being Sexually Harassed

Recently, women in the Los Angeles improv community did the unthinkable: They named names--on facebook, no less.

One man in particular was credited with so many stories of sexual harassment that I'm tempted to think his daily schedule goes something like:

8:00AM: Wake up
8:30AM-8:30PM: Sexually harass women
8:30PM: Tinder date
12:00AM Go to sleep

[Personal connection: I was matched with this gentleman on an online dating platform. We never actually communicated.]

I kid you not. This crap has been going on for years. And women are finally speaking up. It's incredible to watch--equal parts inspiring and horrifying--inspiring, to see the support that these women are receiving from the community--horrifying, that this guy got away with sexually harassing so many women for so long.

It made me think about my own stories--about why I didn't speak up about being harassed. I've written before about the burden of secrecy: How women are so often burdened with keeping things quiet--don't cause trouble, don't make a scene, don't smear someone's reputation, don't accuse someone (particularly a powerful, talented, or likable someone) of misconduct.

There are so many valid reasons for keeping silent. And until the culture changes to one that prioritizes victims over perpetrators, it will always be extremely difficult to come forward.

[Ironically, even as I write this, I'm running through in my mind all the possible ways that the men I write about could be identified by readers.]

Story #1:

When I was in college, I wrote a blog for the school's marketing department about my experiences in the honors program.

I was connected to a staff member at the college who would post the blogs that I wrote every week. He was a man in his 40s (we'll call him RC)

At first, it was great. I loved blogging. Loved it. Because writing is fun.

Then, things started getting weird. From the beginning, RC and I had bantered back and forth via email. He was eccentric, borderline unprofessional and didn't act his age, but I didn't think too much about it. I knew he was in a relationship, and that made me feel safe, as if he couldn't be flirting with me (plus, I was a student).

Things took an odd turn when he created a facebook profile in the name of my college and started leaving weird comments on other people's pages and messaging me nonsensical things, to the point that I blocked him on facebook.

Then, he started harassing me about not sending him new blogs to post every week, repeatedly sending me pushy, sarcastic and vaguely threatening emails.

Something about the emails made me deeply uncomfortable and fearful. I asked him to stop. I used the word "Please." He didn't stop. I asked him again. I felt like no matter what I said, he wouldn't stop sending me harassing emails.

Conclusion: I stopped writing. I concluded that my blog made him feel as if he "knew me" or had some kind of personal connection to me. The only way to stay safe was to stop writing.

Blogging was something that brought joy and meaning to my life, but I stopped doing it--all because of this one guy.

Now that I think about it, this guy was on the clock when he sent me those emails--so he was basically being PAID to harass me. That just feels wrong on so many levels.

So, why didn't I say something to someone? Here are the reasons I came up with:

1. I was afraid that my bantering emails with him would be considered "encouragement"--that I had brought this on myself by not being completely professional. In other words: it was my fault that I led him on.

2. I had enjoyed the (seemingly harmless) attention from him. (My fault, again.)

3. I perceived those at the college I could have gone to for help as either distant or ineffectual. I couldn't imagine them helping me in any real way.

4. What about his reputation? Would I be putting his job in jeopardy?

5. Although our online interactions felt inappropriate and unsafe, he never said or did anything overtly sexual. So although I felt like he was both hitting on me AND engaging in some kind of weird power play, I really had no "proof."

Reading the accounts from women in the improv community, I'm struck by how many stopped doing what they loved because they felt unsafe. That makes me f***ing furious.

Story #2:

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I worked on a low-budget feature film for no pay.

At our very first crew meeting, I started talking to the editor, asking him about what system he used, etc. (I was interested in editing at the time). Later, he visited the set. We talked more, and he offered to let me help cut the film once it entered post-production. He had worked on several films by a director that I greatly admired, so I thought this was pretty cool.

Later that same night, I had to drive an actor home. When he offered to accompany me and I didn't immediately jump on the opportunity, but instead asked other people, he started acting like a petulant five year-old. I swear, this man in his early 40s started pouting and crossed his arms over his chest like a small child. He was angry with me and would barely talk to me. I had no idea what was going on, but something didn't feel right.

Then, early the next morning, I got the email, and my heart started pounding faster.

He explained that he had fallen in love with me from the very first night we met, felt a deep connection to me that was not just sexual (e.g., I'm not just interested in sex!), explained he had been angry because he thought I didn't want to be alone with him, something something something, hoped we could still work together.

I responded that I was not interested, but hoped we could still work together as colleagues. I didn't tell anyone about this email, even though it stressed me out. I thought I could handle it on my own and save him any embarrassment.

That same day, the producer called me over and said that I had to go pick up the editor from the train station the next day (the producer had no idea about the email). I was then forced to go pick this guy up and spend at least an hour alone with him. I can remember how he casually put his arm up around and on my headrest in the car as if we were at a movie and he was about to make a move. Under the circumstances, it made me uncomfortable. I tried to pretend like nothing had happened.

Later, other members of the crew told me how he was in love with me and ranting angrily about how much time I was spending with another guy onset, "I'm gonna f***ing kill him," he was saying about this guy, repeatedly.

One guy half-jokingly suggested that I get a restraining order.

I noticed that he had a camcorder and seemed to be filming me, but I wasn't sure. Later, after we wrapped, he sent me an email with pictures (screenshots from video?) that he had taken of me unawares. I never responded.

A week or so after shooting finished, I went into the production office to reconcile expenses, and the producer mentioned that the editor had said he wanted me to help out with editing.

I said, "I don't think I can do that." The producer was like, "Okay, cool." But then I tried to explain why.

"Oh, he has a crush on you?"

It was a little more than that. I told him I would forward him the email. That the email was funny.

"I don't think it's funny."

So, why didn't I (initially) say anything?

1. I felt like it was my problem to handle and that I could handle it.

2. I thought that after I responded to his confession of love with a professionally worded "let's just be colleagues" that he would leave me alone and respect my boundaries.

3. I thought he would be embarrassed and shamed if I told someone, and I didn't want him to be embarrassed or shamed (I put myself in his shoes).

4. I used humor to minimize how unsafe it made me feel.

Sadly, practically every single woman has a story like this--not these exact details, no, but the same dynamic.

Writing it all out like this feels clinical and distant--but it's helped me see that men who sexually harass women are not playing by the rules--

We ascribe shame to them (normal, healthy shame that you should feel for violating someone else's boundaries) when nothing of the sort actually exists.

We mentally and emotionally put ourselves into the shoes of the harasser--"Wow, I would feel awful if dozens of women accused me of sexually harassing them"--without realizing that they exist in a world where their actions are perfectly acceptable, understandable, normal, justifiable.

[Exhibit A, the same guy above who has dozens of sexual harassment incidents to his name is still by all reports setting up dates with women in the improv community via apps like Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge. I'm sure he feels just "Terrible, terrible!" about all the pain he has caused. 'Cause those are the actions of a man overwhelmed with shame. Right. I just feel so bad for him and all the humiliation he must be going through. My heart goes out to him.]

This plays out in the way that women respond to harassment. I assume, "If I say no, stop, I'm not interested, he will stop"--sometimes realizing too late that when I said "No," all he heard was static.

In this case, if there is no support from other people, and particularly from those in authority, then my best option is to disappear, because then at least he doesn't have access to me.

Think about it. Women are disappearing because that is their best option. It can be a kind of personal, professional, spiritual or creative death.

After cutting ties with an abuser, I have not only had to heal from the relationship itself, but also from the ways in which people responded (or didn't) to my story.

One person that I reached out to immediately after a traumatic incident was adamant about remaining neutral and hearing "his side of the story."

I get it. I feel like I get it. But to remain neutral is to side with the abuser. Every time. And I know that this is just one more layer to this wound that I'm going to have to deal with.

Intellectually, I totally get it. But emotionally, it's devastating.

Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys are All Dented Cans - The Myth of Persistence

Photo by quinn.anya

So I've started doing this thing where I'm completely honest with men. Why?

Well, for one, it amuses me and my dark sense of humor. I get to say fun things like:

"I'm not interested in pursuing anything romantic with you."
"Hitting on one person on the fb status of another person is kind of a douche move."
"You fondled my earring at a BBQ and it made feel uncomfortable and disrespected."
"When you grabbed me from behind around my ribs directly under my breasts [yeah, that happened], I felt unsafe and violated."

Yep. That's right. Just waiting for the marriage proposals to roll on in.

For another, I'm done protecting a man's feelings at the expense of my own personal safety.

And that brings me to the topic for today in dented cans: THE MYTH OF PERSISTENCE. And yes, it definitely deserves to be in all caps.

There's this weirdly longstanding myth out there that women want men who will continue to pursue them even in the face of blatant rejection (see also, "The Notebook").

You say, "I just want to be friends."
He hears, "I just want to be friends until I change my mind and decide we should definitely get married and have five kids."

You say, "I'm not interested in you in that way."
He hears, "I'm not interested in you in that way, but you should definitely grab me and try to kiss me."

You say, "I like someone else."
He hears, "He's probably a douche-bag--so you still have a shot!"

To the men that believe this myth, "No, I'm not interested" means "Try harder. You're not trying hard enough. Persist long enough and I will say 'Yes.'"

Except it doesn't mean that.

No--when you persist in pursuing me after I have made my feelings clear, I can only assume that there is something wrong with you either emotionally or mentally. And the last thing in the world that I desire is to have an emotionally or mentally unstable man pursuing me, or worse, believing that I owe him something--a date, friendship, my time, a second chance.

In short, when a man will not take "No" for an answer, all my self-preservation instincts kick in, and all I want is for him to stay the **** away from me.

I feel fear and anger.

Fear--because if this man apparently can't understand or chooses not to understand the words that I use to communicate (perhaps if I did an interpretive dance?), who's to say what other boundaries of mine he won't violate due to this "misunderstanding"? If he has already violated my verbal boundaries and made me feel unsafe, there are still other boundaries he has yet to cross: emotional, spiritual, mental, physical.

But truthfully, I have trouble understanding the level of pure terror I feel when a man refuses to take "No" for an answer.

My best guess is that this is a dehumanizing experience--I am not a person to these men. I am the projection of all of their baggage about women. I "owe" him something--my body, my "Yes," a chance for him to prove that he is the man of my dreams and we are meant to be together-- In short, I cannot give consent because I am not fully human. His pursuit has very little do with me, and so much to do with the fantasy world he has created in his mind: A world in which I should say, "Yes."

At a certain point this fantasy becomes far more important than my humanity. And that is terrifying (cue visions of being chained up in a dungeon somewhere by a man who "just wants to love me," and is willing to wait as long as it takes for me to realize that).

My guess is that many men fail to understand this as well--they have never experienced fear for their personal safety in the context of romantic relationships, partially because women are not encouraged to pursue in the face of rejection, in fact, quite the opposite. Any romantic rejection is humiliating and shameful.

And what about "Not Leading Him On," that crime that women seem to be accused of at a substantially higher rate than men? Why do women so often take the path of least resistance, trying to "let him down easy." It goes back to fear, again. Women have been taught that saying "No" is not only rude, but also dangerous.

A stranger came up to me in the 99 cent store and told me that I was "beautiful." He followed this up immediately with, "That's a compliment you know."

Of course, I enjoy compliments most when they are followed by vaguely hostile or threatening statements. I also enjoy being put in a situation in a public space where I am expected to thank a stranger for harassing me or be subjected to the accusation of "ungrateful b___ who can't take a compliment."

Unfortunately for me, as a woman, I fear for my physical safety. Therefore, I try not to engage with men in an aggressive or potentially escalating manner.

The same goes for turning down men who are romantically interested in me--but as it turns out, it matters very little what I say:

I've had different Christian guys: Corner me in a car and demand repeatedly that I go out on a date with him, then text me to apologize and tell me that he really "respects" me; Tell me my job is on the line unless I let him back into my life (as a friend, of course); Ignore my request to be "just friends" by grabbing me and dipping me for a kiss, all while citing the scene in "Hitch" when Will Smith and Kevin James accidentally make out ("You lean in half way, then wait for her to go the other half").

Then there's the anger--yeah, being seen as not quite human kind of pisses me off. And there's the icky, would rather not think about it, idea that my biracial, "exotic" looks only contribute to the extent to which men are able to project their own fantasies onto my very real, non-white (but still human!) body.

The intersection between race and perceived sexual availability is a fraught one at best--but whether it applies here or not, let me just say:

I don't want to be touched, grabbed, or groped in public by men I don't know.
If I say I don't want to date you, I mean exactly that, and I don't care to repeat myself.
I am in no way obligated to explain to you why I am not interested. I owe you no justification whatsoever.
If you won't take "No" for answer, consider yourself banned from my life.

So why is it that Christian men are so horrible at grasping the concept of women as fully human?

The word "consent" is quite the buzzword these days, but I believe there are many Christian men who do not grasp the concept:

Consent (or if you prefer, "Respect") isn't just about sex. It's about respecting the boundaries of another human being--seeing them as fully human--in every single interaction, romantic or not.

There are certain things that "Nice" Christian guys tend to believe or say that are inconsistent with consent:

One, believing that if you go to the trouble of asking a girl out, she should say, "Yes," just because you took a risk and put yourself out there.

Two, if you ask a girl out and she says, "Yes" even though she is not ultimately interested, then she is leading you on.

Three, you are a "Good Christian Man" but every girl you ask out says, "No," meaning that there is something wrong with them, not you. You are a victim of feminism, shallow female whims, or unfair discrimination.

Four, if a girl says "No" before the first date or after five dates, you deserve a full, complete, and honest explanation as to why.

Five, women don't actually know what they want. They read romance novels and "Fifty Shades of Grey" and then complain that they don't want to be raped, beaten, sexually harassed, or coerced into sex. What gives?

One and two are obviously contradictory, but I have heard both. Trying to control whether or not someone says "Yes" or "No" to a date is contrary to the idea of consent--and trying to control a person's motivations in general feels fishy.

For three and four, being rejected sucks, obviously. But believing that someone else is "wrong" for rejecting you or that the the entire female population is delusional because they are not romantically interested in you is also contrary to the idea of consent--particularly to the idea that a woman should be able to choose to date or not date someone for any reason. Yes, any reason, even one you think is shallow or stupid.

Also contrary to consent is manipulating a person into unwanted contact of any kind.

For five--well, perhaps that is the subject of another blog post, but it boggles the mind that women are still not allowed to be complex or contradictory beings with a freedom of choice and personal autonomy that transcends one particular sexual fantasy or choice of reading material. "Women don't know what they want" seems highly correlated with the myth of persistence--"Women don't know what they want" but "I (a man) know what they should want." Gross.

In conclusion, if a guy will not take "No" for an answer he is, in my opinion, undateable.

Up next in the Dented Cans series, a post on entitlement.

Pain, Part 2

I wasn't quite telling the whole story in my last post about pain, entitled fittingly "Pain" (with a title like that, shockingly not one of my most popular posts). 

I wrote that the wound was infected and that was why I was still in capital "P" PAIN, pain that wouldn't go away, that didn't fade with time, that lingered in excruciating fashion.

I think there's some truth to that, but the larger truth is that I am still in a context and a situation that is not safe--that does not feel safe--in which I am constantly on alert.

I am still in the mix. And so I am still in the source of the pain.

I am afraid that what happened before will happen again--an instinctual, animal fear. I do not claim that my fear is logical, or rational, or necessary, that there is any way for me to know that it could happen again.

The fear just is. Much like the pain. 

So there it is. I'm not in a safe place--haven't been for months.

And speaking of safety, in particular emotional safety, it's something you only realize you had once you've lost it. I was safe; now I am not. The very definition of safety is that you are not thinking, "I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe..." You are not thinking about it at all.

What I didn't expect after that initial "NO!" to what was not safe but rather violating, soul-battering, wounding--and this "No" felt good and right and true--was having to say "No" over and over again.

"I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe..."

"No" to having my boundaries violated and trampled. "No" to attempts at emotional manipulation. "No" to the endless cycle of brokenness and hurt. And "No" most of all to shame.

There is the thought at the back of mind that because I didn't leave immediately (for rational, adult reasons) I only brought upon myself everything that followed--that I brought all this pain on myself, basically. If only I had just left. 

Shame is such a huge temptation for me. And maybe that's why the fear has been so persistent. You would think that after all this time, I wouldn't be afraid that he would hurt me, again. But I am. 

You would think that after all this time, I would feel secure and safe. But I don't. 

Some part of me is extremely sorry that I am just that weak. That I can't overcome this fear of being emotionally brutalized by someone that I once trusted. That I'm walking around wounded and for the life of me don't have the means to protect myself or feel safe again.

But then maybe that's just the sane thing to do--move to safety as soon as possible. You're hurt, you're bleeding--get off the battlefield, remove yourself from the line of fire.

It's possible that it is impossible to heal while you are still flinching at every sudden noise and movement, when you are too much in fight or flight to even think about recovery. It's possible that fleeing to safety will mean that the wound can finally heal. 

And I'm extremely lucky to be able to do that. I have the means to leave. To get out. And I know that that is a privilege. 

No one deserves this, I remind myself. Not even me. 

Pain

[See a companion post from my friend on this same topic here.]

Last week I was in what you might call "serious emotional distress."

And I was watching a cheesy sci-fi drama called Believe (my apologies if you love this show). The Asian female character had been shot to raise the emotional stakes of the show while not actually harming any primary players, and was running a dangerous fever (they performed emergency kitchen-table surgery on her, but she couldn't go to the hospital because she was a fugitive-on-the-run and would go to prison for life, etc.).

So the leader of the supernatural gang kidnaps a doctor and brings him to her bedside. 

"She's not getting better because the wound is infected," says the kidnapped doctor. 

And at that moment, a lightbulb went off for me. 

Because I was in pain. And the pain wasn't getting any better. 

I was wounded. And the wound refused to heal. 

It refused to heal because it was infected. 

And furthermore, this was the wound. Suffering or hurting alone, in isolation, was the wound. I was in it. I am in it. This particular wound is multi-layered and deep, cutting all the way down to the bone. 

I'm no expert on medicine, emotional pain, or cheesy sci-fi dramas, but in my experience, emotional pain, while intense at first, usually gets better over time. It just doesn't hurt as much as it did when it happened. I cry. I feel better. I talk to a friend. More crying. Maybe some blogging thrown in for good measure. And the pain fades. 

This isn't about that kind of pain. This is about the kind of pain that just doesn't seem to get better. A foreign object enters the wound and the wound gets infected. 

Half the time I feel this force, this pain, stuck in my throat, choking me so that it's hard to breathe. 

How does an emotional wound become infected? 

Shame

Roughly 10 years ago I had an experience that left me hurting for what seemed like forever. I was "betrayed" by someone I trusted and the experience left me struggling to heal from wounds that went deeper in my history than I cared to remember or re-live. 

Even now it's difficult for me to articulate what happened, because on the surface it seems like no big deal. But it left me reeling emotionally, and at the time I didn't have the internal or external resources to deal with it. 

So I didn't. Deal with it. Time went on (as it does), and gradually I felt better, okay. Except I wasn't really okay. Somewhere along the way I decided that the way I felt was my fault and that I had used this pain to hurt other people (by not forgiving them, continuing to be hurt and angry, etc.).

I was wrong and I decided that I would never allow this to happen again. I would never again be so hurt that I hurt other people. 

Of course this meant shutting down vulnerability and keeping other people at a safe distance. 

It wasn't until recently when one of my facebook friends posted a quote by Brené Brown that I realized the connection in my mind between vulnerability and being terribly, gut-wrenchingly wounded. The greater the vulnerability, the greater the wound. The more intimate the relationship, the harder it is to recover.

It was a quote about the benefits of being vulnerable, and my mind went, "But what's missing is that the minute you open yourself up in vulnerability, you also open yourself up to be deeply hurt." 

Shame says, "Something is wrong with me. I hurt other people. I must stop myself from hurting other people." (See also, Frozen)

And so the wound doesn't really heal so much as get covered up with protective scar tissue. And getting wounded in the same place hurts like a $##@$%$%.

Isolation

Shame and isolation are closely connected. I felt shame over feeling shame (fun!). I couldn't kick the shame, the anger, or the hurt no matter how much I prayed, cried, journaled or tried to truly forgive.

The moment some of this shame started to lift I was actually crying to my dad about what had happened. And he said, "You can't make someone feel bad for feeling bad! You can't shame someone for feeling shame!"

And I was less alone. 

Shame says, "Don't let your pain and your grief touch other people. Protect them. Suffer alone."

Forgiveness

What was so frustrating about this entire ordeal was how much I tried--really tried--to do the right thing, namely forgive and move on. 

I read all the right verses about forgiveness. I prayed. I had the "I forgive you" conversation. I did everything "right." 

Because that's what Christians do. They forgive. 

But I now think that one of the worst things you can do is to forgive prematurely. 

Forgiveness is so often touted as the gateway to freedom and healing--forgive and be healed. But so often forgiveness functions as a kind of denial: 

You deny the depth of the hurt.

You deny the extent of the damage.

You deny the past hurts that make this present one hurt so bad.

You deny the process of healing that needs to take place before you can truly forgive.

Denial

I am a slow processor. It takes me an eternity to figure out what I am feeling and why. It's an agonizing process and most of the time I just feel like, "Wait. I'm crying again??" as one more layer of the wound rises into consciousness. 

Why didn't anyone tell me that practicing self-compassion makes you feel even worse? That acknowledging the truth of the wound is excruciating. That letting yourself get angry is scary and confusing. That setting boundaries doesn't mean that other people won't violate them, and in fact can serve as a trigger. That you can feel like &*$# and still not know why. That sometimes you ask for empathy and realize the other person is incapable of giving it. That being vulnerable and brave doesn't mean you won't have to do it again tomorrow and the day after that. That I still don't know how to make the pain go away. That I wonder all the time whether I'm crazy and this is just all in my head--that I'm being too sensitive or a drama queen. That asking for help doesn't mean you'll get what you really want or that you even know what you want or would be capable of articulating it if you knew what it was. That sharing your pain can make you feel even more alone and isolated. 

I wish I could say it's easier this time around, but I actually think it hurts a lot worse. 

As my friend mentioned, sometimes you find yourself telling the same story over and over and over again. It's because you haven't completely figured it out. You haven't gotten relief. The wound hasn't healed. 

Keep telling that story. Go deeper, if you have to. Find safe people who will listen. Don't stop.

Femininity & The Blank Slate or Why I'm Not Flattered When a Stranger Tells Me I'm Pretty

This has bothered me for a while. 

Every time (yes, generalizing) a girl/woman tells a story about unwanted male attention (catcalling, harassment on the street, being asked out by a stranger, having her personal space invaded,  getting a sexually explicit fb message), someone chimes in with the equivalent of: 

"Jeez, he was just trying to pay you a compliment / be friendly / make a personal connection / ask you on a date." 

In every other situation I encounter in life, I'm supposed to be an adult, which means I have thoughts, I have values, I have past experiences, I have a modicum of practical sense, etc. 

But in this one specific scenario, I'm supposed to be a complete blank, approaching every fresh encounter with a new man as if I had just stepped off planet xx and this was the first time someone had ever told me to "Smile, Beautiful!"

And instead of thanking him or smiling sweetly, I flip him off.

And when I tell the story, someone I know (male) defends that guy on the street (or on the social network). 

"Why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt?" 

So...it's okay for him to objectify me and reduce me to an adjective [My name isn't "Beautiful," you asshat. Oh wait, it is. Nevermind.]

But I must ascribe to him thoughts, feelings, a deep and meaningful history of respect for all women, and, especially, that "he's not like all other guys."

He gets to be an individual with a unique background, history and cultural context, and how dare I treat him as anything less than a unique and special human being. I get to be "a pretty little thing."

"You're being so judgmental."

I mean, right. Maybe he's a really nice guy. Maybe he wouldn't hurt a flying cockroach if it landed in his beef bourguignon. Maybe he loves children, candy necklaces and riding escalators at the mall.

Well, welcome to my world, where making snap judgments about strangers based on past experiences and not making snap judgments about strangers based on past experiences can mean the difference between life and lying dead in ditch somewhere, to put it subtly.

Have you not watched a single episode of Law & Order: SVU? Evolutionarily-speaking, it's better to assume the worst.

This is what doesn't make sense to me. It's okay for me to follow my instincts EXCEPT when I don't respond favorably to a man's romantic overtures, or at least act a little bit flattered that, gee whiz, someone thinks I'm pretty!

"You should be flattered that someone finds you attractive."

The opinion of a total stranger > My safety, sanity and desire to appear in a public place without being harassed.

There's also the not-so-subtle threat: 

Someday you won't be attractive anymore and no one will think you're pretty or make obscene gestures at you from the safety of their motor vehicles AND THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE, HUH?? AT LEAST SOMEONE WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU, CAN'T YOU SHOW A LITTLE GRATITUDE!!!

Yet another reminder that my primary value as a woman lies in how attractive I am to the opposite sex.

And how to explain the anger some men seem to feel when a woman resists objectification or even--how dare she--complains about it.

I mean, a woman who finds her value within herself without any reference to outside male validation--

How unappealing.

Why You're Not Angry Enough

Because he's a really nice guy. One of the nicest you've ever met.

Because if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything.

Because you don't want him to think you're crazy, emotional, irrational, PMSing, or all of the above.

Because maybe this is God's will.

Because you don't want to scare the boys away.

Because what's done is done. You can't change the past.

Because if you're angry, you might start crying.

Because if you're angry, you might be told to "calm down," "don't over-think it" (too late), "you need to lighten up."

Because what happened to me wasn't all that bad.

Because God doesn't like it when you're angry.

Because if you're not nice, then you're a bitch, and you don't want to be a bitch.

Because women are allowed to be angry, but not too angry. [See, "And you'll scare the boys away," above.]

Because your parents did the best that they could.

Because anger feels like a destructive emotion, and you don't want to destroy anything (except patriarchy, of course).

Because you want to protect him.

Because you want to protect her.

Because maybe I led him on.

Because maybe I deserved it.

Because maybe it was my fault.

Because you don't want to "hold onto unforgiveness" or "allow bitterness to take root."

Because why can't you let go already and stop blaming other people for your problems?

Because anger hurts.

Because we don't talk about that in this house.

Because no one will ever love you if you're angry.

Is it Awkward to Date Someone From Your Church? & Why You Should Hit on Women at Church ... Stay Tuned

There's a lot of angst over dating within the church (as if anyone needed a few dozen Google searches to figure that out). This post is dedicated to the trials, tribulations and titillations of church dating. All questions brought to you by a search engine near you! 

"I really like a boy that goes to my church"

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that churches are veritable hotbeds of unrequited longing. Welcome to the club, my friend.

Okay, so you like this boy. Is he single? What are you waiting for? Sit beside him at church at the next available opportunity. Careful though! You only want to sit by him. Avoid eye contact or any form of "talk." In fact, pretend he doesn't exist while taking copious notes on the sermon. 

This is a widely recognized form of Christian courtship. Anything else and you'll come across as too pushy. And if there's anything a church boy likes less than a chili cook-off before ultimate frisbee, it's a pushy woman.

"The woman in church is attracted to you where will she sit[?]"

Attracted to you = As close as Christianly possible

Not attracted to you = With her friends, several rows down.

You are Ryan Gosling = In your lap

Realize that she is making a conscious choice and that it absolutely relates to you and her level of attraction to you. These things must be read carefully and with attention to nuance, like the Book of Revelation or the entrails of a ground squirrel.

"There are no girls in my church"

That's awful. I would suggest finding a new church, posthaste. Given your church's stance on gender segregation, I would carefully review their mission, vision and core values. Compare these to the teachings of Jesus and make your decision accordingly.

If that's not possible, there's always eHarmony. I hear they have a favorable male/female ratio. [But be wary of their doctrine of the trinity]

"Is it awkward to date someone from your church[?]"

So awkward. However, judging from some of these other queries, the only thing more awkward than dating in church is not dating in church--I imagine single guys and girls completely shutting down in the presence of the desired sex.

The problem--as I see it: some single and seeking church members completely missed "Flirting & Attraction 101." They are unable to accurately gauge the interest or lack of interest displayed by another person. They are likewise unable to constructively and lightheartedly display interest in another person. 

Maybe it's because the stakes (marriage) feel too high. And if them's the stakes, why even play? 

"Why you should hit on women at church" 

Some of you guys/girls need to lay off the hitting on for a bit. Stop playing the field and be the field, so to speak. I mean, good grief, you start chatting up everything with a Bible and a smile. You're making people uncomfortable. You read "desperate." Just stop. Take a break.

Others of you...maybe you've given up altogether and you're just going to church for the "fellowship." Good for you. But if you feel like maybe someday in the future possibly if the timing's right you might I dunno potentially want to date someone who goes to your church--

Ask them out.

Why I frighten Men

Apparently, I'm an intimidating person. Don't take my word for it, ask my friends. I'll complain about dating or talk about some guy, or--I don't know--something, and they'll say, "Well, maybe he's intimidated."

Definition of "intimidate" from Merriam-Webster: "to make timid or fearful : frighten; especially : to compel or deter by or as if by threats."

I never know to respond to this. I usually feel a measure of incredulity. Me? Intimidating? How exactly am I intimidating?

This is not an isolated phenomenon. I've talked to a couple friends recently who've gotten the same label.

Maybe this "intimidating" bit is just something your friends say to you to make you feel better about yourself, along the lines of, "Don't worry, you'll find the right guy" or "You deserve better, girlfriend!" 

I wish this was like some kind of super power that I could use on creepy guys: "You don't know this, but there are guys who find me INTIMIDATING" (their heads explode). 

But seriously.

I'm not loud. I don't have a big personality. I don't carry a large cudgel on my person at all times. I hate confrontation and conflict.

Also, how can someone be considered both quiet, shy, and intimidating? It boggles the mind. 

I do, however, have a few ideas about this: 

1. I'm smart

"A woman, especially if she have the misfortune of knowing any thing, should conceal it as well as she can."
-Jane Austen

There's no way to talk about how smart you are (or how smart other people think you are) without coming off like a complete douchebag. So, I'll just point out that this is other people's perception of me. I've been told that I'm intimidating (to guys) because I'm smart, or more specifically smarter than they are. 

Again, I have no real response to this. I'm sorry? I'll try it tone down a little bit so you don't feel so threatened.

Apparently, I'd forgotten that this is the 1950s when men want a woman who's smart, but not so smart that she's smarter than they are.

2. I'm opinionated.

"I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a door mat or a prostitute."

-Rebecca West

I have opinions. I voice them. So far, so good. I suppose this could be intimidating, or just annoying, depending on the circumstances. And yes, people do call me a feminist, especially when I draw attention to the fact that men and women are sometimes treated differently. I don't see this as a polemical act per se, but I'm sure there are many people who would feel differently. 

3. I'm independent.

"A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction."

-Virginia Woolf

I suspect I might care a little bit less than the average person about pleasing others and/or fitting in. This is not always a good thing.

4. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve.

"If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence."

-George Eliot

I'm not sure how to put this one. It's not that I don't have emotions, it's that I can be emotionally illiterate. I have an emotional learning disability? Women are traditionally the emotional leaders of the family or relationship. I don't fit that. 

It's more than that though--I'm hard on other people and I'm hard on myself. It's more than easy for me to criticize, critique, satirize, or just generally take the piss in any given situation.

5. Wild card. 

"For there is a spot the size of a shilling at the back of the head which one can never see for one's self."

-Virginia Woolf

Kate Holbrook: I'm sorry, I'm a little overly thorough. Some people would say that I am bossy and controlling.

Rob: No, that's just prejudice. They call you bossy and controlling because you're a woman. But if you were a man doing the same stuff...you'd just be a dick. 

-from Baby Momma

I don't really know how I come off to other people. I can only guess based on the feedback I receive. I'm flawed. I have blind spots. Maybe I'll never know what "intimidating" really means. Maybe I'm just an a-hole.

But somehow I suspect that the things that make me intimidating are also some of my best qualities. And if being considered threatening is the byproduct--let it be.