It was a text message.
I could have waited to respond, then ripped him a new one.
Anna--wrote a couple long texts to you last night, regarding your oft-repeated notion that you can't have a clue what women go through unless you ARE a woman.
I took it more personally than you might expect so my texts may seem a bit harsh. So I decided to sit on them... you know, count to ten and all that, before deciding to send, or to send not
24 hours later, leaning strongly toward "not to send", though there is a part of me that does want you to re-think that assumption/belief. Any thoughts?
Any thoughts. Let's see.
You are an asshole.
I want to say that to your face.
I probably won't.
Fuck you.
(All in calm monotone.)
I took the nice road.
Told him I was sorry he took it so personally, and that I wasn't in a space to argue (and I wasn't, I've been fluctuating back and forth between internal hell and ecstatic contentment for a while now and if ecstatic contentment doesn't make sense then you don't know internal hell). That I hoped he could eventually take it less personally.
Still wish I'd waited. Counted to ten and all that, then allowed myself to be angry and offended by his passive aggressive bullshit, instead of defaulting to my gift of placating and diffusing tense situations.
I didn't have to be nice to him.
Why was I nice to him?
Because he's my "friend?"
Because he's 76 years old?
It's been two weeks. Two Weeks! And I'm still mad.
It was the blog that started it. Part of me knew that sending it to him might not work out so well. Maybe it was a test. Maybe I needed to be seen. Maybe I was sick of him telling me he was there if I wanted to talk and then interrupting me with the twenty-questions game every time I opened up. Sick of him making assumptions about who I am. Was I searching for a reason to let go of the friendship?
Why did I need a reason?
In a roundabout way I was given a lecture.
Via text, of course. A men-will-be-men kind of talk that subtly blamed my sharing a hot photo of myself on a dating profile as the reason I was virtually cum-splatted with sexual comments. I got soft accusations that my firm boundaries suggested to him that I hate and fear men. I was on top of my game when I responded to this, at least. Told him I was not a victim nor would be blamed like one. He said I was chumming the waters. Called it entrapment. That's when I threw him the fastball. Struck him out. He has no idea what I've been through as a woman and why advocating for my emotional wellbeing on an online dating platform is DA BOMB.
I've spent most of my adult life playing in rock bands.
Seen a lot of the dark side of the "man's world." I've been treated like shit, talked to like dirt, two-timed by Mr. Double-Standard, manipulated, mansplained. I've been called things like cheap, slut, and whore, by cheap slutty manwhores who didn't approve of my sexuality. I've been shamed. I've been blamed for other people's bad behavior so their wives wouldn't find out. I've been roofied. I've been lucky things weren't worse.
Still think my boundaries are harsh, buddy? Or should I say, still ashamed to be seeing yourself in those lewd rude dating app comments that I firmly shut down?
Respect your elders.
How can I respect someone who doesn't respect me? Wait. Let me rephrase that.
Why should I respect someone who doesn't respect me?
He helped me out with my writing, once. I'm grateful, but I don't owe him my subservience. He compliments my singing voice, likes my dog, has made me laugh on a few occasions. He has, indeed, tried to listen to me when I was hurting. He wants good things for me. Wants me to be happy. Or, at least, wants the person he thinks I am to be happy...
We all want that, really. Our own interpretations of good for the person we think that person is. Shit, I still want good things for the guy. Even if grow some fucking humble is one of the items on that list.
Why am I still upset?
Regret.
I regret not further standing up for myself. To him. Why? Because what he thinks of me matters. Even if he ends up thinking of me as a closed-minded bitch who doesn't believe he knows what it's like to be a woman. I regret not being truer to myself and my beliefs in the moment.
Why am I still upset?
Inequality.
I grew up in a can't do household with a don't bother attitude. I saw the way paved for so many men around me to do the things I wanted to do but couldn't or didn't bother because I had a vagina and it wasn't allowed or wasn't safe or wasn't appropriate.
Why am I still upset?
I feel misunderstood.
Being wary of and standing up to boundary-violating creeps doesn't make me a man-hater. I don't hate men. I don't! I love them! I set boundaries to keep me all kinds of safe. Out of self-love. Not out of hate. I worked my ass off to get to the place where I can do this without making apologies. Without sacrificing those boundaries. So maybe I used comedy to help me reinforce them. So what? It was a safe way to practice, and I hope it helps people of all genders see their own boundary-setting potential.
Why am I still upset?
I guess I'm not, anymore.
Just needed to sort this shit out.
Thanks for listening.
Photos and words Copyright 2022 Anna Horvitz and all that shit.