Month: December 2023

I hope you have friends as awesome as mine

When you have friends who love you enough to visit you, even if you do not live in a tourist destination

Photo by Rebeca Gonu00e7alves on Pexels.com

This is what I wish for all of you:

That you have a friend like Laura, who, when you visit her, is waiting on the sidewalk as you pull up in front of your house and she demands that you get out of the car right now RIGHT NOW so she can hug you.

That you have friend like Ilene, who, when she visits you and you ask her if she would like to do This Thing or That Thing, she says she just wants to hang out with you and one of the reasons she visited you was because she knew you wouldn’t schedule her to death.

That is, I wish you friends who love you and want nothing more than to sit around and talk.

I had a lot of company when I lived in Miami.

Wisconsin, not so much.

I didn’t mind the Miami visitors because I did not have to entertain them. It was nice to have their company for a short while in the evening, but I had an awful job that kept me at work late almost every day, so my free time was precious to me and I didn’t necessarily want to use it playing tour guide.

Visitors who entertained themselves? Fine with me! I made extra copies of my housekey and got a bunch of tourist maps and I went to work and they played and we were both happy.

Except for when a long-time friend, Ophelia, came to visit.

I thought she was coming to visit me.

She thought she was going to the beach.

I hate the beach. I hate hate hate going to the beach.

I had saved all sorts of foodie things for her visit, as that is an interest we have in common.

She kept asking when we were going to the beach.

I kept saying later later later.

I didn’t want to go to the beach.

We finally went in the evening for an hour or so.

When I took her to the airport, she burst into tears and said that all she had wanted to do was go to the beach and go home to Nebraska with a sunburn. That her husband had given her this trip as a Christmas present and all she wanted was to get out of the cold and dark.

I was horrified that she was so unhappy and that I was the reason, but I was also saddened because I had thought she had come to see me. ME. I didn’t think I was supposed to be a free trip to the beach.

We’re not friends anymore. We still wrote letters for several years after that and were friends on facebook (still are, but she never posts), but my latest letters to her have gone unanswered. I did write this summer telling her how often I think of her and that I wish we had gone to the beach for the whole day and that I am so sad that she did not get the Miami trip she had hoped for.

Nobody visits me in Milwaukee as a free place to stay.

But they do visit. And they are visiting me.

I wish you friends who visit *you.*

I miss Ophelia. I hope she is happy.

Why don’t men believe women who report rape?

Sometimes we don’t even believe ourselves

Glamour magazine

I went to a talk about victim impact statements in the context of the trial of the rapist and serial molester Larry Nassar.

After the speakers, one of whom is a sociology professor and a lawyer, described what Nassar had done, which was to sexually assault dozens of young women and girls, some of them as young as six years old,

and after the speakers shared what some of the survivors had said in court during their victim impact statements –

that is, after 45 minutes of discussion of how Nassar had assaulted girls and how they had told their parents and the police and other relevant authorities and nobody had believed them,

an older white man asked if anyone has ever done a sociological study of why authorities don’t believe women who report assault.

Sociology professor/lawyer (female): Why weren’t they believed?

Man: Yes! They told the police! They told the authorities!

Sociology professor: Pfft. This is what happens when women report rape.

It is indeed what happens. Women are not believed.

This story is from a 2022 study, “Unfounded Sexual Assault: Women’s Experiences of Not Being Believed by the Police.”

Although some women were told directly by the police that they did not believe them, others indicated that there was a pivotal moment in the process with the police that led them to believe that the police were dismissing their accounts. For some women, this moment occurred when the police stopped writing things down; for others, it was when a particularly offensive or doubtful question was asked, or a comment was made regarding their character. One woman who was questioned about how she knew that she was being touched with a man’s penis disclosed this interaction with police as a pivotal moment where she realized she was not being believed:

I was hurt. It was like why aren’t you listening to me, why aren’t you hearing what I’m telling you. I mean, he was sitting there fondling my breast while my hand was sliding up and down on his whatever. Like I don’t understand why they don’t listen? I don’t understand why you are pouring your heart and soul out to this guy [police], and all you want is help, and he’s like how do you know that’s true? How do you know that happened? And I was like because I was fucking there, that’s how I know it happened.

NIH

Unfortunately, this study doesn’t delve much into the why beyond some victims just aren’t the right kind of victims.

But this 2019 PBS story does include speculation about the why.

Soraya Chemaly: I mean, I think part of the issue with MeToo is sort of the flip side, which is men quietly thinking me too. Like, if he did that, I have done that. Does that make me this person?

And, really, it comes down to an interrogation of masculinity and manhood. We see in survey after survey that men are much more likely to doubt women’s testimonies, unless they themselves have been assaulted….

It’s the men — I mean, I believe, in our culture, we have many more boys and men who are assaulted than we are willing to admit to or who can come forward, because, in fact, their shame is very, very deep.

It usually takes a man until he’s in his 50s or 60s to come forward. And so, if a man has experienced assault, he responds to stories of assault the way a typical woman does, which is much more sympathy or empathy or likelihood to find the testimony credible.

And so I think it’s hard for men because, in fact, if all the women around them are saying this is happening, we’re being threatened or harassed, it means they are failing, in fact, to perform a fundamental function of their manhood, which is to protect them.

Why we often don’t believe women who report sexual assault

TLDR: Men don’t think rape happens until it happens to them.

And some men have assaulted or date raped women and now they are being forced to confront their own actions.

Rather than admit that they have done wrong or have been wronged or have prevented a wrong from happening, these men deny that that wrong exists.

They are not rapists themselves. They have not been raped. They have not ignored it when their friends have raped.

Because if rape exists and if women tell the truth, then these men have to confront horrible truths about themselves.

How many of us have had sexual experiences that we would describe as less than ideal? Experiences for which if we used the proper language – rape, assault – we would also have to use the proper language for the man who perpetuated the rape or the assault?

Rapist.

Sexual assaulter.

How many of these men would describe themselves with those words?

Probably about zero, I guess.

I still think about a guy – I hesitate to use the word boyfriend because it makes him sound OK – who I saw a few times.

Let’s call him JD for John Doe, although I would love love love to use his real name, but he is now a highly-respected businessman and politician in Austin who is undoubtedly convinced that he is one of the Good Guys and I am not interested in being sued.

JD was my friends’ boss when we all lived in Austin. I was 23 and he was in his early 30s. We met at happy hour and then at his going-away party when he was leaving Austin for grad school out of state. He had moved out of his Austin place and was on his way to see his sister in Houston before going to school.

He flirted. I was flattered. I thought he was sophisticated and handsome.

He called me the next day from Houston and asked me out.

I said yes.

He returned to Austin. We went out. He drove me back to my apartment.

I said goodbye.

He said he had thought he would stay with me.

I laughed.

He did not.

He was serious.

I was an idiot.

This was the part where I should have said “Dude you have lived in Austin for over ten years. You have plenty of friends you can stay with. Good. Night.”

I did not.

I let him in.

So everything that follows is my fault, right?

He tried to convince me to let him sleep in my bed instead of the couch.

And to have sex.

And after an hour of this, I was so exhausted that I agreed, just to get him to shut the fuck up.

He returned over his break and stayed with me again.

(Again – I *asked* for this, right? I *consented.* So it’s my fault.)

And then I wised up and started to ignore him.

He wrote me a letter telling me he wanted me to move to California with him. (Not asking me to marry him. Just wanting me to quit my job and move to another state with him. Outside of everything else, he expected me to uproot myself and take a ton of risk on his behalf? While he made no commitment at all?)

I ignored him.

He told me not to be afraid of my passion.

I ignored him.

He called and left me a message telling me he was driving to Austin that day and would see me soon.

I not only ignored him, I also Ieft my apartment for the day.

I never saw him again.

I never thought the words rape or assault applied to me.

I was no victim.

I was in complete control of my story and my life.

It has taken me decades to realize that DAMN HE SHOULD HAVE STOPPED ASKING THE FIRST TIME I SAID NO.

These young women knew right away that what was happening was wrong, even when their own parents tried to explain away what the rapist was doing while he was supposed to be treating them for injuries.

They knew it was bad. They knew it was wrong.

I am so proud of these young women for speaking up.

I am so proud that they knew something was wrong and that they persisted.

I am so proud that they had the courage to stand up and point a finger.

Larry Nassar will die in prison.

Motherhood seems like drudgery

Also – Why are women supposed to do all the work?

Not shown: Colic. Blowouts. Tantrums. Mean Girl drama. College tuition. Failure to launch.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I know many women mourn after having a miscarriage, but I did and I do not.

I’m glad I don’t have children.

I never wanted them. Ever.

I am delighted to be a bonus mom to Mr T’s stepdaughters from his first marriage, but I am so relieved I do not have my own children.

I would have been a horrible mother.

Parents are expected to be super involved these days – attending not only soccer or volleyball or basketball games but also practice. Isn’t practice where children go so their moms can have an hour of alone time?

I love to cook, but I love to cook as a hobby. If I had to feed children three times a day every single day every single week every single month every single year for almost two decades, I, too, would grow to hate cooking and would happily throw money at restaurants to do the work for me.

Only I wouldn’t have the money because our income would not be high enough for regular eating out – unless we decided that retirement was not going to happen.

I have at least two female friends who are the parent who works for money while the dad stays home with the kids.

Both of these women are the ones whom the school calls first.

Whom the PTA asks to volunteer.

Whom the room parent asks for cupcakes.

Whom the school nurse calls when the kid is sick.

Even though the fathers are listed as the primary contact.

Many male friends have joked how happy they would be to be a stay at home parent.

Well sure! Who wouldn’t like not having to deal with a boss and performance evaluations when the alternative is to stay at home while your spouse still does all the emotional labor of making doctor appointments, planning playdates, and making sure the parent-teacher conference is on the calendar?

(Yes I know Not All Dads but enough that some of you will say Yep I have friends like this.)

It appears to be the common wisdom that children need a lot of time and attention from their mothers and that would mean I would never get to read or watch tv or do anything by myself. Which would make me bitter.

Or sleepless, as I would have to stay up late reading so I could get my alone/reading fix.

Or both, because now I would have been able to read, but I would be exhausted.

And I would still have to get up to get kids off to school.

It’s no wonder that there are so many jokes about Mommy Juice.

I suspect that this is a Mom dream sequence.
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

I think grandmothers who live close must be the key.

My friends who are grandmothers help take care of the kids. One friend watches her granddaughters every Friday, which means she drives an hour north every Thursday night. That means she does not work at her own job on Fridays. But she does this for her daughter.

My aunt picks her granddaughters up at school every Wednesday, takes them home, feeds them, and helps them with their homework until their mom picks them up.

Another friend won’t move away from Houston unless it’s to be closer to her grandchildren, who are currently an hour away.

A friend just posted on facebook that her 14 year old daughter had joined the school robotics team and there go mom’s Saturday mornings.

WTF?

Isn’t 14 old enough to get yourself out of bed and feed yourself and take the bus or the subway or ride your bike or get the carpool to school for meetings or the school bus to the competition?

Does this parental responsibility never end?

Is it weird that my parents didn’t attend my swim practices and hardly came to meets? And that I got myself to and from practice and meets? On public transportation? In a foreign country?

That was the norm when I was in high school. We would have laughed at anyone whose parents came to watch practice.

Or would today’s parents say that my mom and dad were bad parents?

Honestly, I also would not want a child who has my genes. I was a fat, smart, glasses-wearing, violin-playing, not terribly attractive kid and that is not an easy thing to be. Why would I inflict that destiny on any child?

And I have no interest in re-living my elementary school trauma through my own children. A dear friend is going through that now with her daughter – her daughter is smart and delightful but does not fit with the other third graders. It is breaking my friend’s heart to watch her child go through what my friend did. She wants to fix it for her daughter but there is no way to fix it.

When I was seven, I wanted to be an astronaut, a writer, a comedian, a surgeon.

I never once said I wanted to be a mother.

I knew, even then.

When women are jerks to other women

Aren’t we past the Queen Bee Syndrome? The enemy is not other women, it’s The Patriarchy

Photo by jithin Mathew on Pexels.com

I have this amazing friend who does wonderful work who has been treated horribly by her boss.

And her boss is another woman.

Mr T and I have been renting the same cottage on Lake Superior every summer for 15 years. There’s a small museum near the cottage and we always go there.

For the first few years, it was an OK museum but a few years ago, it started to become an amazing museum. There were really interesting new exhibits and talks, including a lot with a focus on telling the truth about the Ojibwe and other Native Americans who live in Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Michigan. Native American artists were showcased. There were live demonstrations from re-enactors and from artists. During covid, there were small, behind the scenes tours of the archives.

Something had changed.

Turns out, what changed was the director.

The former director was adequate, but the new director was very connected to the community and wanted to tell those stories in any way she could.

That new director, Judith, has become our friend.

I have gotten to where I expect men to disregard women.

Another friend, Sally, told me it took her years – YEARS – to convince her male gynecologist that something was wrong. That she could feel something inside of her.

Turned out it was a small, dead fetus. Unbeknownst to Sally, she had been pregnant, the fetus died, the fetus did not come out.

The doctor did not believe Sally that something was wrong.

Sally knew.

I’m not surprised the male physician ignored Sally’s issues.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that another woman would ignore a woman’s issues.

A year ago, Judith’s boss put her on a performance improvement plan, which, in corporate America, is the first step before you fired someone.

Judith had not been meeting her deadlines, the boss said.

That’s reasonable, right?

It’s important to meet your deadlines at work.

If you don’t meet your deadlines, bad things can happen.

Judith had always met her deadlines before.

Judith had always done an amazing job.

This boss – let’s call her Regina – was new.

Regina had gotten the job because another new person, who was recruited in a nationwide search, had recommended her for the position, a position the museum leadership – there are a few museums in this group – had been trying to fill for a while.

Regina had a museum background, but in a very different kind of museum. Not at all like the museum Judith is running. Regina has run museums where nothing ever changes at the museum – no changing installations or outreach. She did not understand Judith’s museum at all.

From the beginning, Regina did not like Judith, probably because Judith has amazing ideas and Regina does not. Judith seeks new work and new artists. She develops fun, interesting ways to take the museum to the community, with artists demonstrations at the museum and with outreach events to engage people.

Regina, rather than embrace Judith and her creativity and her engagement-enhancing ideas – all of which could have been used to burnish Regina’s own resume (“My team developed and executed programs such as A, B, and C, which increased community engagement X% in one year.”), Regina felt threatened and tried anything she could to squelch Judith.

For instance, Judith suggested a program where a Native American artist would teach a class to children in a park.

Regina said no.

So yes – not meeting deadlines is serious. Regina was concerned. Regina thought the only course of action was to threaten Judith with being fired if she didn’t straighten up and fly right.

Why was Judith not meeting her deadlines?

Because she had taken six weeks off.

On FLMA.

After having a double mastectomy.

Yes you read that right.

Judith missed her deadlines while she was on leave recovering from having both of her breasts amputated in an attempt to prevent breast cancer from killing her.

Yes, Regina knew that.

Yes, Judith is meeting all her deadlines now that she is actually back at work.

Do you hate Regina now?

I do.

Do you wonder about women who don’t support other women?

I do.