To the Woman Living Her Own Life

Today let's celebrate the woman who has pulled herself from situations she realized were beneath her, which she deserved better than.

She who recognized her own potential, even when others couldn't, and decided to chase after it. On her own terms.

She who took charge. She made hard decisions because that's what was best. Healthiest. Absolutely necessary, do or die, long and painful and in the soul. Then she took one step and another, and another, and has carried herself somewhere no one else could or would. She did it.

She's still doing it.

Every day.

Because there's no other way.

Man Catcalls, Mom Reacts

It was dark and cold as we scurried through the Target parking lot toward our car last night. It had somehow been one of our quicker stops at one of our favorite stores, and we left with little more than toilet paper and Will Farrell's Elf on DVD. We were ready to get home after a long day.

So it caught us completely off-guard as a gross adult man shouted vulgar things through his car window, aiming them at my older daughter.

I didn't have to think before I yelled back, "Shut up, asshole, that's my 15 year old daughter!" 

I began to shake. It was that deep-down involuntary shake, the kind that doesn't ask your permission to become something of its own. The kind that carries similar injustices of the past to the surface of reaction.

He started to shout more but I told the girls to "close their ears" and just get in the car. Still, they heard his next ugly words, which included an absurd idea: "I thought she was 18!"

I hated everything about this experience.

That some jerkwad had the balls and entitlement to be disgusting and disrespectful. That it happened to my kid. That it shouldn't matter whether she's a young teen or of age, because no female should have to deal with that kind of behavior. That I got lippy back and made a scene of my own, which probably only fueled his fire. But also that I didn't approach his car and/or say more. Punch him in the throat, even.

The whole thing, from every direction, was upsetting.

I stewed for a long while, then, once we were home, decided to share about the situation in a private support group I belong to online. I needed their feedback, which, it turns out, was the right thing to seek.

Their understanding, matched anger, and logic helped me see that even while I regretted what I did, and second-guessed what I didn't do, I should be proud that I spoke up when so many others wouldn't or couldn't. That I didn't shy away or show him fear, nor that I was intimidated. I brought attention to his behavior. I stood up for my kid. For both kids, in fact, because what affects one affects the other. That's where my focus should be.

So today I've decided that while my reaction may not have made a difference in that one man---he'll continue being an asshole unless or until real consequence meets him---it makes a difference to my daughters whether or not I defend them.

Maybe it's possible that someone observed the whole thing, quick as it was, and next time they're in a similar situation, they'll speak up, too. If so, then I've won. And this is what advocacy for women is about as much as anything.

[For more about my advocacy, check out my side bar.]

I'm Not Afraid of Bully Men

I recently had occasion to prove it to myself. That I'm not just talk when it comes to my advocacy, or speaking out against abuse by men. That I've grown a full, beautiful backbone and, it turns out, I know how to use it in real time.

There was this thing at work. A thing wherein a man who believes he makes his own rules, a man who wanted to take control when it was mine to maintain, tried to take advantage of someone I was helping.

Not on my watch, as they say.

First I held the reins so that This Man couldn't get what he was after. Then, following, I called him on the behavior.

The exact detail of exchange isn't important. What's important to know is that as he sat with a pseudo-dumb look on his face, I illustrated to him what he'd done wrong---as if he didn't already know---then explained that I'm not going to allow such behavior, and informed him he'll have me to answer to if he continues to pull the same shady, disrespectful tricks with my people.

This Man is probably 6'0" or 6'1" and a good 275+ pounds. Fleshy. Phony and inauthentic. His are dark, disconnected eyes. He thinks he's above the standard operation the rest of us adhere to. He's got all the red flags of a controlling, damaging narcissist.

I don't like him one bit.

As you might expect, since this type reacts to challenge and strength, my lecture angered him. How dare I talk to him in such a way. How dare I assert both my conscience and independence. He'd just show me.

He lifted himself from his chair to full height, and took a few steps at me. His goal couldn't have been clearer.

I'd already been standing tall -- I'm 5'7" -- but straightened my shoulders. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "You can stand up if you want, but you're not going to intimidate me."

And because this, too, burst his bubble, he faked opening the door (which had been closed) behind me---as if that had been his intention all along---then took his seat again.

Weak. Cowardly. No bite whatsoever, because he'd faced a worthy opponent, and I wasn't going to let him win.

I'm not afraid of bully men.