My Hollaback Story

I was inspired recently to share a story of street-harassment that I went through, because a lot of the anger I carried around for years was about feeling helpless in these situations, and for some reason they happened to me exponentially more when I was unemployed. There is something about being a lone woman at 2:00pm on a Wednesday that makes you more likely to be a target for some reason. This is only one of many stories, but it was by far the scariest:

I was once riding my bicycle back from Trader Joe's during the day, when a man who was also on bike started following me. I didn't notice when he first appeared, but in hindsight, I'm pretty sure he was in the parking lot, and kept a safe distance as I left, then caught up to me on a small quiet side-street where there were less people.

He didn't say anything overtly sexual or lewd, but he was definitely coming onto me in a very aggressive way, not as someone showing interest, but as someone who saw an opportunity to belittle me as he made it very clear with his body language that he could do what he liked with me at any moment. I had bought myself flowers that day, and he kept commenting on how I was very beautiful like those flowers—like a thing, and something about his tone made chills run down my spine. I ignored him, which is when he started calling me a "fucking bitch" and a "stupid stuck-up cunt." I felt like I couldn't even breathe, because anything I did wrong might set him off physically—there was sporadic traffic, but I didn't trust people to intervene, so I just kept my eyes ahead and tried to get to a busier street as quickly as possible without looking quite as terrified as I was. He passed me and slowed down to a snail's pace, just to prove that I was too afraid to pass him, and that's when I truly began to panic. Thankfully, a row of cars came by at that time, and I jolted back into action. I pedaled like hell. I made it to Mass Ave in record time, safely and without incident, and I lost him in a crowd of cars and people.

I later talked to my therapist about it, and it affected him so much that he ended up asking a police officer on traffic duty, out of curiosity, if I should have reported it. The police officer said emphatically that, yes, I should have reported it. Maybe nothing happened to me, but I'm surely not the only woman he harassed that day, that week, that month...Regardless of what he did or didn't do to any other women what he did to me was a crime. I could have (and should have) biked to the closest police station with a description immediately. Better yet, now I know to try to take photos when I can. I have not had another incident quite this scary since then, but I wish I had not had to learn this lesson this way. I don't go down the long quiet street for the pleasant bike ride without being aware of my surroundings, and knowing my options for getting, quickly, to a more trafficked area. I wear a camera on my helmet. I shouldn't have to do any of this. But I do. Because I can't go for a jog without getting honked at, wolf whistled, picked up. And that isn't even the sinister side of street harassment. The wolf whistles are NOTHING like the FEAR that I felt that day, and I don't think that he was just a "guy being a guy"—I have no doubt that if those cars hadn't come by, this would be a very different story.

One day four years ago, a man thought that a lone woman grocery shopping in the middle of the day was a target instead of a person. And that makes me angry for all of the women, and all of the harassment.

Because he believes in himself, he doesn’t try to convince others.
Because he is content with himself, he doesn’t need others’ approval.
Because he accepts himself, the whole world accepts him.
–Tao Te Ching

Lately, I have been wishing that I could choose to ignore the insecurity inside of others, instead believing that it is only inside of me. Some of these people need to be right, no matter what. Maybe they simply need to be heard, but it is usually at the expense of listening to others, and I get tired of being bombarded with these messages. I need to take a step back, stop feeling attacked, and just ignore the noise—it has nothing to do with me.

So today's meditation by Deepak Chopra resonated a little bit more strongly this morning:

Today, I choose to accept myself. I choose to be aware of what it is like to simply be, without self-judgement. I choose to live each moment knowing that I am is enough to sustain me. I choose to sit quietly and open my heart to myself. Today, I behold myself, and know deeply that my capacity to love others, and for others to love me, is directly connected to my capacity to love myself. Today I choose love.

Ten Ways To Feel Better in 60 Seconds

Ten Ways to Feel Better in 60 Seconds

Usually I see posts like this one and I roll my eyes because it's the same old stuff, and none of it ever works for me. Maybe this post was different, or maybe the way it was written resonated with me, but I liked it so I thought I'd share.

Drinking water and sitting up straight are two things I really need to work on. If I ever find a way to really de-stress, though...I'll let you know.

It's Because My Job is Making me Crazy with Last Minute Deadlines

Last night I had a dream that J and I were getting married.

The whole thing was completely disorganized and had been slapped together at the last minute. I remember that I kept saying to myself, "SHIT, if only I had had more time! I would have thought of this!" (This being any number of things from the dinner to the location to the invitations, and if I remember correctly, we'd been engaged for a while...or were embarrassingly stupid enough to think we could plan a wedding in a day?) I think the worst part was the invitations, which ended up being printed the day of, and even though the wedding was happening that evening, we were still using a laser printer at home so that "at least people would have something to remember it by." (Who? Since no one was invited...I don't know who was coming...)

My dress was something hideous that was borrowed at the last minute, and the ceremony+reception were being held in the basement of an old used bookstore (any poetic notions about that were blasted when I saw the cast iron spiral staircase with slap-shod blue carpeting that led down to the basement, which was equally dingy, leaky, and poorly lit).

The whole thing was a nightmare, but through everything, I just wanted to get it over with because the important part was that J and I were together - I didn't care about the wedding.

I woke up and went to therapy. Not only did I not get what I needed out of my session, but instead of deciding that my suggestion of once every other week was fine, we figured that in reality, I probably should ramp it up to twice a week (as if. Hello - I need to have a life, too. I can't just spend my life being in therapy and working my shitty day job, then recovering from therapy and my shitty day job every day). I left feeling like I kind of wished that I could go no times a week, hating that my therapist knows things about me that even I don't want to know about me. Yes, that is the point, thanks. I left kind of wanting to smack some hypothetical someone in the teeth.

I'm unreasonably angry with myself about being myself, and I'm also kind of pissed that I have to be at work non-stop for the next two days. This is why Wednesday is going to be a beach day. Unless it rains, in which case it will be screen print some arts for my walls day. Either way, by then I hope to no longer be hating myself.

A Better Life

I read dooce.com on a daily basis because Heather is an incredibly smart, insightful, witty and beautiful person - and frankly she is one of my heroes. She isn't scared to talk about subjects that many people avoid, and it is exactly this aspect of her blog that helped me figure some things out after facing being afraid to face a few very dark times in my life.

Because I couldn't say it on the phone

Recipe for a not so bad day, after all

To cure an insanely bad day at work, take this zucchini bread recipe, some bad TV, and a sweet boyfriend. Mix thoroughly.

Little Mountain Sherpas

Every time I have to write a work related e-mail, I work myself into a "state," and every fear I have of being fired comes out from hiding in the dark corners of my mind. I don't know why I do this. It's something I'm aware of, and it's something I've worked on, but while I've mostly gotten it cornered in my personal relationships and sometimes when I'm out in a group, I cannot get a handle on it when work is involved. (And yes, I have talked at length about this with my therapist)

Today, I was an absolute mess for about five minutes while I deliberated with a coworker how I should address an email to a team of consultants, who happen to work out of India. I had only one of their names and didn't want to address the email to one person and ignore the rest. I eventually settled on "hello [name] and team," but not before having this gem of a conversation:

I have no idea who to address it to. [company] team? That sounds so impersonal!

I'm sure they don't care how you address them, as long as it's not how Heather does it. 'Dear mountain sherpas...'

As per usual, my PA found a potential problem (this is why I rarely CC people I work for. Bad habit? Yes. Keeps me from passing out? Yes.), but it was nowhere near as bad as her referring to our consultants as "little mountain sherpas who get the work done while we sleep." And I have to admit, I did feel a little bit better about myself when I thought about it.

Choose Your Own Adventure: Relationship Edition

This article from Wired posed some interesting questions about the internet and relationship styles. It linked to a study done at the University of Illinois, which claims that "simulated relationships can provide insight into real ones."

Here's a funny excerpt from the Wired article:

I took the study's survey myself and found my fictional partner so immature, and the assumptions the story made about my emotions so inaccurate, that in most cases neither of the options was anything close to what I'd do. Nor did I have the option of "dump his ass and move on," which should have been listed at the end of every scenario.

Like Regina, I was surprised by the outcome of my relationship "adventure," because I also would not have chosen most of the options in real life that I was forced to click in this survey. Not only did I find my fictional partner to be immature, but the responses I leveled at him were also lacking in substance.

In the end, I was given results that have been drilled into me since I started therapy. Does this mean I'll finally listen? Probably not, but it was interesting to see that one random online survey agreed with my therapist.