The Undercover Introvert

Why She Waited So Long to Report

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The short answer? She didn’t.

Growing up, I had a creepy, handsy cross country coach who made all the girls on the team uncomfortable. For months, we all talked about it, but no one did anything. I told friends and the boys on the team. Finally, I went to my mother. We ended up talking to the vice principal who made it clear this wasn’t anything he cared about. The coach was only removed from the team after massive, prolonged pushback from my mother. If not for that, he’d have continued to coach our team for the remainder of the season. He still coached the girls basketball team in the winter, though, and also stayed on as a special ed teacher until, years later, he was caught abusing one of his students.

Here’s the thing, besides this article and one other I wrote about this asshole, I haven’t spoken much about this incident, or any of the other men who have made me uncomfortable or touched me when I gave them no permission. But I can guarantee you that if I saw one of these fuckers running for political office or up for a Supreme Court appointment, I’d be on the phone to any media outlet who would listen. I would shout what happened from the rooftops. And people hearing my story would likely wonder:

This was years ago. Why did she wait so long to report?

Well, I didn’t. I just happened to be born female in a world that neither values women and girls nor believes their claims of assault, cruelty, or rape when reported.

I can’t count the times a friend has told me about an incident in confidence that ends with: I told my mother/father/uncle/aunt/friend/teacher and wasn’t believed.

It happens ALL THE TIME.

And sometimes you are believed, but you’re shamed into not telling anyone else. Think of his family. His future. Are you sure you didn’t ask for it? Were you drinking? What were you wearing? Did you say no forcefully enough? And on and on.

The grown ass vice principal sat across from 16 year old me and had the balls to tell me he hugged students all the time after I told him this coach continued to touch me after I asked him repeatedly to stop. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d gone to my mother and she hadn’t believed me. Or, worse, if she’d believed me but told me it was no big deal. Actually, I do know what I would have done — I’d have sucked it up and let it go.

And that’s society’s message to women and girls: suck it up and let it go. It’s not a big deal. Boys will be boys. Locker room talk. He’s only pushing you because he likes you. Over and over again from cradle to grave. Women are discounted and their experiences minimized. We’re told to be grateful for male attention, no matter the form, no matter how unwanted.

So, I don’t ask what took so long for a woman to come forward. I know that, in some way not evident to the general public, she already told her story to someone. Not every unwanted ass slap and rape attempt results in a criminal conviction or police report. For some reason, we as a society equate that to the objective fact of the incident’s occurrence. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. These things happen every day, and no one is brought to justice. No one is prosecuted. Women and girls suck it up. They let it go.

The next time you start to wonder aloud about why a woman waited five, ten, or twenty years to report an assault, just STFO instead. Because speaking up is hard when you live in a culture working every day to silence you. Talking becomes a revolutionary act, and the punishment for opening your mouth is severe. Remember that before you heap on scorn and disbelief. Just listen. Hear her. And believe her.

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When You Can’t Tell the Difference Between Sexual Harassment and Flirting

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To hear some guys tell it, the world has become an unforgiving minefield. One misstep, no matter how well-intentioned, can cost you an extremity, leading to the complete ruination of your professional and private life. This transformation of the collective landscape was rather sudden, they claim, and it was ushered into existence by the strength of the #MeToo movement. Now all men have been painted with a broad, negative brush, these guys complain, and it’s difficult to know where to safely step considering how irreversibly the world has been changed.

*Insert concerto for the world’s smallest violin.*

That was lovely music, wasn’t it? Now, let’s address some of the aforementioned concerns.

I’ve actually heard a variation of the above cascade of male tears dozens upon dozens of times since Harvey Weinstein took his abrupt nosedive from grace, and a parade of other men followed suit, their creepy skeletons dancing out of the closet as though on cue. Here are some of my favorites:

How can men ask women out on dates without being accused of sexual harassment?

Is flirting not allowed anymore?

Should I ever be alone with a female colleague?!

And so on.

These are presented as legitimate concerns from seemingly earnest individuals. My first response is always the same: if you can’t tell the difference between flirting and sexual harassment, you are not safe for women to be around. Full fucking stop. And, further, if you view your professional life as one big dating game, with female coworkers playing the part of unwilling contestants, you are not safe for women to be around.

Look, I know it’s hard to be expected to take responsibility for your actions as an adult human male. In your defense, society has never demanded that you do that before. Women, on the other hand, are taught from a young age that they are responsible for the actions of men and boys. If you are sexually assaulted, what were you wearing? Did you say no? Did you mean it? If you are harassed at work, are you sure he meant it that way? Maybe it was a joke. Don’t you have a sense of humor? Also, what were you wearing? The responsibility for male behavior always sits on a woman’s (hopefully not bare, because OMFG) shoulders…but that’s changing.

Now blindingly powerful men are being held responsible for their own actions and y’all regular men are losing your damned minds, because if captains of industry can’t get away with this kind of behavior, what are the chances that y’all can grab asses without repercussions?! The male tears are ENDLESS. I have to be honest, I’m here for it, because it’s way past time that you joined the rest of us in Actions Create Consequences Land.

Let me be clear, you can absolutely flirt, and ask women out, and have close, fun, and appropriate interactions with female coworkers.

Here’s what you can’t do: take advantage of women in the workplace because you are in a leadership role. Treat women as though they owe you something sexually simply because you find them attractive. Blunder through life fueled on testosterone viewing women as mere conquests that you can win if only you push hard enough and refuse to take no for an answer.

Women aren’t here for your amusement. Women aren’t here to bear the weight of your unwanted sexual advances. Much like yourself, women are autonomous human beings with thoughts, dreams, hopes, and desires. If you treat women like the human beings they are, I think you’ll find that you can safely walk through the minefield of life without worrying about having your leg blown off.

If you are still confused and horrified at the partial loss of your masculine manifest destiny where women’s bodies are concerned, you are part of the problem.

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To the Man Who Told Me To Smile

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We’re strangers, and I’m out and about in public, minding my own business. I’ve never seen you before in my life, but you still thought you had the right to walk up to me and say:

Smile. You’re too beautiful not to be smiling.

I’m sure you thought this was a compliment. Because you called me beautiful. And I’m sure the way I recoiled instead of smiling felt like a slap across the face to you. But I was just trying to get through my day.

You don’t know the first thing about me. You have no idea that talking to perfect strangers makes me incredibly itchy, that it engages the anxiety that lies waiting inside of me to make life much more difficult than it has to be. And, honestly, you don’t have a right to know any of that information. Because we aren’t friends. We aren’t anything. We just happen to be in the same store at the same time. Women going out in public doesn’t give you the right to make demands on them or tell them how they ought to be comporting themselves to better please you. That’s bullshit. You wouldn’t do that to another man. You would leave him to behave as he sees fit in the world. But I’m too beautiful not to be smiling in your expert opinion, and you took it upon yourself to remedy the situation.

You aren’t the first man to tell me to smile, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. The nerve this takes on your part is infuriating and frightening, but it’s also pretty damned commonplace.

Here’s what you don’t know about being female: it’s an open invitation. For unsolicited advice. For demands on my time. For blatant staring. For following me out to the parking lot. For asking repeatedly for my number even after I make it clear I don’t want to give it to you. For calling me a stuck up bitch because I’m not interested. How dare I not be interested. Because you are a catch. A nice guy.

Here’s another thing you don’t know about being a female: it’s dangerous.

The man who tells you to smile inside the building could be the same man who forces you into his van in the parking lot. He could be the same man who follows you home from the store. He could be the same man who lashes out at you physically after you refuse to give him your phone number. You just never know. So, you learn to perpetually walk on eggshells, because it’s better to be safe than sorry.

When I go out in public, I never stop looking over my shoulder. I take constant note of my surroundings and watch the men around me, tracking their movements. Are they too interested? Have I seen one of them a few too many times in the store? My mind runs nonstop, assessing, planning, worrying, anticipating the worst case scenario.

That’s what it means to be female.

Here’s one more thing you should know: my public face doesn’t belong to you. I don’t owe you a smile. I don’t owe you anything at all. Internalize that shit. Breathe it in and keep it there. Hear me when I say that that if I’m out buying groceries or poking around stacks of books from my local library, simply inhabiting the same space doesn’t give you the green light to exert your will over my behavior. I could be dealing with any number of personal tragedies. Or I could just not feel like smiling at that exact moment. It really doesn’t matter. Mind your own fucking business and let me do the same.

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Here’s One of My #MeToo Stories, Because Every Woman Has Them

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I ran cross country and track in high school and loved it. When my dad retired from the Air Force, we moved to Florida the summer between my sophomore and junior year. I wasn’t happy about leaving my friends, but at least I had cross country to look forward to in the fall. The team wasn’t as competitive as the one I’d just come from in Kansas and there were two coaches, one for the boys’ team and one for the girls’, which was another change.

Things were strange from the beginning, and they got worse as the days went on. First, Coach Rocky stared at us. It was unsettling and constant, but hard to put a finger on exactly why (we were kids, y’all).  Second, he didn’t like us hanging out with the boys team. I found this odd, because my team in Kansas had been very cohesive, with all of us hanging out and chatting before and after practices. You know, like a team? Third, he would also put his arm around us or drop a hand on our shoulders or backs. Some girls seemed okay with this. The rest of us weren’t, and we started to actively keep our distance. I’ve always had a thing about strangers touching me. I value my personal space and only want it breached by invitation. He made a habit of coming up behind you and pulling you into a half hug that felt all kinds of wrong. I clearly recall telling him to stop touching me. And it did stop, for a bit. And then it was back to unwanted hugs, his big, sweaty hand sneaking onto your back or shoulder, followed by the feeling of wanting to twist out of your skin. Keep in mind, we all ran in our shorts and sports bras (it was four p.m. in Florida and felt like running on the surface of the sun), so he was touching bare skin.

I eventually talked to some of my teammates about how uncomfortable this shit was making me. Another new girl, S, had been catching rides home with Coach Rocky after practice a few times a week. Her mom worked late and wasn’t always available to pick her up. Maybe because I was vocal, even in the face of one of the senior girls who didn’t see a problem with anything that was going on and told me so, S confided in me that the coach would put his hand on her leg on the drives home. He knew she was alone at home after practice, and often had her sit in the car in her driveway for several uncomfortable minutes before getting out of the car. I didn’t know what grooming was back then, but I understood this was fucked up. So, I assured S my mom could drive her home that night instead.

On the drive, I told my mom why S needed the ride and filled her in about all the other creepy incidents that had felt so wrong over the first half of the season. The following day, my mom made an appointment with the vice principal to discuss whatever the hell had been going on during our practices. In the meantime, I tried to get other girls on the team to agree to come in to speak to the VP with S and me. There were zero takers. I could see the prospect made many of them uneasy. But the senior girl confronted me, calling me a bitch for even considering doing something like this because I would ruin Coach Rocky’s life and he had a family to support. I was going to get him fired over nothing.

I’d like to say I called her a bitch right back, but I didn’t. I doubted myself and felt guilty at the thought of his family. Did I really want him to lose his job over this? Was it really that bad? Unwanted hugs? Repeated invasion of our personal space even after being asked to stop? It felt wrong, but maybe making a big deal out of it was a mistake…

The fact that I ever second guessed myself like this infuriates me to this day. An older girl who should have known slightly better than I did (looking back, I can appreciate that she was a baby herself) blamed me for whatever repercussions this grown ass forty year old man might face for his inappropriate actions. I internalized that blame and questioned my gut. I’d rather have just shown up, gotten through practice, and then went on my merry way without him leering at or trying to put his hands on me. I didn’t want any trouble, but I didn’t want any of this shit either. Even at 16, I understood this wasn’t right. Not to mention that my mother had already made the appointment with the VP and she would not have backed down on this for anything.

The appointment itself was an absolute shit show. S, my mom, and I were all crammed into the VP’s office. We told him all about what had gone on. S couldn’t even look up from her lap, but she told him everything, including the shady shit that had happened on the multiple rides home after practice. After hearing everything we had to say, the VP said: I hug students all the time and it’s never been a problem.

My mom shot back quick as you please: Do you make a habit of hugging students even after they ask you to stop?

The VP admitted that he didn’t do any such thing. We found out later that he was actually pretty good friends with Coach Rocky. There was quite a bit more back and forth between the VP and my mom, and then the meeting ended. The result? Coach Rocky was immediately fired and barred from reentering school property.

Just kidding! Gotcha!

What actually happened first is the girls were informed that we were no longer to run in just our sports bras. We needed to wear t-shirts to practice for hours in the blinding sun and ninety degree temperatures. Because having our stomachs and backs exposed was the problem, not the man in his forties who couldn’t keep his goddamned hands to himself. Senior girl was pissed about this development and blamed me, of course.

Meanwhile, my mom was still making noise with school officials. Eventually, Coach Rocky did get removed from his position with the girls’ cross country team, but he retained his job teaching handicapped students and was able to carry on coaching the girls’ basketball team. I had friends on that team who said he was doing the same shady shit to them too. He was later fired for sexual abuse of one of his handicapped students. I wonder if the VP asked her to stop wearing such provocative clothing first. Bros before hoes, amirite?

This story isn’t remarkable or earth shattering. It’s actually pretty commonplace. We all have one that’s eerily similar, right? We weren’t believed. We were told it wasn’t a big deal. We were blamed. We doubted ourselves and felt guilty for getting someone else in trouble. When we talk about the sickness inherent in our culture, this is what we mean: a society in which teenage girls are made to bear the responsibility for attracting the attention of a 40 year old man.

We were kids. We were there to run. We didn’t do a fucking thing wrong.

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Accountability Goes Both Ways

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In the last few weeks, the conversations we’re having about sexual assault and harassment are going seriously off the rails, and I think we need to recenter ourselves and our priorities before we keep talking about this issue. I’m looking at you, fellow progressives, and especially women. We’re ready to throw Roy Moore into a deep, dark hole for his proven penchant for molesting young girls, and rightfully so, but why are we so willing to jump to the defense of a democrat with a history of abusing women?

The problem as I see it is this: folks are either quick to equate child molestation with any kind of allegation of sexual misconduct (such as groping, exposing oneself to female coworkers, etc.) or, worse, they are willing to completely dismiss any behavior that does not reach the level of child molestation. It’s crazy, but here we are. Either way of misrepresenting the issue of sexual misconduct is a serious problem that threatens to derail any hope we have of improving the situation for women, both in the workplace and in their everyday lives.

Roy Moore is an obvious scumbag, and those of us on the blue side of the aisle can all agree that a man who was barred from the local mall as well as the YMCA for going after teen girls doesn’t belong in the Senate and, in fact, belongs in prison. But then the allegations against Al Franken hit the fan and people lost their damned minds. I have to admit, I was upset to hear about his conduct because I was a fan of Franken’s going way back to his SNL days, and I was an even bigger fan of his measured, intelligent performance in the Senate. I’m severely disappointed in his actions (which he has admitted and apologized for, so there is no reason to continually use the word alleged), but I’m not rushing to paint him with the same brush as Roy Moore, who is a child molester. However, simply because Franken’s conduct doesn’t reach the disgusting level of pedophilia doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be held accountable. He absolutely should, without question, especially if we’re the progressively minded people we claim to be.

Recently, Bill Clinton’s bad past actions where multiple women are concerned has been brought up. It’s amazing to me to see how many people, including women, are jumping to his rabid defense. The selective embellishment of the past is truly an astounding process to behold…but it’s also extremely unnerving. These ardent defenders of Clinton’s honor are the same folks who will call out Moore, Trump, Ailes, and O’Reilly. As long as it’s a republican, we’re ready to drag them over the coals and demand they immediately vacate their posts and recede from public life in perpetual shame. Clinton may be a democrat, but that doesn’t absolve him of past guilt. He is no different from Trump when it comes to his personal conduct–another powerful man who used his position to move in on the women around him. It’s not acceptable when anyone does it–democrat, republican, Franken, or Moore–and while we can appreciate the specific nuances in every case, we shouldn’t give anyone a pass simply because he happens to rest his heels on our side of the aisle.

Let’s get things straight: I don’t see any value in relitigating Clinton’s actions, not because they aren’t important (we should most definitely judge them as unacceptable and disgusting), but because we have men in office right now (or trying to get into office) that we need to worry about keeping out of those powerful spaces because of their predatory and abusive behavior towards the women around them.

We need to demand accountability on all sides, period. We’re currently experiencing one hell of a culture shift, and that means even some of our own will be swept away when we clean out the trash. This is what it means to say that all men can do better. Even men we know, admire, and love. They can all do better. Refusing to admit that doesn’t move us forward. It only knocks us further back.

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