I am going to warn anyone who clicks on the link for this one right now. I'm going to say things that people might disagree with. That's fine, I'm not writing this to challenge anyone's opinion, or to try and start an argument. All I want to do is offer up my experiences and thoughts, how I see things and feel about certain issues. This isn't normally the sort of thing I touch in any form of social media, but it is something that I feel I need to share.
Anyone that knows me, knows that I am a woman, riddled with anxieties. I've always been that way, though the intensity rises and falls. I don't like to cause problems, I don't like to bother people, I don't like to get into arguments. I rarely give my opinion on tough subjects such as religion, or politics, and just sort of sit back and observe others fighting what I feel is a fruitless battle. No matter what, people have strong opinions, and they share those opinions passionately, but no matter how passionate, it rarely makes a dent in the beliefs of the opposing side. So, I don't argue. I listen, and read, and form my own thoughts without vocalizing them very much. But once in a while, I'll say something. Speak my mind to someone I trust. My parents, my husband, one or two of my friends.
Today, my father and I had a discussion about the current election, and Donald Trump. I'm not afraid to tell you, my reader, what I have told him more than once. I am disgusted by Donald Trump. I know he has his supporters, and they are entitled to their opinions, I'm not arguing that. All I am saying is that I will never be one of them. He sets off all of the little anxiety alarms set deep in my brain. But Trump isn't really the heart of what I want to discuss here.
My dad is a good, kind, honest man. He is sweet, with a heart far too sensitive for the harsh realities of this world. He doesn't even like to go into pet stores, because it kills him to see all of the animals shut away behind bars. He wants so badly to believe the best of people, and believe in the goodness of humanity. That's why I wasn't terribly surprised when we were talking earlier, and he threw out this cautious, nearly apologetic sentence.
"In the beginning, I really wanted to believe in Trump."
I get it, I really do. I know where my dad is coming from, and we talked a bit more about Trump and Clinton, discussing their faults. Dad made a comment, "all politicians are criminals, he was just honest about it". I have to say, that statement made me feel terribly sad for my father. That he lives in a world, where he truly believes our government is corrupt and out to get him, and that an honest crook would be an improvement to the sneaky ones. But even that isn't what made me write this post. It was what he said when I brought up Trump's treatment of women.
I told Dad that I view Trump as a rapist.
Now...I don't know if I expected a response, exactly. I know my father does not condone rape, and he would never even consider hurting another human being. I guess I expected him to show disgust at the very thought, even non-verbally. What he did, was look away and shrug his shoulders. He didn't defend Trump, but he didn't say anything else either. He just sat there, looking uncomfortable, silent and fidgety, like a little kid caught doing something he shouldn't. My father does not support rape, but the very subject makes him so uncomfortable that he won't even acknowledge the fact another man had committed such a terrible act, allegedly or not. That....that hit me really hard. Maybe more so, because I love my dad, and I know he would never say or do anything to intentionally hurt me, but I also know that he does not understand women at all, though he tries to empathize as much as he can. He understands me only a little better in some ways.
Here's the thing about my experience, starting as a little girl and growing into a woman bubbling over with anxieties. I am about as lucky as a girl can get, statistically speaking. I'm not rich, but I'm a white woman with a college degree (useless as it may be in most cases). I've never had to work multiple jobs to support myself, never lived in true poverty, and have had nothing worse happen to me than a scraped up knee or elbow. I know, I'm very blessed in many ways.
But I'm still scared.
I am scared to walk my dog on a deserted street at night, one where to my knowledge, nothing bad has ever happened. I am scared, because I know, deep in my heart that somewhere, lurking in a bush is someone waiting to jump out and attack. To rape, rob, or kill me. I am scared, because I know there is every possibility that someone in a crowd of people could lash out and grope me, violate me. I am scared because I have seen countless interviews, read countless stories, of women being raped. Being beaten. Being killed. Even people close to me have felt the terror and humiliation and anger of being assaulted. Any day now, it could happen to me too. In college, there was always an underlying fear that I would become another statistic. Another girl attacked on campus, with no way of being avenged, and fighting against a system that didn't care. Thankfully, that never happened, but I know it has, and I feel for those women. It hurts me to know that they've been through something so awful that I can barely comprehend it.
That isn't to say that I'm scared of men. I know, most of the men I encounter, or women even, barely even notice me most of the time. I'm just a piece of background in their lives, as they are in mine. But that nagging fear persists, no matter how logical I am, or how many nights I walk the dog alone and return home unscathed.
But then I think of myself as a kid, all the anxieties and uncertainty. Adults warning me to be careful, to guard myself. To never put myself in a situation where I could become a victim, and I think about my father, shrugging off the notion of rape because it makes him uncomfortable. That even though he doesn't support that sort of behavior, he can't vocally denounce it either. If I had been that shy, nervous little girl of the past, and I had come to him with the same concerns and gotten the same response, it would have made such a huge impact on my life. My dad was my first big male role model. That shrug would have made me look at him in an entirely different way. I would have seen his dismissal, uneasy or otherwise, and taken that as a sign that he did not see the danger in such behavior as I did. That he didn't connect that poor, hurt girl to his daughter. That if something happened to me...he might not fight very hard for justice. That other men would do the same, and turn away when I needed their help and support.
I know this isn't true of course, if anyone hurt me my father would be the first to fight by my side. But those signals are still there, and they lingered in my mind even after we'd talked. Rape, assault, verbal abuse...these things are so easily shrugged off, or ignored for the sake of our own comfort. Hell, I've even done it myself, when a news article gets too real for me to handle. But seeing my father dodge such an important and prominent issue made me realize that I can't keep doing that. I can't just ignore what is happening to other women, be they strangers, or people I care about. That isn't the sort of lesson I want to pass down to my children, should I ever have any. I want them to believe in goodness, and kindness, but I also want them to be strong. I want them to see the problem, and confront it head on. To be brave, and to support those who need it. It's hard...or at least, I think it is. I guess I can't really say from my little hidey hole of silence. But I want to be that sort of person too. I'm hoping that putting this all down will be a decent start.
