Yes! Yes yes yes! Shout! The number of times I've traveled that sidewalk fearing for my life, my sanity or my body - or all three - uncountable. Please keep shouting. More! I want more! And I want men to read the stories you write, and open to how they are so blind to what we go through just for the simple fact of being female. Thank you.
Reading this brought so many memories flitting back through my mind. Walking home from school being catcalled from a car. A shocking indecent proposal on a subway platform in my 20s. Walking home alone in the wee hours in SF when a man approaches on a desolate street and thinking ‘yep, this is how I die.’ But also learning in my 20s how to throw my shoulders back, put my headphones in, scowl, and walk with a purpose—my invisible armor.
Love the flow of that. Identify with all the experiences. Of course. Congrats on evolving. Yay. And really love the empathy at the end. I hope Brad does get therapy. All that protective armor and perceived power might feel good for awhile, but it's going to kill him slowly. I bet if anyone has ever made him think about it, it may have been you.
You get old enough and it’s no longer about your flesh, it’s about making you invisible.
Incompetence and entitlement sucking all of the oxygen out of the room - so you won’t have the breath to hold them accountable or push them to be better versions of themselves.
I felt this way on most every sidewalk I've walked down but also, every church aisle too. They've all been the same, the same, the same--I too, learned to yell from where I stand.
This sentence stung ("You would also have to understand the anxiety of a van slowing down at midnight.") because I can so vividly remember every time a van ever drove by me or when they parked next to my car in an empty parking lot. I think of all the times I've flinched when someone was casually running behind me, or the times I pulled into a shop just to let the person who walked a little too close, to pass by. I feel stupid about it, but I know that if I didn't keep my wits about me, if I told myself I was being dramatic and never acted with the utmost caution, I wouldn't be here today. What a frightening world to live in as a woman.
I feel this as a tight lump in my throat. A panic. I can't tell if it needs to be swallowed or purged. Yes, I've felt it. A tangle of terror, fury, and empathy.
I cannot, cannot wait for your book. I am so eagerly in pursuit of gentleness, healing, understanding, beauty, and I feel it all in your words. Thank you for sharing your gift.
Yes! Yes yes yes! Shout! The number of times I've traveled that sidewalk fearing for my life, my sanity or my body - or all three - uncountable. Please keep shouting. More! I want more! And I want men to read the stories you write, and open to how they are so blind to what we go through just for the simple fact of being female. Thank you.
Reading this brought so many memories flitting back through my mind. Walking home from school being catcalled from a car. A shocking indecent proposal on a subway platform in my 20s. Walking home alone in the wee hours in SF when a man approaches on a desolate street and thinking ‘yep, this is how I die.’ But also learning in my 20s how to throw my shoulders back, put my headphones in, scowl, and walk with a purpose—my invisible armor.
Love the flow of that. Identify with all the experiences. Of course. Congrats on evolving. Yay. And really love the empathy at the end. I hope Brad does get therapy. All that protective armor and perceived power might feel good for awhile, but it's going to kill him slowly. I bet if anyone has ever made him think about it, it may have been you.
Joy. This is beautiful and it's heartbreaking and it's all too true. Here's to you, my friend. Here's to bravery, too.
Joy. Yes, I have felt this way on the sidewalk and elsewhere. And I know getting high off no too.
This is a really beautiful piece.
thank you. !
You get old enough and it’s no longer about your flesh, it’s about making you invisible.
Incompetence and entitlement sucking all of the oxygen out of the room - so you won’t have the breath to hold them accountable or push them to be better versions of themselves.
I felt this way on most every sidewalk I've walked down but also, every church aisle too. They've all been the same, the same, the same--I too, learned to yell from where I stand.
This sentence stung ("You would also have to understand the anxiety of a van slowing down at midnight.") because I can so vividly remember every time a van ever drove by me or when they parked next to my car in an empty parking lot. I think of all the times I've flinched when someone was casually running behind me, or the times I pulled into a shop just to let the person who walked a little too close, to pass by. I feel stupid about it, but I know that if I didn't keep my wits about me, if I told myself I was being dramatic and never acted with the utmost caution, I wouldn't be here today. What a frightening world to live in as a woman.
So incredibly visceral and resonant, heartbreaking and truth-filled. Thank you for sharing!
Beautifully written.
I feel this as a tight lump in my throat. A panic. I can't tell if it needs to be swallowed or purged. Yes, I've felt it. A tangle of terror, fury, and empathy.
I cannot, cannot wait for your book. I am so eagerly in pursuit of gentleness, healing, understanding, beauty, and I feel it all in your words. Thank you for sharing your gift.
I felt every word of this in my bones. Exquisitely written as always Joy!
This is wonderful. Every word of it so relatable.