On The Opposite Side Of the #MeToo Movement
I dislike the #MeToo Movement.
As I began hearing and seeing the stories of women who had experienced such abhorrent behavior, I was frustrated by one message: “every woman has encountered this.” I began to question myself. Many of these women were women I would, as a fellow female, consider beautiful. Was I not desirable? Was I not pretty? I have never been sexually assaulted. I have experienced some catcalls, which I pointedly ignore. Any time anyone even attempted a pass of any kind, my husband was right there with a protective “that’s my wife,” to which he usually received a terrified stare in return. Even before I was married, though, I had never had a single threatening experience.
Assault is an absolutely terrible thing to experience, the fact that many sexual assaults go unreported and many perpetrators will not face consequences is sad, and victim-blaming is absolutely not okay. So, it’s not that women are coming together to bring awareness to the issue that bothers me — I think awareness is vital. I suppose it’s not that I dislike the Me Too Movement, then, but rather what it feels like it communicated to me. What bothers me is assuming every female can share the experience. What bothers me is being told I’m lying to myself if I say I’ve never experienced assault.
Every male I have ever been close to has been protective of me. I was an only child, but I had a few male friends who I viewed as brothers and who acted the part. I married young, but even when I was dating that first year of college, no male ever attempted anything, and I was a fairly naïve, young woman. I was never afraid to walk across my college campus to the gym and back at night. I was never afraid to walk home in the dark. I only became even slightly nervous when other people made it seem like I should be.
And that’s the thing. This movement has made me feel like I have to be afraid of something I’ve never had reason to be afraid of. It made me feel like by not sharing in such a horrifying experience — for which I am abundantly thankful I don’t — I am less of a female and have no right to speak about female topics.
But I think that isn’t fair.
My voice is one of a positive experience. My voice is one of how women across the country should be treated. My voice is one of sadness for the women who have suffered. My voice is one that shares examples for future generations.
To the women who have suffered: I am sorry, and my heart goes out to you. Allow me to stand with you and tell others your story matters and that change must happen. But, please, don’t tell me I must be mistaken or have repressed the memory because I haven’t. I just can’t share your experience.
And to the women like me: It’s okay. You are no less for not having a story, and you should be thankful you don’t have one to tell. Instead, be a voice of example to show the world what’s possible.
