I Encounter Sexism
I’m Male.
After five years out of work to raise our children, my wife decided she wanted to get back into work and I was fully supportive. I’m eternally grateful for the sacrifices she has made and all that she has done for this family. It is time for me to show that gratitude.
The small hiccup with this decision was that the Covid-19 pandemic had completely decimated all our childcare options. The girls got a place at a local nursery, but it was only four days a week and only half days. In order to support my wife going back into full-time work, I needed to quit my job and be a full-time carer to my girls. So that’s what I did.
Little did I know that upon taking on this newfound role of mine, I would bear witness to events that had previously eluded me. Sexism.
I’ve known for many years how my female counterparts in business are subjected to sexism, but I’d never been a victim of it myself. As a professional, white male, everything I do comes from a position of privilege. It’s hard to fully understand how someone else truly feels when you cannot put yourself in their shoes. But here I was, taking on a stereotypically female role and witnessing firsthand what it would be like.
Here I share three scenarios that have happened over the past few months as a stay-at-home Dad;
1. My daughter had a urine infection
A few nights in a row, my daughter was in noticeable discomfort. She would wake up in the night and be in all sorts of pain. Relentless crying, impossible to be consoled. The kind of high-pitched squeal that at 3 o’clock in the morning pierces your brain like a hot needle. I knew this was not right. I found myself trying to interrogate her, assessing what could be wrong. With a four-year-old in the middle of the night, this is challenging. Then, whilst on the toilet, she has a face of anguish and severe discomfort as she starts to pee. “It’s sore” she screams through tears. I decided to seek medical advice.
The next morning I call the doctor's surgery and ask for an appointment. I explain the events of the previous night, her symptoms, and my suspicion of a urine infection. The receptionist said to me:
“Do you want her mum to bring her in?”
Her mum? Like, what has she got to do with anything? How do you even know she has a mum in the picture? I’m the one ringing up, I’m the primary carer, I’m the one seeking medical advice. Like, somehow, because I’m a man I can’t possibly handle my daughter's urine infection? I’m quietly enraged.
“No, I can bring her in if needed. Can I get an appointment?”
We decide on a telephone appointment. I give the receptionist my phone details and await a phone call from the doctor.
Later that afternoon, my wife rings me.
“I had a call from the doctor about Pippa,” she says.
“What? Why did they ring you?” I respond, perplexed. I’d given my phone number to ring for the appointment. Why on earth would they ring my wife?
“I don’t know, I was in a meeting which I had to duck out of, I told the doctor you were dealing with it, that you know the symptoms and that I’m at work.”
Was it a mistake? Did the doctor ring my wife, assuming she must be the one needing help? Did she think a Dad was incapable of discussing a female urine infection? Did the doctor think that a mum would feel more comfortable discussing a young girl's medical issues?
Perhaps it was just a clerical error, I tell myself.
2. Our nursery calls my wife
Upon taking over as primary carer I told my nursery that, since I was now the stay-at-home Dad, they should call me if there are any issues. I give them my phone number and email, and let them know I would be the primary contact going forward. I drop them off and pick them up every day; I pack their lunches; I arrange their activities. I do everything for them.
One afternoon my wife rings me.
“I’ve just had a call from the nursery. The girls need picking up,” she says.
“Okay, why did they ring you?” I respond.
“I don’t know, but I can’t pick them up, I’m at work, can you go?”
“Of course,”
I pick up the girls and let the nursery know my contact details again. I don’t question why they rang my wife, but I remind them to ring me should there be any issues as my wife will be at work.
My wife rings me again.
“I’ve had a call from the nursery. Daisy’s had an accident, and she doesn’t have a spare change of clothes. I told them I’d talk to you to get some new clothes.” my wife says with a hint of frustration in her voice. “Okay, I’ll take some new clothes down for her. Why did they ring you?” I say. “I don’t know.”
Again, I remind them to ring me of any issues.
Was it a mistake? Did the nursery feel more comfortable talking to the mum? Did they think that despite me tell them I was the primary carer, that in fact, my wife was still? Did they not update their emergency contact records?
Perhaps it was just a clerical error, I tell myself.
3. I put my daughter's hair in a plait
One morning, my eldest daughter Pippa tells me she wants her hair in a ponytail. “I want it just like Georgia”, she says “winding, winding all around”. She wants it plaited. I’m no expert on hairstyles, but how hard can it be? It maybe took a bit longer than she’s used, but I manage to plait her hair and she’s happy with it. She’s so chuffed with the result she can’t stop checking it out in the mirror. We finish breakfast together, get our coats and shoes on and head off to the nursery.
When we arrive, one of the teachers meets us at the door. Pippa, all excited about her hair, shows it off.
“That’s lovely hair you have today Pippa, did Mummy do it?” she asks her.
“No, I did it actually” I interrupt, feeling pleased with the result.
“Wow, Daddy did it? Really? Are you sure? I expect he got some help from Mummy, didn’t he Pippa?” the teacher says in a way that suggests she refuses to believe that I could plait her hair.
Like, no. I did it, and I didn’t get any help from my wife. Why is it so unfathomable that I man can plait a girl's hair? It’s not that fucking hard. I’m capable of tieing my shoelaces. I’m capable of brushing my teeth. Sure, I’m not hairstylist of the year, but I’m capable of plaiting my daughter's hair.
I smile and nod at the teacher.
Perhaps it was just a clerical err… no, this ain’t no clerical error!
In Closing
None of my three examples are strong acts of sexual discrimination. I know that my fellow female human beings encounter sexism on a scale far greater than I can pretend to appreciate. I don’t want to pretend that I am a victim in these few small scenarios that I have shared.
These situations have helped me to understand the plight that women face. I have a deeper understanding of the subject of sexual discrimination, having born witness to it firsthand. Being subjected to even mild sexism has given me a deeper appreciation for the challenge of equality.
Perhaps I’m pessimistic, but I don’t believe we are close to achieving harmonious equilibrium between the sexes. The biases held by society are deep-rooted. So ingrained that it will take generations to uproot and discard their rotten cores. We are, at best, addressing the tip of the iceberg.
But there is hope. With every big challenge, we need only to take it one step at a time. Confronting each micro-aggression, teaching, learning. Taking one step at a time towards making the world a better place.
I’m fighting for equality. Are you?
