Gather round, friends and neighbors, and let me tell you a story. It's the kind of story that is all too common place, but it's mine, and I think it's important to share such things.
It starts with a man, let's call him John Smith, who reached out to me regarding my neck and shoulder pain. Now, I am not an idiot, nor am I blind to the ways of the world. John Smith was clearly trying to hit on me, but honestly I was here for it. A man offers to help out with my chronic muscle pain? He's a keeper. He was nice, and clearly flirtatious, but was offering me something I needed and he wasn't attaching sexual strings to it.
But then he took it upon himself to tell me how I should masturbate, and when I didn't respond, a while later he followed it up with "did you work that little pussy out"?
Let me be clear about something. I know some of this is going to be unpleasant to read, but I feel like euphemisms blunt reality, and I am so fucking tired of the reality where this happens, I'm not willing to blunt it.
I lost my temper, and sent him a scathing reply about men who cannot understand the difference between consenting to talk about a massage and consenting to being instructed on how to masturbate. I am aware that women who set boundaries with men, especially women who set boundaries using an angry tone can generally not expect a good response. Still, I was not prepared for the message I got back.
John Smith informed me that I was old, and had a mom bod. That he hadn't wanted to sleep with me, anyway, he was only taking pity on me. That I was likely 80 years old and repressed. That I was probably a nun, I was so prudish.
Oh look, another man who doesn't like people having boundaries and loses his temper over being told that he's overstepped. How shocking. I think I'll have a heart attack and die from not surprise.
Honestly, I thought that would be it, but John Smith wasn't done.
No, he had one more offer for me:
To hate fuck the rage out of me. He'd use me like a rag doll, and that would cure my anger, presumably leaving me pliant and grateful for the manly duty he had performed.
I don't think John Smith realized he was implying his penis is a sedative, but, you know, of all the things he didn't realize this is likely the least offensive.
Now, you might think this is the end of my tale, and I will now rage about men, their lack of boundaries, their aggression when told 'no', etc, but you are wrong. There's one more piece, and truly, this final piece is why I am writing about this today.
A week and a half went by, and John Smith reached out to me again. He wanted to let me know that he'd just been really horny that night, and that's why he'd had such poor boundaries, and he was sorry, and he was just trying to test the waters.
And frankly, y'all, this apology has upset me so much that I either have to write it all down, or I am going to grind my teeth to nubbins.
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"But, Jessica," I can hear you say, confused and curious, "why did the apology upset you so much?"
Well, frendo, I will tell you. It's because of what he didn't apologize for.
See, overstepping boundaries is a human condition. We are super bad at it. Those of us that practice and try really hard will hopefully not overstep egregiously, and also hopefully infrequently, but we will still overstep! Those of us who don't practice will probably be walking around asking other individuals if they've worked their little pussy out, and while that's certainly a pretty big leap past the boundary line, it is still a fault of the same kind. It is a truly gauche mistake, but it can reasonably be called a mistake, depending on how you follow up.
And here we come to why this apology pisses me off: he apologized for pushing boundaries, but he didn't apologize for how he spoke to me when I called him on it.
Rude, abusive, misogynist, and borderline threatening, and none of it warranted an apology. He was sorry he'd overstepped his boundaries, he was just horny, and... I guess everything else was fine. His horniness made him overstep, my refusal made him angry, and once he was angry then everything else he said to me was fair game.
image from goodwp.com
When men are angry, they get to attack our boundaries.
They get to call us names.
They get to shame our sexuality.
They get to degrade us.
They get to offer to hate fuck us into compliance.
And, in the end, even if they realize their behavior was wrong, what they apologize for is the original lack of understanding of our boundaries, not what they did once they were angry. Because the anger of men is a universal excuse.
But guess what?
IT'S NOT, ACTUALLY.
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This post doesn't have a denouement. There is no final resolution on this, because there will always be another John Smith. He's a symptom, not the disease.
I'm sharing because there are people who still don't realize how pervasive this sort of thing is. Who want to make excuses or justifications. Who will comment "well, to be fair, his feelings were probably hurt--"
No. Fair means fair to all parties. It is not fair to me to have to accept and dismiss his attacks simply because he never learned to think before he lashed out. It is not fair to the next person he will attack who tells him no.
Instead of a conclusion, I'll give you a call to action instead. Start holding yourself accountable for the things you say when angry. If you've got that down, start holding others accountable, as well. Not just for the things they say to you, but the things they say to others. Stop excusing people because they were angry. In particular, stop excusing men.
Your feelings are always okay. Your actions, based on those feelings, may not be. Learn to tell the fucking difference.
