According to the New York Times, older women are furious about past injustices. I tried to summon repressed anger in the spirit of solidarity, but it’s just not there. Certainly, I have a few bad memories recorded in the great big picture book of moral crimes and misdemeanors, but I choose to let it go. I find myself too happy to be enraged.
I do understand and support the #MeToo movement. I feel empathy for those who hurt. Still, I like to think we can feel and express our anger in real time and then challenge, litigate or move on. Not to excuse bad behavior, but life will throw you curve balls, some of them quite horrific. One woman in the article said she was still furious, still dealing with residual rage, after being asked how fast she could type.
Everyone owns their own experiences, but in my view, a sexist expectation about typing hardly ranks in the Tower of Troubles. Even if it was particularly horrible for that person for some reason, dwelling on it 40 years later doesn’t seem healthy to me.
Even as a child, the idea that nothing bad would ever happen to me seemed ridiculous. My family life was dysfunctional and emotionally abusive. It was a slow start, but I climbed my way out, and the trajectory only goes up from there. I experienced sexual harassment and other injustices along the way, although I’ve never been assaulted. My trajectory flatlined twice with illness and then with a sociopath who tried to destroy my career.
Working with the sociopath was the worst year of my life, and I’ve had cancer twice. Oh, and by the way, the sociopath was a woman. But as I think about her now, I just feel sad it had to go down that way. I was treated badly. Lots of people stood on the sidelines and watched with a knowing eye. I felt like someone should have saved me, and no one did. So, I saved myself. I cut my losses and got the fuck out of there.
All that said, I just can’t get too fired up about it anymore. It happened. It’s over. I have a good life. I’m exceedingly grateful. Maybe the anger women are expressing now is a variation of the same helplessness I felt when no one saved me from the sociopath. Are they looking for a savior? Social media to the rescue? They can hashtag all day long, and they might get clicks and likes, but I’m pretty sure no one will come.
I do not condone the behaviors documented by the #MeToo movement, and it doesn’t matter if you are 25 or 75 years old. I totally support addressing the issues by any means necessary. I’m glad older women are speaking up. And maybe that will help alleviate the repressed anger.
My point is that it’s equally important to take care of yourself from within. With professional help or without it, talk about it all you want, but fight to keep these experiences from cracking your core. Maybe this sounds naive, but I’ve reframed my entire life’s experiences as ingredients in the recipe that created the marvelous person I’ve become.
In the words of the Pet Shop Boys, happiness is an option.
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