The man in the back of my mind.
Hey you! Please read on a computer, as the layout and experience will be so much better… Muah
And as always, take everything I say with a grain of salt🧂
Here is my attempt to filter my emotions:
Trigger Warning: This content contains discussions of eating disorders, sexual harassment, and daddy issues.
Please proceed with caution and prioritize your well-being.
“Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out or too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.”
Donald Trump will be the 47th president.
The face of our nation will be (and already probably is tbh) constantly etched into the minds of AT LEAST 24 victims every single day. I can't begin to comprehend the agony and sense of abandonment they must feel now, as this rancid waste of energy sets a dangerous precedent for men everywhere. The weight of it is maddening, knowing that such a vile presence is shaping the world for so many.
But there is a man in the back of my mind telling me that this is just life.
This is just life...
This is going to be a bit different than my usual blog post, but don’t click off quite yet. This post is driven by a raw, visceral repulsion with the way privileged humans seem to hold the world — my world — in a chokehold.
I know that even my strongest emotions can’t come close to the true depth of suffering and devastation that real power drags ruthlessly in its shadow.
America learned the results of the election when they woke up Wednesday morning; a few hours later, we had to go to work. I had my weekly meeting with my supervisor that afternoon. We spoke for a bit and asked each other how we were doing; the screen between us provided a strange sense of security. She did not see or did not show signs of noticing my wet eyes, distracted mind, or fidgeting hands. She confided in me how she took her daughter, filled with the excitement of the occurrences, to the polls with her. That morning, her daughter had asked, “Are we going to have a woman leader this time?” My supervisor, voice heavy with the weight of disappointment, looked into her daughter’s eager eyes, and told her, “Not this time, sweetheart.” It made me saddened to focus on the tiny dot her daughter was in a George Seurat painting of people around the world.
And so, I cannot stop thinking about my niece. As a woman who has not wanted kids and now more than ever does not want them- I want her to tunnel down into the depths of the earth to shelter from the storm that is raging in her future. At her age, her being and concept of truth reside in the eye of the storm. A storm that has impacted her DNA longer than any family tree service can track, and at this rate, will impact any DNA that continues on after her. The idea that at the end of the next four years, she will be 7 fills my soul with sadness… but I will admit that a little bit of hope just crept into my brain while I was typing that sentence.
My niece and my boss’s daughter are a microscopic example of the horrors of the world… Many women have experienced the deeper, uglier backlash that power (untouched) blissfully releases on the most innocent.
These aren’t just isolated storms; they’re part of a much larger system that has shaped the lives of girls and women for generations, embedding itself in our experiences, our memories, and how we spend this short amount of time we are allotted on this earth. I was told what to think, and thought it.
I do not think this way anymore- I tell my muscles to move, I straighten my posture to take up space, and the water that comes out of my eyes is mine and mine alone.
I never thought to ponder decentering my life around men, I didn’t think I needed it. But dear god I did.. and still do. I am trying to kill the man in the back of my mind to this day….
The man in the back of my mind
The man in the back of my mind told me to take two ibuprofen before having metal pliers inserted deep inside my vagina, prying it open for 10+ minutes while a small plastic Y that would ease the anxiety of pregnancy was pushed deep inside of me. I’m no stranger to pain—tattoos, piercings, tearing my knee to pieces, and, of course, heartbreak. I would like to say that my threshold’s high, but let me tell you, two ibuprofen did not even take the edge off. Two ibuprofen did not withhold the cramps that quite literally felt like I was being slowly stabbed again and again and again... I take two ibuprofen when I am a bit sore after the gym, not for a surgical procedure.
The man in the back of my mind does not give a second thought to being catcalled on the street anymore, often with language that I have no other adjectives for other than gross…
Oh wait….
Nauseating
Abhorrent
Revolting
Repugnant
Loathsome
Disgusting
Fucking annoying
The man in the back of my mind convinced me to fake orgasms to avoid bruising a fragile ego, equated “blue balls” with an emergency I had to solve, and once made me believe I owed someone else’s pleasure more than my own comfort.
Teachers placed me next to the troublemakers, probably thinking my shy, quiet nature would balance them out. But instead, I became the target of their teasing and constant distractions, their behavior impacting my confidence for years to follow.
I ripped my nails off one by one, each new raw, bloody finger an attestation to a time that I attempted to grasp my father’s concern. The man in the back of my mind needed him to see how good I was doing without him…
I got my period earlier than most girls. One day a pad fell out of my bag and around the floor at my feet. With my skin complexion, there was no hiding the embarrassment when my classmate held it up in his hand in the middle of class and made sure the entire grade was aware of the grossness that was my body.
I frequently would cancel on friends to hang out with a man. Friends who would tuck me into bed laying on my side- with a trashcan, Gatorade, and 2 ibuprofen on my other side. A man who would display me in a room full of his friends like a timid trophy, and a year later, seek solace in me in a foul frat house (Beloit College, why is SIG still a thing?).
The man in the back of my mind laughed at jokes that were not funny. So many inexplicably disgusting comments that some view as comical but are inexplicably an attack.
The man in the back of my mind encouraged my 12-year-old brain that she should scroll on Pinterest for a solution to her body insecurities. The summer of 2013, I had found something called the military diet; losing 10 pounds in 3 days was the perfect way to make sure that little Hope would not become an old, ugly, unmarried witch… Except it didn’t- the only thing it did was convince me that I wasn’t trying hard enough… It took me a decade to unlearn this.
I want to be physically strong, so I can walk with my headphones on. I want to wear a crop top and shorts and feel the warmth and the sun on my skin, so I bring a jacket to not tempt unwanted harassment. I want to correlate my future with my dreams. I want to look at my friends who are married to a man without animosity and confusion. I want my niece to be a lesbian (fingers crossed.)
My friend brought over a couple of old magazines she owned for a girl’s wine and collage night the weekend after the election results. It features many women’s articles who clearly had men in the front of their mind but I guess progress is progess? 
SO NOW WHAT?
What has been helping/ inspiring me:
I have recently made female (and non-binary) friends a priority in my life. I cannot begin to describe how kind it feels to sit with the world with them. I’ve spent the better half of this week either curating new female friendships or drenching myself in the holy water that is the women who have chosen to stick by my side.
There is so much those have done; there is so much we can do, and there is so much we will do. I want to make sure that when my niece is 7, she is able to experience having a fire lit in your eyes, one that the power-hungry will not be able to extinguish.
My neighbor who drives women to and from abortions.
Communities have existed for so long and will only grow stronger; being apart of these has helped immensely.
Being willing to walk away at all times.
Questioning each thought and action to make sure it is my own.
Decorating myself and my space in a way that I like. Turns out I like chaos and things and pink and soft and plants and things that work just fine the way they are because they are how I am.
There is good in the world still, and I’m incredibly fortunate to have the chance to contribute to it and help it grow.
I urge you to also spend your time trying to do the same.
I feel rage and inspiration and I hope you have a good day,
-Hope Joy
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