What it’s like to be a woman

tw: I mention the reality of sexual violence

During the pandemic I took up walking around my neighborhood. What started as an escape became a choice activity. I’ve grown to really enjoy admiring my neighbor’s lawn ornaments and their well-tended gardens. On days I can afford the time, I walk miles and miles through the winding neighborhoods of my suburbia, noticing when empty houses are sold and filled with families. I’ve watched fences go up. There is a garage down the road that went from empty to overflowing seemingly overnight. It’s always good to see a flourishing local business.

Just the other day, I was walking through the garage’s parking lot with my dog, Ink. As we slipped between two closely parked cars an employee sitting in the car behind them said hello. “Hey!” I said. And then he said “Didn’t want to worry you.” And then returned to his work inside the car. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly, so I said nothing and walked by, but I thought about it for the next few blocks. After I boiled it down in my brain, I was left with the conclusion that he had only said hi to me so that I wouldn’t be alarmed if he did. His hello wasn’t actually a hello at all, it was a don’t freak out. I wish I had asked him–is there something I should freak out about?

That’s a good example of what it feels like to be seen as only a singular facet of your personality, in this case, my womanhood. On one hand, I see the chivalry in the young man’s actions, caring for little ol’ me, not wanting to alarm me with his penis… I mean, presence. But on the other hand, I can take care of myself. I walk by this shop almost every day, I expect there to be employees working on vehicles at the vehicle repair shop, I’m not an idiot. And, f*ck you a little for feeling so certain you’re not the one with something to be worried about. I could be dangerous! There’s a lot to unpack.

To be honest, my womanhood doesn’t come up often in day-to-day life for me personally. I seem to turn into a werewolf around ovulation and menstruation, but I define myself by more niche criteria the rest of the time. I find it jarring when someone reflects society’s version of femininity back at me. I think that’s probably true for a lot of women.

When we drove across the county last summer, I thought a lot about my womanhood. There’s something about bathing in strange places that makes you hyperaware of your own breasts. For example, we stayed at a trailer park in Missouri not far from the Ozarks that had suspiciously high-tech shower stalls. If you are a woman, the reason why tech in a shower is suspicious is obvious. I enjoyed my hot, spacious shower resigned to the fact that it might be forever immortalized on the internet. I tried to shower as boringly as possible while still raising my arms high enough to wash my pits. (I was in Missouri, y’all.) I explained all this to my partner a few states later and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d even spent time in the sauna! Sometimes the difference between us astounds me.

Here’s something I wrote in West Omaha:

I stood in the laundry room and thought about being raped no less that 20 times. But it was casual like oh yeah—people probably get raped in these rooms all the time. I am probably being stupid for folding laundry here.

In fact, this particular room had removed the catch in the door and was monitored by camera. I had the thought that perhaps someone had been raped here and that’s what sparked these additions. This is part of being a woman, I guess. Alert in enclosed spaces.

Outside the safety of my familiar home, I am forced to see myself as others see me to accurately assess the safety of my location to get my lizard brain to settle down. Because we were moving so often, I needed to use good facilities when I had access to them. Fear had to be ignored in favor of personal hygiene and a folding table. I made the switch to do-it-even-though-there’s-real-risk mode, which is slightly piqued. Oh, and don’t forget, this is the vacation of a lifetime so enjoy the combined scent of real pine and fresh laundry, or else!* It was intense, but it was also freeing. At some point I thought to myself, I can be bogged down with fear and what-ifs for the entire trip or I can let go and deal with my shower video when it pops up, if it ever does. I can tell you what my first reaction is going to be if I see myself in that shower—I can’t believe I thought I was fat.

What is constant fear and resignation to our potential fates doing to us? The young gentleman in the garage parking lot was afraid I would be afraid so instead of a real hello he offered an apology for existing. I showered with an imaginary audience instead of unwinding at the end of a hot, hectic day. What could we be doing with all the time spent thinking through all the ways sleazeballs could sneak cameras behind wall tile? Yeah, they could. Sleazeballs gonna sleaze. I am never going to get them at their own game, but I’m not willing to let that kind of thinking dictate the rest of life. I want to enjoy myself. Did I still write down all the information about the RV resort including details about the owner and his other business ventures? Of course, I did. As I mentioned, I am not an idiot.

I have a morning yoga practice that is critical to my mental well-being. I tried my best to keep up with it on the trip. Yoga is another activity that makes you hyperaware of your feminine physique. It’s not my preference to be public about it, but there was no room inside the RV. I had to take my practice outside. Usually, I consciously chose long pants and sweatshirts despite the heat, so my thighs would be modestly hidden from view. I hugged my mat tight against the RV and tried not to do too many “butt poses” when we were parked in a crowded lot. On more than one occasion, a woman would suddenly appear outside the rig next door to offer to help her partner set up the hoses. Being sure to check that he wasn’t looking too hard at my down dog. Still, I persevered with my practice for the sake of my family having to live with me. One brutally hot morning on the east side of Nebraska, I skipped sweatpants in favor of black jersey shorts and my beloved hoodie. It was early and not many people were walking around the campground. The feeling of my bare skin warmed by the morning sunlight was blissful. I lost myself in the sequence of poses and felt rejuvenated. At the end of my practice, I stood up to see a large man straddling his motorcycle next to a tent about 100 feet away. He was staring at me. Still breathless from the workout, I did something I had never done before– I stared right back at him. We locked eyes and I was able to see the moment he realized he had been caught. He held his gaze even after that, and there were a few seconds where we both understood. I didn’t back down. I looked straight into his face, willing my old lady eyes to make his sharper in my vision until he finally flinched. When he looked down at his hands, I felt a surge of power unlike any I had ever felt. Euphoric. I think I could use a little more of that.

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* I really do myself no favors. But I remember that scent to be sure, so I can’t be too mad.