Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. ~Brené Brown
I run with a friend three times a week. She's dealing with betrayal. Even in her own heartbreak, she remains one of the most grounded, clear-headed people I know.
I told her about the heated exchange over on the Once a cheater... post. I was angry when I told her. Anger, as I'm so fond of reminding everyone on this site, is a mask for hurt and fear. So let me tell the truth: I was hurt when I told her.
My friend listened to me. I told her about how betrayed I felt, about how quickly people turned on each other and me. I told her how angry I still am that women are not believed when they tell their stories of sexual assault and how vulnerable it feels to lay your heart bare. I told her how disappointing it is to have a woman, someone you thought was an ally, respond carelessly to another's pain and then, when you call her out on it, have her, metaphorically, take her ball and go home.
My friend took it all in.
Then she reminded me that I put myself in this position. By creating this site and sharing my story – so much of my painful story, including recently, the story of my sexual assault – she pointed out that I walked "into the arena" to use Brené Brown parlance. I made myself vulnerable to criticism. I opened myself to judgement or mockery or contempt, all of which I've experienced at various times over the years of this site.
But this felt different, I told her.
So she asked me another question. Did what you wrote reflect what you believe?
And my answer was immediate. Of course it did. I won't take responsibility for what others posted but what I posted? Absolutely. I stand by it.
Then you did what felt right for you, she said.
Yes. But it still feels yucky.
I have governed this site with an overriding principle. It is a place for women to bring their pain and to feel safe sharing it.
If I had not responded sharply, if I had not pushed back on a thoughtless comment that put others' emotional safety at risk, then why would anyone else feel safe sharing her story?
But still. Other people's anger makes me feel small and scared. When someone is angry, my knee-jerk response has always been to assume fault for it. What did I do to cause this?
But I'm learning – albeit slowly – that I'm not responsible for other people's feelings or for their actions. Just as I've come to learn – albeit slowly – that I was never responsible for my husband's choice to cheat.
As part of an environment of emotional safety, I don't owe anyone a platform for conspiracy theories. I don't owe anyone the opportunity to dismiss a woman's painful story, including a story that has been on the front pages of the newspaper or dissected ad nauseam on CNN.
And let me be perfectly clear: Responding to disclosure of betrayal, or sexual assault, or anything else that's deep and private with a "not all women can be believed" response has been part of the toxic playbook for centuries to keep women small and quiet and in line. That this response came from a woman doesn't make it any less dangerous. Ann should know better. That she didn't isn't her fault but it is her responsibility.
This is not a complicated issue.
This is not a partisan issue.
I understand that many of the women who come here already feel victimized, to some extent, by another woman. A woman who has been complicit in her betrayal. A woman who has lied. Who has, perhaps, lobbed false accusations. I make no apologies or excuses for Other Women.
But I have given them space when they have come here to tell their stories. Even when those stories were hurtful to us.
I gave Ann the space to share her thoughts, even as I knew they were insensitive.
I will always err on the side of listening over closing my ears.
But I will always point out when someone is being hurtful or insensitive or when she needs to cede the floor, to be quiet and listen. Nobody gets carte blanche to give her opinion, especially when that opinion props up misogyny, without being held to account for it.
Yes, I preach openness and honesty, as one commenter noted in what she perceives as my hypocrisy. And yes, I have long loved this BWC secret sisterhood because it is so unlike other sites out there, which descend into name-calling and mud-slinging and mockery of anyone who doesn't follow a prescribed path.
But it was exactly my dedication to openness and honesty that made me click "publish" on Ann's comment, and it was my dedication to openness and honesty when I said that she was not only wrong about her "facts" but that her words were incendiary. She missed a chance to respond differently to others' anger, even if she needed to take a few days to lick her wounds before responding. She missed a chance to show up for others in the way that, she admits herself, they've shown up for her.
When we are called out for behaviour that others find offensive and personally hurtful, we can respond in a number of ways. One of those ways is what I'm learning to do: To be vulnerable. To listen in good faith. To remember, that within this vulnerability, which can feel so horrible, is where all that good stuff I want is born: joy, empathy, authenticity.
Courage.
As another friend put it, "Use your voice. You are gonna piss some people off. When you plant your flag in the sand, not everyone is going to stand with you. But you don’t want or need everyone to agree with you (or like you). You just need the people who are going to charge down the field with you."
I'll continue to show up here and hope that we continue to create a space where we charge down the field together. Where we can share our stories, trusting that others will believe us or, at the very least, listen with an open heart.
Even when it hurts.
