It’s very sunny and very cold, single digits cold as of the time of this writing, so a day that’s better looked at from inside than experienced. I will strive for that.
Thank you to a very sneaky sneakster who would still choose the bear over people, and who gave me some coffees and a little puzzle to solve to be sure it was you, though I had my immediate suspicions. I am always so glad when I can give shape to shapeless thoughts.
Today I am thinking about the assumed labor of women, and by that I mean the unspoken demand that we are to understand our role and not deviate from it, even for strangers. That we are obligated to perform emotional lifting and soothing even for men we don’t actually know.
I had an exchange with a man online who described a scenario, something he did he thought was funny, and then asked if it was bad to do.
I thought it was mean and so I told him, pointing out that with the information provided there was nothing to indicate that it wasn’t.
And I reminded him that he asked.
He. Asked.
But here’s where that ember started, the one we’ve all seen fan itself into illogical rage aimed in our direction.
He didn’t want to be told it was bad. He asked the question so that other people would make him feel better about something he already knew was mean. My role was to assume that he, the writer was infallible. That he, the writer, was justified in his conduct he described engaging in because he was “bored” and because, in his estimation, his wife was taking too long.
Because as soon as I said it, he suddenly had an entire response full of justifying justifications for his action, why it wasn’t mean, why it was deserved.
None of that was in the original post.
Instead, it was my fault for not asking more questions, not his fault for not providing the information. It was my fault for not probing deeper to a post that said what it said and then asked if it was bad.
Clearly it is not my job to poke at the recesses of the psyche of someone on social media who posted a story and asked if his actions were bad. If he wanted to be judged on more than what he wrote, he should have written more.
But.
That is not what this is about. The core here is he did something that was mean, I told him it was mean, and I did not take on any burden for how that made him feel. I did not agree to help him feel better, I did not smooth over the emotions he felt by agreeing to accept accountability in any part for his actions.
He didn’t provide the backstory he thought changed it.
That’s on him, not me.
He asked if what he did was mean. And I didn’t put his feelings about that in my responsibility bucket.
It’s not mine to carry.
We don’t even see it, really, the millions of ways women are made responsible for the actions of men, for the emotions of men. We make men mad; they they don’t get angry. We “provoke” them; they don’t bear any ownership for the rage.
I am used to this, you likely know, because I have a sea of blocks because of it, exchanges with men–usually white men–where I made no effort to make them feel better, to take the uncomfortable away.
I refuse to do it, even when they rage, even when they block me for my “impudence.” Men need to learn how to manage and process and deal with their own emotions.
Women have enough on our plates.
Have a great Tuesday.
A Bit to Read 
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