Wonder Woman, Climbing Towers & Anger

I will stop here to address those who think this feminist rage is unfounded. There have been many moments, especially as a minister, that it has been evident that if I had a penis, I would have been treated much differently and at minimum with a respect I did not receive. Just to be ordained and hired as a 25 year old woman in the church was painfully difficult even though my credentials and recommendations were impeccable. How I was then treated by the church’s old boys' club is a longer and more painful story. 

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge that I am a privileged white woman with an elite education. I started half way up the tower compared to other women. That is clear to me. But it is also clear to me that my male counterparts didn’t have a tower to scale, and if they did there were already toe holds leading the way up. 

Since our nation elected a man who bragged about sexual assault, since I marched on Washington with thousands of other women and my two sons, I have stepped back from the tower. I’ve noticed how far we've come, how far I’ve come, and how much higher we, and I, must climb. And I am angry. Angry.

But nothing has ignited my rage more than revisiting something that happened to myself and others at the private high school I attended. The story is simple. A female student was being raped by a teacher. He had done it many times before. I knew. I sought help on three separate occasions from our dean and headmaster. They did nothing. They covered it up. On one occasion I was explicitly told to be quiet. I was silenced.

I never buried this memory. It has always been present, but I packed it away and moved ahead. The trauma of this event has returned to me full force in the last two months. I have grieved for the 17 year old girl I was. I grieve for the many young girls silenced, for the stories of sexual abuse covered up, for the many, many women and girls who are the victims of all sorts of sexual violence. As I look up at the tower, I’m scared that only a superpower will bring this tower down.

On most days I push ahead, chipping away at the tower I must climb. I am proud to climb this tower for my daughter and other girls, grateful for the women who have climbed it before me. I feel deep gratitude for how far we’ve come and hope for where we are going. I find strength in the community of women climbing beside me, who offer advice, who climb for me when I grow too weary, or cheer me on when I make noticeable progress. 

But still, when, o when, will sexual violence end? When, o when, will the old boys' club be kicked off their throne? I don’t want my daughter scaling that tower. Instead I want a super hero power that enables me to scale that horrid tower with the strength of Wonder Woman. I may not have super hero power, but watching a powerful woman bash through mortar on the big screen to reach her goal gave me courage to continue. And maybe, just maybe, my rage will become so intense I will clear a path for my daughter, leaving toe holds for all.

Watch out. I might turn into Wonder Woman before your eyes, but I am not as nice as she is.
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