A few days after my mom died, I received a message from one of her students, Jessica Santos, that had been trying to get in touch with her.
Of every condolence, it is the story I go back to the most. I had no idea that it had happened, I think sometimes we forget that our parents have relationships and lives that we don’t really have any idea about. But that there are probably hundreds of other moments where a small gesture can change everything that comes after it and lend a helping hand when it is needed most. In a meeting last week I referenced building a cheering section and later that day after publishing an angry piece about women being collateral damage, Dr. Katrin Hohl reached out to me with one of the kindest messages I have ever received about sharing the burden and taking breaks from trying to save the world.
I’ve heard a million platitudes about not being able to help anyone else if I don’t take care of myself; I am sick to the back teeth of the analogy about putting on your oxygen mask first. And my instinct is always to dive in for someone more in need despite drowning a bit myself. I am working on it, working on what I would do for my best friend and doing it for myself rather than letting myself get so burnt out that I can’t do any of it or that I get desensitised to the violence and women we lose every week.
I started last weekend angry, a bit defeated and very unclear on what my next steps were. I joked that there could easily be a ChatGPT of me because the main things I say constantly and on repeat are that male violence against women lies with men and that the institutional abuses of power in the police should not be shielded by a badge that they do not deserve to carry. My dad had asked me what winning this fight looked like and I was at a loss for words. Because I don’t know. I know the end goal of eliminating violence against women and girls isn’t going to happen in my lifetime. But what can I point to to say, see we did that. I am leaving the world safer for the girls being born today, hopefully. I don’t know if I will save any lives, what I do know is that the conversations have changed. Women are having conversations about our sexual assaults and abuse at the dinner table rather than at four am. Men are asking more questions and calling out bad behaviour without women asking. But there is also the rising incel movement and the amount of influence Andrew Tate has makes my efforts tiny in comparison.
Some weeks I feel like the last two years have moved the dial, and then something shitty happens that makes me question everything. I was running on the canal at 7:50 am, I was harassed by one man and his friend either flashed me or just had his penis in his hand and was urinating. I couldn’t find the security that is usually on Hawley Wharf. I was angry but scared to confront them myself, and then didn’t want to be that mad woman on the canal stopping the women running the other way to warn them of possible danger ahead. And then felt guilty for not making a scene and being the Philly kick ass woman that I am inside. It’s one of the few times I wanted to yell, Don’t you know who I am? HOW DARE YOU? I WILL GO PHILLY ON YOUR ASS. I stand up to bullies like you, but I didn’t say or do any of that. I went home freaked out and got into bed. I felt like a fraud because I didn’t confront them on the spot, but I know it could have been dangerous to do so.
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