Access Denied

​Public: open to or shared by all the people of an area or country. (Oxford English Dictionary)

We seem to be having a severe language issue in the United States. To quote from one of the greatest movies of all time, when I hear the word “public” used in connection with the word “access”, I often find myself thinking:

I do not think that word means what you think it means” – (Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride)

You see, when I think of the word “public”, images of libraries and city parks comes to mind. Museums like the Smithsonians in DC. Picnics at national lakes. Education being available through schools in the community.

All of these are PLACES that as a citizen of the United States of America I get (mostly) free and (fairly) unrestricted access to. Nowhere in this imagery do I see…

My BODY.

Yet somehow somehow society at large has accepted the false assumption that the nameless faceless “THEY” have the RIGHT to access my BODY. Others are making decisions that attempt to disempower my autonomy over my physical self.

​It’s as though THEY want to separate the essence of me as a human, from the physical me that shows up in the world. Of course I have inalienable human rights. But apparently THEY can say what my physical body is allowed to do or not. Or what I should think is normal for OTHERs to do to it.

The root of the problem starts not with the lawmakers governing this country, however, but with our culture as a whole.

An Education in what it means to be a woman

When I was a little girl, I was inundated with images of of women who wore sexy beautiful dresses, effortlessly created dinner, and tended to babies. I was told to dream of the perfect wedding in a white poufy dress, and the idyllic honeymoon on a turquoise water, soft sanded beach.

But that’s where the narrative seemed, well, to end. 

What happened to these wives and mothers after the supposed “best day of their lives” occurred? Did they just wait at in stasis for the children to return from school and the husbands to come home? What about their dreams, hopes, talents?

Wasn’t there more to life than being a housewife?

Full disclaimer here: I am NOT throwing shade to my stay-at-home moms, happy homemakers, or those who have CHOSEN a life in which the family IS the mainstay of their being.

I AM highlighting the fact that even today, in 2024, many of us were brought up to think this was the ONLY option we SHOULD pick to prove ourselves as women.

And I’m not that old peeps. So what gives?

When I was a young girl, I was lauded and praised for my smarts. I loved books, science, nature, writing, and the idea of traveling. If anything I was pushed to constantly be better and do better. But there was a dark side to all of this so called encouragement. 

Because the reason for the push was not to highlight my talents so that I could be the best version of myself. It was driven by a FEAR (not mine) that if I didn’t get high enough grades, I wouldn’t get a scholarship to go to a great school.

And that would be detrimental to my future, I was informed. If I didn’t go to a great school, I wouldn’t meet a high earning eligible bachelor. One who would scope me off my prettily clad feet and make me their blushing virginal bride. 

That’s right darlins, your fiercely independent little Tink was brought up being told that college was to get her M-R-S. And it wasn’t just my parents laying the hints that THIS was the real degree.

At my initial university (I attended several), I had two different professors my FIRST week comment on how I should ask LESS questions so I didn’t intimidate the male co-students with my intelligence. 

Yes, you read that correctly.

Both teachers had independently kept me after class NOT to laud me for my interest in the subject, but rather to let me know it was UNATTRACTIVE for a YOUNG GIRL to use her brain.

Even more creepy, each professor commented how ladylike I appeared with my nice style, and natural makeup. But warned that if I let the boys know how smart I was, I might not win their affections. And wasn’t that why I was at school?

It freaked me out. The first teacher I assumed was just a nut job. But after the second instructor had made similar remarks, I wondered if I had stepped into an alternate universe in which women were to be seen and not heard.

I was paying for my higher education all by MYSELF. Because even after getting a scholarship, there was a ton of costs NOT covered. Which meant I was already signed up for work study AND applying to off campus jobs. For those I would have to summon the bravery to ride the bus and navigate a convoluted route. In Los Angeles. A city not known for it’s friendly public transportation. 

It was unnerving. I was completely on my own for the first time in my life. And the people I looked up to, my potential mentors, were telling me to sit quietly and look pretty - not to learn. It was a rude awakening to think that the world viewed me only as an ornamental object instead of as a potentially valuable contributing member of society.

Hadn’t I just escaped a home, which taught those same things?

That night, in one of my first acts of public rebellion to the status quo, I went up to my room and got scissors out of my desk. I took a pair of conservative jeans out of my closet, and cut ragged rock n roll style holes in them. I knocked on the door of one of the guys in the dorm and asked if he had an old tank top. 

The next day I showed up to class in a cut up wife-beater, ripped jeans, and sat my butt in the back of the classroom - on the floor. In a semi-circle in front of me, I piled notes and books. It was as though I was building my first fortress between me, and those who would deny me access to living my potential.

Ladylike my ass. I was here to learn.(*1)

The Dangers of Pickup Culture

I love dating, sex, authentic connections of the romantic variety. 

But I don’t feel the NEED to have a partner.  I enjoy when I do, and welcome having one (or more) again, should the mutually beneficial opportunity arise.

However having a partner, more specifically a man to support me, is NOT a requirement for a my happy journey. Hell it’s not a requirement for me to have a wildly fun Saturday night.

Yet constantly I am questioned by men and women alike when I *GASP* go out for an evening on my own. How is it that a girl who looks like me is out by herself? Did I just breakup with someone? Or am I hoping to meet someone?

It seems like our culture has negated the possibility that perhaps I’m simply enjoying a night on the town. Period. No ulterior motive other than listening to a cool band live, or enjoying where I live.

It’s like people can’t get the concept that a FEMALE might actually go out WITHOUT a chaperone. Yet last I checked, I am, technically, of adult age. And unless I’ve missed the latest in laws meaning to strip me of my rights because I have a pussy, I am still a full fledge citizen of the United States. Which means I don’t need to be accompanied unless I actually want someone with me.

I didn’t have this issue in other countries. Only when I returned to the States after my last trip abroad did I discover this backwards mentality here in my home country. Fortunately, I currently live in a pretty chill, artistic, friendly town that doesn’t blink twice when I appear at events smiling AND on my own. 

But there are definitely some places in the USA where I am the oddity. Of all the cities I lived in, I would say Miami Beach (Florida) and Phoenix (Arizona), were the two worst to be a happily solo flying woman. 

In Miami it was assumed I was a prostitute or escort. As though I couldn’t simply be out dancing or listening to music on my own without an ulterior motive. Yet at least there, once I calmly (and with great amusement) explained I was not a woman for hire, people left me alone. 

In Phoenix however, a whole other picture of what it meant to be a woman in modern culture emerged. The first time I experienced the backwards mentality there was when I went to the local police station because I was being harassed by an “anonymous” threatening caller. And when I blocked the number, this person began to send disgusting messages from a NEW number. And then by creating fake accounts on social media. And making promises to show up to wherever I was.

So I went to the police to file a report. I had a fairly good idea of who it was by the words used in the messages. (Not a former lover, but rather someone who I had once considered a dear platonic friend. I suspect mental illness to be the cause of his behavior, but it doesn’t excuse it.) I wanted to make the officers aware, and to file a preliminary report, in case I did end up having to call 911. 

However not only was I not let past the lobby of the station to file a report, but the officer on duty, an older man, told me I should be “flattered by the attention” and as a “pretty petite woman” it only made sense for a man to go “harmlessly crazy” over me. He even laughed.

He said I should expect that kind of treatment but not to worry. He was sure that I could ask one of my guy friends to stay over if I was nervous. And then he said something that made my skin crawl. “Who knows? Maybe that guy friend will become your boyfriend and you won’t have to worry about this other dude.”

And then he winked and waved me out of the lobby.

I pulled my car over along side the road on my way home and vomited. Twice.

As I wiped my mouth on a tissue, I vowed that no one would EVER make me feel that way again. Small. Helpless. And needing of a protector.

And no, in case you are in doubt, I’m not referring to my harasser making me feel that way. 

With this seeming to be the prevailing attitude in the city, was it any wonder that ANY TIME I went out on my own to listen to live music, I would get hassled? While I generally am flattered when I get approached, I am not so flattered when I say “thank you but I’m just here for the music” and my NO is not respected. Phoenix was a difficult city to vibe in as a woman on her own.(*2)

Rights for all - except if you have a vagina

Those of you who are new here, might think that all of this would turn me off to the male species. But my friends and long-time community know that I I don’t blame all men, for the poor behavior of a few. I’m blessed to have some incredible males in my life. In all types of roles - from soul family to colleagues, from mentors to lovers, from healers to patrons. 

However I do think that the limited parts of my own story which I have revealed here, highlight why we are suddenly seeing a dangerous trend of reversing women’s rights in the United States.

Because if we women are brought up to believe that our sole purpose is for the pleasure of the male gender, and then are told to be flattered by male predators, then it makes sense that laws are now denying us the right to govern our own bodies.

We have created the narrative that women’s physiques are not for our own pleasure, but someone else’s. We have groomed young girls to not think for themselves, but rather to rely on a male protector - as though the world was out to get her. 

If something bad does happen, she is patted on the head and told that it is proof that she can’t take care of herself. Blame the woman, and not the person exhibiting the bad behavior, is what our society seems to preach.

And now with Roe vs Wade being overturned, and the Title X gag Rule of 2019 (*3), women all over the country are being told what they can and cannot do to protect their health. Limiting access to healthcare is like the final chapter in a terrifying Grimm fairy tale in which the monster - society and obviously mentally disturbed lawmakers - lead the “wayward” female protagonist to her demise.

It’s time we change the story to a happier ending. I don’t have a perfect solution other than speak up, vote, and refuse to allow anyone to say we are less than because of gender.

I do hope that by sharing my experiences, someone sees it and has the courage to speak up in defense of their own existence though.

But it can hard when all the messages a women receives tells her she isn’t capable of taking care of herself. So if you need a dose of bravery, I invite you to look in the mirror and say: 

I do not exist on this earth solely for the pleasure of others. 
I do not recognize anyone, other than myself, as having the right to decide what is best for me - mentally, physically, emotionally, or spiritually.

And if you ever have trouble getting anyone to understand that no means no, I give you full permission to use my favorite line. Simply look the person in the eyes and speak very clearly so they cannot possibly misinterpret these words:

My pussy is NOT a place of public accommodation. And I reserve the right to refuse access to anyone and everyone.

And then enjoy your night out.

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Footnotes

*1 I ended up leaving this very conservative school for a number of reasons. But this was the first crack in it’s polished appearance.

*2 I did however enjoy working at the club I danced at during my time in Arizona. My patrons were amazing! And I did not have any difficulties with them respecting boundaries. It was out in a social setting - where no one knew what I did for a living - that I ran into issues.

*3 For more information on Title X see 
www.plannedparenthoodaction.org/issues/health-care-equity/title-x

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