I was raised to fear and hate women

I was raised to fear and hate women. 

I read the piece of paper before I said it out loud. 

I was raised to fear and hate women. 

Tears. Shaking. Recognition of truth. 

These weren’t my words, but they might as well have been. They were cut from a book of women speaking about their relationships with women. I drew this piece of paper with these words from a pile of many.

In my family, there was the right kind of woman to be (smart, put-together but not sexy, outdoorsy, able to belch and fart with–– no better than the boys) and the wrong kind (high maintenance, slutty, vapid, caught up in appearances). 

In middle school and then high school, the other girls became competition for the boys’ attention. I wasn’t as caught up in it as some were, but I was very aware of where I stood in relationship to the other girls. The power ascribed to me because of how I looked was compelling. 

In my mid-twenties, in the midst of a personal sexual revolution that involved throwing caution to the wind, following every desire and impulse that entered my skin, and in many ways, being the kind of woman I was raised not to be, I overheard a woman at a New Year’s Eve party talking angrily about “That Woman.” She’d come with a guy and he’d spent the night talking to “That Woman.” The fear and vehemence in her voice surprised me, I pitied her insecurity, and then I realized That Woman was me. 

I wish I could say that I went to her so that we could have a conversation. That I’d asked her why she was angry with me rather than with him. That I’d said that I didn’t know what was going on (I didn’t), that I wasn’t interested in him (I wasn’t). Instead, I felt myself collapse in momentary shame (I’d been too sexy, it was my fault) and then swell with power. Her insecurity and fear meant that I was winning the competition I’d been in with other women since my adolescence.

She and I later became friends and were able to revisit this moment, finding our way to a place of resolution and solidarity. But still, I look back on this moment and cringe. 

In the decade since, while studying systems of domination, scarcity, and competition, I’ve come to understand that this animosity toward women instilled in me is not an accident. It supports the status quo by keeping us separate and suspicious of one another so that we don’t even think to come together and share our stories with one another because we’re too scared and full of judgment. We highlight our differences rather than our commonalities. We compete instead of collaborate.

This is (one of the reasons) why we are the Verdant Collective, with an emphasis on collective. We seek to create a culture that is one of collaboration and cooperation. One where we can sit with one another and recognize the places we’ve adapted to dominant culture and point it out for what it is: not a failing on our parts, but an attempt to fit in to survive. We do this while recognizing and deepening our embedded, entangled belonging, with the human and more-than-human worlds. 

The relationships between women and the way that the culture we are in impacts them is complex terrain. What I’ve written above barely scratches the surface. Barely. I imagine you might feel confusion, disagreement, certainly, more questions than answers. My invitation is to listen to whatever is arising in you and to use it as a starting off point for your own exploration. And, if you want to share anything with us, email info@theverdantcollective.com. We’d love to hear from you.