Does That Work For You?

Women have had to put up with this bullshit for way too long. ~Sen. Mazie Hirono

Some days I am more wolf than woman, and I am still learning how to stop apologizing for my wild. ~Nikita Gill

Maybe it was the way that she delivered those words – “Does that work for you?” – in the midst of recounting the worst moments of her life that made us feel so connected to her.

Maybe that’s why so many of us cried.

Dr. Ford just needed a break – pretty understandable, considering the circumstances. And so she asked the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, Senator Chuck Grassley, for that break in the most polite, heartbreakingly accommodating manner:

“Does that work for you?” she asked – tentative and graceful and real and imperfect, with that chunk of blonde hair always getting in her way.

“Does that work for you all?”

Many people have remarked on how quintessentially feminine that was. To ask for a break so gently – playing the hostess in your own crucifixion and tending to the feelings of your executioners. Caring and thoughtful even while attacked, trying to help everyone around her even when admittedly terrified and completely out of her element.

But there’s something in the exchange that followed that’s stuck out to me even more – something nobody has focused on because it’s so damn common.

It’s what Grassley said in response.

First just humor me and think for a second – what should he have said? What could he have said? Oh, gosh. There are plenty of options, aren’t there? How about “Yes, ma’am, and what a lovely thing to ask. Thank you for your consideration.” Or just a simple “Sure does, Dr. Ford – we’ll adjourn until ___.”

But guess what he chose to do instead?

He chose to chastise her. Politely, of course.

“We’re here to accommodate you, not the other way around.”

Everyone smiled. A few chuckles. The kind that you know are accompanied with whispers of Oh how nice, now. The Senator ensuring she knows they are trying to accommodate her. Isn’t that kind?

No. No it was not.

In that short sentence, he reminded her that she was out of her element, out of her league, and out of place, and that she was doing it all wrong even though she was trying like hell to do everything right.

(And of course, we know that what he said was complete garbage anyway. They were not there to accommodate her. They were there to assassinate her character. They had already called her “mixed up,” after all. It wasn’t hard to imagine where they were going to go.)

And my, oh my, we women try to do everything right, don’t we? We travel in incredibly tight spaces. There’s no room for missteps; there’s not even much room to breathe. There’s certainly no room for emotion. Especially if you want to be taken seriously.

If women are enraged, then we’re dismissed.

If we’re too accommodating, we’re dismissed.

If we cry, we’re dismissed.

If we’re icy, or clinical, or dry, we’re dismissed.

If we’re loud, we’re dismissed.

If we’re soft-spoken, we’re dismissed.

If we’re young, we’re dismissed.

If we’re old, we’re dismissed.

If we’re beautiful, we’re dismissed.

If we aren’t, we’re dismissed.

So the lesson, the overarching lesson is simply that women are dismissed.

And all the way, we’re apologizing. For not being more accommodating, more understanding, more knowledgeable. Or maybe we’re apologizing for not being more direct, more confident, more assertive.

We’re all apologizing for not being more … perfect – the definition of which varies dramatically depending upon the situation.

It took the Resistance movement for me to fully recognize the psychic impact of tens of millions of lives’ worth of dismissals and apologies.

It’s shaped everything about who we are.

Hasn’t it?

Being in a room of fellow female activists is like being in one big support group – but with good-hearted apologies flying around like four letter words in a bar. Accomplished, interesting, intelligent women using skills and experience in ways that two years ago they’d never have imagined – while skillfully navigating everyone else’s feelings and personal goals, encouraging and validating along the way. Swapping campaign stories over postcard writing – to help ensure friends reach benchmarks they’ve promised they’d reach. Dragging strollers along on door knocks, so that friends can catch up and to make sure fellow moms of young ones don’t feel so damn alone.

We’ve done activism our way. We’ve redefined it while redefining ourselves.

Pink knitted pussy hats. Quilted protest signs. Glitter bombs. Political potlucks with postcards. The Resistance is female – creative, coordinated, and pissed as hell.

Perhaps we’ve all thrown ourselves headlong into this movement – changing our lives, our relationships, our careers, our futures – because we finally saw the impact of our lives’ worth of being overlooked and undervalued on November 8, 2016.

And maybe that’s why Dr. Ford’s tender “Does that work for you?” struck us all so much, too. She was all of us, for that moment. Apologizing for her needs. Wanting to be helpful. Wanting to increase her value. Wanting to be respected. And willing to twist herself up in knots to do all of those things – to no avail.

Because of course Grassley was there to dismissively remind her that she – and we – are doing it wrong. (You know, every time we start to forget how terrible they are, they remind us, don’t they? It’s awful and helpful all at the same time.)

For those of us that are part of a movement that’s powered and fueled by women who have been discounted their entire lives, it’s not particularly surprising that the entire movement has been, too.