How I Became a Feminist…The first time

As a cis-woman in her early 40s, I thought that my gender would be relatively insignificant by this age. That I would be free from the daily confrontation with sexism. A naïve assumption I suppose, but also somewhat logical given that structured gender oppression (sexism) is most recognized at the individual level. Things like…cat calls, sexual harassment, constant comments on one’s appearance, being viewed as weak, emotional, fragile, pretty; coercion into sexual acts, sexual domination, physical assault, sexual assault, and the constant “on guard-ness” that any of the above will happen. Like most girls, I recognized from a very early age that being a “girl” was significant, in negative ways. The gender script was very limited and very binary. This was the late 80s remember. My political awakening, however, recognizing that my gendered experience was not unique and that gender benefited certain bodies over other bodies, did not fully come until age 21.

After I graduated from college I moved to Washington D.C. to start my ambitious desires of becoming a clinical psychologist. I had an internship with the A.P.A. and got a job as a research assistant in the epidemiology department at George Washington University Medical Center. Plus I had a waitressing job at night and late, late night partook in the now infamous D.C. 90s Indie rock scene. Oh the energy of youth! My research job entailed preparing final reports and presentations for physicians. I was working on a project for doctors in cardiology for a medical conference. I spent weeks reading through scientific data, writing drafts, final reports, making posters and flyers. It was the day I was going to present my efforts to the doctors. I was ready to wow them with my presentation. I walked into the room with all of my materials. There was four of them, white men. One of the doctors, with whom I had worked closely with, said, “Stephanie. Stop right there. Just stand there for a moment so we can look at you. Have you ever thought of being a model?” Stunned and mortified I mumbled out a timid, “…no?” I tried to regain my composure and I distinctly remember looking towards the exit in case I’d have to run out, quickly. Assault did not follow. I suppose I was “lucky” in that regard, but that was it. What The Fuck?!! Who did they think they were?! Discounting my knowledge! My weeks of effort, sleepless nights, doing their grunt work! Treating me as if I was their secretary! It wasn’t like I had had a pristine life up to that point. My short history was full of sexual harassment and even assault. But this was the first time that I experienced how my work and my intellect would be viewed first as that of a woman’s, and hence, less important than my appearance. Further, since what these men were reacting to was my youthful physique, I thought that with age it would eventually go away. 

But it didn’t and it doesn’t. That is part ll.