When did you lose your gravity?
For Eden Abigail Trooboff, the loss of gravity happened the first time she felt her body in relation to a man:
…But I was wearing a pink dress with a big V in back and I felt too female to be a child. He danced extravagantly with all three of us, my sister, Anna, and me, maybe just to cross that line which exists in every wedding reception between the adults and the children. I was twelve, flattered and amused to be feeling the silly tingles of flirtation. With him leaning over to put his arm around my back, I felt my body for the first time in relation to a man’s. At the end of the song, he scooped up my legs and twirled me around. With the myopic vision one adopts of childhood memories, I remember everyone turning around to watch this little pink girl get picked up so easily by this charming man. I was unable or unwilling to show my anger at being lifted without being asked. I smiled a little uncontrollably, conscious that any other response would betray the sensitivity that my parents reminded me I had far too much of.
…Gravity is taken from women. My friends have told me slowly of their weightlessness, not saying the R-word they know applies to their loss of themselves. How can I form an allegiance to a group that is victimized? Why would I want to belong? How can I think about my female consciousness when I am forced to feel it every time girl friends get together and talk about mistrust, loss of power, and violence? The process of finding identity becomes emotional rather than intellectual when the loss of control means abuse (“The Gravity of Pink”).
Was there a moment that you felt you lost your gravity? What was the first time you felt vulnerable as a woman?
For me, I think it was relatively late in life, but I think part of that is because of my generation. I was raised to believe that women are just as strong as men, so it never occurred to me to be bothered by a dance with an older man at a wedding. (Either that or I was simply naive…) The moment I’m thinking of is when I was 17, a junior in high school, and one of my male teachers put his hands on my shoulders to sort of rub them. This was the first time I felt afraid of my size, of my gender. I knew, if it came down to it, I probably couldn’t defend myself. Luckily, it never did come down to it. (Shortly after this, complaints were lodged against him – not by me – and he was fired.) But what would I have done if it had?
Do you have a moment like this? Please share! All thoughts and comments are welcome.
I first felt this later in life too, when I was studying abroad my sophomore year of college. I was out pretty late in an unknown area with a male friend trying to navigate our way home. We found ourselves on an empty street and a strange man walking our way. My friend put his hand on my arm and led me across the street. This was the first time I felt I couldn’t protect myself and that I needed a man there. Now, as I look for my first apartment on my own, safety is my number one concern. It’s a much different world alone out there for a woman than it is a man.
I didn’t think she was talking about a group of actual rape victims when I first read the essay, either. I think she is just talking about women who sort of allow themselves to be victimizedby not standing up for themselves or not trying to protect themselves.
My story is actually very similar to Trooboff’s. I was in my aunt’s wedding when I was 11 years old. The wedding was in Denver and I didn’t know anyone there but my immediate family. My aunt kept telling me that all the groomsmen thought I was something like 15, not 11. I’m sure she was exaggerating, but it freaked me out that they were looking at me at all.
One of my aunt’s best guy friends from growing up spent most of the wedding hanging out with our family because he didn’t know anyone out in Colorado either. He danced with me and rather than thinking “ooh, this is fun,” I remember just thinking it was really weird and kind of creepy that he wanted to dance with a middle schooler. I was too old to, like, stand on his shoes, too young to enjoy it. Just felt very out of my skin and uncomfortable with the attention, which I’m sure was only kindly meant.
The wedding was in a hotel and later in the evening the same guy took my brother to the hotel game room. Again, a friendly gesture: my brother was 9 and probably bored to tears. But at first when we couldn’t find him (guy hadn’t told anyone where they were going, which was mistake number one), I was sure he had, like, kidnapped my brother and run off.
It is a scary feeling to feel powerless and out of control. But I will say that that in my mind, this is NOT equivalent, as Trooboff suggests, to “The R-word.” Equating every violation of personal space and comfort to rape is what causes many people to not take rape seriously enough. Is it cool to feel unsafe or out of control? No. But feeling acutely aware of your powerlessness for a moment is NOT the same as being the victim of a violent physical assault, and I think Trooboff does more harm than good in suggesting that the same word applies.
Hm, I’ve re-read the excerpt and it sounds like maybe she is speaking about a group of actual rape victims, in which case I retract my criticism. I couldn’t tell that at first–sounded like she was just sharing these general gravity-loss stories with general women–and so her eagerness to use that word really bothered me.