May 28, 2022

Confessions of Misogyny

5/22. Eight years later I need to edit this, but nothing has changed f fundamentally. After my longest attempt to work with a women therapist, I realize I do much better with a male therapist.  She seems to be turning nto my mother. My four daughters would assure you that I am one of the worst misogynists they know. Having 5 younger brother was the most formative experience of my life. Until I became a mother at age 28, I would always join the circle of men, never the circle of women. I was positive the conversation would be more stimulating. I despise women's fashion magazines and all the talk of diets, hair, shoes, and makeup. Being forced to watch Sex and the City would be cruel and unusual punishment.

Spending a year in a Catholic girls college in Rochester was an alienating experience. My dad, my brothers, and I  were sarcastic and no one seemed to realize I didn't  mean it. One night my friends and I stayed up all night, discussing politics, sex, religion, life, death, etc. The rumor rapidly spread that we were gossiping about everyone on the floor. Learning from the college dean that "there was something in the nature of a woman that unsuits her for intellectual debate with men" elicited my jail break to being the only girl in the political science classes at Fordham. I talked them into admitting me as a sophmore the year they first admitted women as freshman. I was the first woman the Jesuits had taught.

I dropped out of Columbia Law School before I suffered permanent brain damage. Working in the female-dominated fields of public librarianship and social work was not a wise decision. I never can accept "that is the way it is" and "you can't do anything about it." I was perceived as a trouble maker. Being open about my manic depression doomed me.  When I am upset, I defend myself by getting more ascerbic and intellectual.  As my brothers 18 years younger observed, "you need crying lessons." But crying was tolerated in my home. I perceive that men enjoy gutsy women who giggle, smile, tease, humorously insult, and debate them  lots more than women do. I never flirt. I am alwalys the big sister.  Until last year, I have always gone to male shrinks.

My most successful social work job was working with a great group of seriously mentally ill guys who were absolutely trapped in the system. Some had been in jail; most had substance abuse problems. I never was so appreciated by a group of people in my whole life. They were  wonderful to hang out with. I excel at eliciting the sanity in crazy people and the craziness in apparently sane people. Undoubtedly I would have been better off working in a jail.

I also did extremely well with male gay clients. One told me I must have been a gay male in a previous lifetime I understand him so well. Another paid me the greatest compliment I got as a shrink: he said I was his only experience of unconditional love. We had a strong therapeutic relationship. Until I treated him, an Irishmen from an utterly abusive family, I never realized how Irish I was.

I have never been hassled on the street by a guy in my entire life. I do have a promiscuous smile. I am perfectly comfortable being the only women in a subway car full of men. African American men and immigrants tend to find older, curvier women attractive, which is lovely fun. In the early days of women's lib, women whined incessantly about street hassles. I wondered if I was the ugliest woman in the entire women's liberation movement. I often have long conversations with homeless men. One street person teased me that I was warm, friendly, approachable, happy to talk, sometimes generous depending upon whether I had exceeded my day's handout limit. " But I know you would turn me to stone if I messed with you." I've never had to attempt it. I project a big sister vibe.


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