I’ve never raped a woman / I’m not as bad as Harvey Weinstein / Well, from my glass house… and other excuses men have told me.

I’ve engaged in countless conversations this week about Harvey Weinstein— with men I love, with men I admire, with men who are my champions— about holding other men accountable. Some asked how they could help, how they could be a part of the conversation. Most acknowledged that they were nothing like Harvey.  Their behavior nowhere near as bad. But when asked if they would be willing to hold another man accountable, the most common phrase I heard was, “Well from my glass house…” And what a strange place to stand: acknowledging that that while you might not be rapists, you admit to some questionable behavior, and that makes it impossible for any man to hold another accountable. “From my glass house…” How very convenient. 

It will be too easy for your peers to look themselves in the mirror and say they are not as bad as Harvey Weinstein. That they haven’t raped anyone. Or groped them. Or showed up to their hotel rooms naked. But the amount of #MeToo’s shared on social media last night, make it so that the numbers don’t add up. I was on the phone with my father this past weekend and while the news is our currency, this one was a difficult conversation. We talked about all the public moments in which powerful men were taken down for their sexual harassment— Strauss-Khan in France, Bill O’Reilley, Harvey Weinstein. We talked about their perversion and their need for help. We talked about their undeniably inappropriate behavior. And yet there was a comment made about how women can also be complicit, about how women can also be extortionists.

Yes. This is true. That does happen, sometimes. And who knows what those women were surviving. Who knows. But listen to a woman when she tells you that is not the norm. Truly the exception. It struck me that while my father— an exquisite debater, an intellectual, a man who raised me to be just like him— considered this conversation to be like any other. A debate. Political jargon. Another family stand-off, in which we all become proud of the knowledge held inside our brains. But I took a step. I opened up to my father— my forever champion, my dream— about the fact that this wasn’t that conversation. This was about my experience. My story. About womanhood.

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lessons from my heater

The temperature has finally dropped: when I asked Siri what the weather was this morning, she said “Brrr. It’s 19 degrees in Brooklyn.” You will understand my disappointment when I walked into my apartment from work at 1130PM last night to see snowflakes forming when I spoke. For the last year, I’ve meditated every single morning for 20 mins first thing when I wake up. Anger is not an easy thing to process or feed into anymore. It paralyzes me, it makes me cry. I’ve trained myself to immediately look at the positive when crazy begins to leak. But leak it did. I begin to take out the trash like I’m warming up for my quarterly half-marathon. I keep my entire winter gear on, including my Tims, and when my boyfriend says he’s on his way home, anger comes unleashed.

I hate being cold. In my gratitude journal, there’s a daily entry for my appreciation of heat, warm clothing, and drinks. I was born and raised 300 miles from the Equator and cold feels like someone’s robbing me of my heated foundation; one of the few constitutional rights I had as a Colombian citizen. That’s what being cold feels like. It unleashes a crying monster unlike any Hanger has ever seen. Hanger, as my loved ones will tell you, is another chronic problem that inhabits my body. In short, I hate being cold.

I immediately texted our landlord, letting her know that the heat was still malfunctioning, that it’s the coldest night thus far, and that we need someone who could give a more extensive look. I don’t like this kind of aggression or demand. So I sat down, the anger boiling up to my earlobes, replacing the heater’s inadequacy even for a moment. And I began to cry. What arose in that moment was immeasurably convoluted and deep seeded.

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