The Milly Files

Because sometimes I want to type.

[themillyfiles-blog]

Inappropriate Annoyance with Sexual Undertones

I feel like Sexual Harassment is a very harsh term. For many (eh hem, the entire #metoo movement) it is exactly as harsh as it needs to be. But what about for me? Who hasn’t, in technical terms, been touched in a place that warrants a term so heavy. Who hasn’t been inappropriately lured into a situation that requires a word so meaty. Who don’t want to take away from the power of the word by diluting it with my non-’pussy grabbing’ experiences. What term do I use when I don’t want to be met with rolled eyes and assumed over-exaggeration even though my experiences leave me feeling queasy and anxious? 

For me, the situation I am in could be worse. People have had it worse. But I hate it. If I were asked to point to a stuffed bear to show where I was violated, it would look silly. I would be touching the arms, the shoulders, occasionally the neck and once or twice the lower back. I would then be sure to stare at the bears tits every single time that it was in eyes reach. Is this uncomfortable? Extremely. Unwarranted? Absolutely. Unwanted? Yes. Harassment though? I don’t know.

I can tell that sometimes when I share the latest story, people nod and follow along but are thinking it not a big deal. Like the story about how my boss finds it necessary to stand against the back of my chair, hunched over my shoulder so close that I can smell his lunch and touches my neck, or head, or shoulders. And how that makes me feel so queasy I often black out (my assumption is that is “flight”) . They gasp. Nod along. But I can tell they take it with a grain of salt. How do they know I’m not just trying to cash in on this #metoo epidemic, right? Plus other people have had it so much worse-what gives me the right to even label this harassment. 

Honestly, old me would have agreed with them. I would have had the same reaction.  I would instantly assume overreaction, or overreaching. I’d think to myself about how they are making a mountain out of a mole hill.  “You know, it is people like you who throw the word HARRASSMENT around so willy-nilly, that ruin the true stories and water down the movement.” would be crossing my mind and likely be read on my face. 

That was me until I felt it. The disgust, shame and fear that comes along with a boss that tests his boundaries. That consistently “accidently” brushes up against my arms, or my shoulders, my neck and my hips. The feeling that quickly follows where you are helpless because you are afraid to tell him to stop. The decision to not share this story with people for fear they will think you are exaggerating and “harassment” is not a term for you. The paranoia that if you don’t say something, it will get worse and worse leaving you in a situation filled regret. The pre-work anxiety that gets so bad, you don’t sleep. The crazy thoughts that cross your mind about how to get out of the situation without addressing it (pick up and move). And that one time, just once, when you drove by that dump truck on the way to work. And for a split second wondered, “would it hurt?” as you fanaticized about not having to deal with any of it anymore. The job, the nerves, and the fear of starting somewhere new.

I am in a shitty situation that has taught me an important lesson. It isn’t until you are in a position where anytime a man enters a room you tense up so tight you’ve pulled a muscle that you can judge other people’s stories about harassment. Or until you’ve felt the involuntary blackout of your soul in ‘flight’ trying to escape the moment you are trapped in that you can decide if someone's story is real or exaggerated. It was these moments, that opened my eyes to all the times I was naïve to the situation. And this man that made me regret anytime I assumed ‘harassment’ was a term over used. 

[themillyfiles-blog]

I think I have to move.

I often spend my days sitting at a desk, completing menial tasks and wondering how I get to that thing I want. Figuring out how to get there is difficult because I have not even honed in on my bullseye yet. Right now, I am aiming for the dart board. I think I have to move. 

[themillyfiles-blog]

The Anonymous Me.

So, I’m going to be honest right from the get. This isn’t me. But this will probably be the most me I've ever been. 

Being yourself in front of a group of people who know you is difficult. But if I invent a name that means nothing to you, but everything to me, it allows me to have a rare freedom. To say what I want. What I feel. What I think. For real. 

I can tell you a little bit about me, so you can get a visual as you read the words I write. I have short hair, cut like a boy. I would tell you what color it is, but that depends on the season and my mood. I am about 5′ 3″ tall and doctors tell me there is too much meat on my bones for my small frame. I disagree. I have a gym membership and better things to do. 

I am married and live in a big/small town with my husband, dog and cat..for now. I want to move a few states down. I currently work behind a desk answering ringing phones and barked orders from everyone in the building. Someday I will do something else (a few states down). I write from a home office, which is also home to clothes, laundry, unhung photos, and things I’m not ready to throw away. Some may call it clutter, but I call it “inspo”. I have big ideas, but little courage. The word “someday” clouds my vocabulary. 

I am a decent friend and most people like me. I am a homebody with a hearty travel appetite (a tiny home would make this easier). I listen to IHeartRadio stations from a few states down to remind myself that the world is much bigger than the bubble which I reside. I like to read. I love to write. I ask a lot of questions. I’ve been known to cut a rug. And all summer you can find me swinging in a hammock.  Let’s leave it there for now.

You will never know who I am, but if you follow along you will know everything about me. 

[themindmovement]

When you get older, you notice your sheets are dirty. Sometimes, you do something about it. And sometimes, you read the front page of the newspaper and sometimes you floss and sometimes you stop biting your nails and sometimes you meet a friend for lunch. You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn’t satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, 5 years ago. You remember your umbrella, you check up on people to see if they got home, you leave places early to go home and make toast. You stand by the toaster in your underwear and a big t-shirt, wondering if you should just turn in or watch one more hour of television. You laugh at different things. You stop laughing at other things. You think about old loves almost like they are in a museum. The socks, you notice, aren’t organized into pairs and you mentally make a note of it. You cover your mouth when you sneeze, reaching for the box of tissues you bought, contains aloe. When you get older, you try toner, you experiment with trousers, you experiment with real sexy outfits, you experiment with pin curls and darker hair and orange-toned red lipstick and you date people that look good on paper. You kiss them in public and feel only a little self-conscious. You never like them, although sometimes you really do. you think about safe sex and sometimes, kids. You think about plants, maybe succulents, or maybe even a cat? When you get older, you try different shampoos. You find one you like. You try sleeping early and spin class and jogging again. You try a book you almost read but couldn’t finish. You wrap yourself in the blankets of: familiar t-shirts, caffe au lait, dim tv light, texts with old friends or new people you really want to like and love you. You lose contact with friends from college, and only sometimes you think about it. When you do, it feels bad and almost bitter. You lose people, and when other people bring them up, you almost pretend like you know what they are doing. You try to stop touching your face and become invested in things like expensive salads and trying parsnips and saving up for a vacation you really want. You keep a spare pen in a drawer. You look at old pictures of yourself and they feel foreign and misleading. You forget things like: purchasing stamps, buying more butter, putting lotion on your elbows, calling your mother back. You learn things like balance: checkbooks, social life, work life, time to work out and time to enjoy yourself. When you get older, you find things like rejection hurt less and things like nostalgia hurt more. You watch people do things you want to do, and then you do some of those things too. Things start to feel like pins on a map. You watch landmarks pass and almost note them. You eat a taco from a food truck and be careful to dab the corners of your mouth with a napkin. You smooth your shirt down. You think about details, the details of how clean the beer cup is, how you need to put the dishes away, how she smells like a perfume you wore and how his teeth are perfect and aligned. You feel a little less downtrodden by things like routine and security and a little more appreciative of things like doing nothing, finding a friend, stretching on a big couch. You hear old songs and only sometimes do they gut you. You think about your future almost always, in both a thrilling way and a very very panicked way. When you get older, you find yourself more in control. You find your convictions appealing, you find you like your body more, you learn to take things in stride. You begin to crave respect and comfort and adventure, all at the same time. You lay in your bed, fearing death, just like you did.You pull lint off your shirt. You smile less and feel content more. You think about changing and then often, you do. When you get older, you barely notice it at all. Then, you are sitting somewhere you’ve been before, staring at the nothingness of the sky, and you feel the wind moving away from you, fast and almost impossible to catch.

When You Get Older, thefrenemy (via themindmovement)

[themillyfiles-blog]

In today’s world.

Sometimes it is easier to be yourself in secret. Close the door, board up the windows, turn off the lights and let your true colors show.