July 30, 2020•307 words
When the facts change, I change my mind.
Some time ago, a friend - well, I don't know if she'd call me a friend, but I'd definitely say that she was one of the kindest and most intelligent people I knew, or know - wrote a book, and I didn't think much of it.
It was about sexual assault, why it's so rarely reported, and what happens because of systems of invisible - or at least, not openly comprehended or spoken of - bias. No, let's call it what it is, sexism. As an attempt to preserve some anonymity, that's about all I'll say about it, but the story was harrowing.
It's crazy that this happened, but it's crazier that it still happens. I know that there's not much that I can do about this, personally. But I think I can try to do what I can.
I can call out inappropriate behaviour when I see it - whether or not someone else sees me do so.
I can make sure that I treat everyone with respect and act with integrity - and hopefully, by doing so, help create a space where people can confide in me.
I've had setbacks in both of these areas in the past. I think that's okay. I don't think I can forgive myself - not because I like living with guilt, but because I think it's a bit meaningless to do so - and I think that's fine, because the guilt, and to some extent, the shame (which, yes, misses the point of the book somewhat but), it reminds me that I need to do better.
I need to be better than I have been in the past.
I need to - and have tried to - be okay with being wrong sometimes, and to be able to admit it.