A Comparison

When I was first out of nursing school, I got an apartment. This is what happened.

Please go read it.

I have gotten messages. There have been comments. I even had to ban one person.  Some of you are almost as thin-skinned as Trump.

Read what I wrote. Read about Don. Read about my encounter. I will wait.

What Don did that day was wrong. It was not pleasant for me. The church was disgusting.  (They did me a favor, though, because years later, I still remembered and it helped me depart.)

Men need to understand that Don’s behavior, and even behavior not as direct as that, is unacceptable.

But it wasn’t rape.  It wasn’t even close. I am not a “victim” of “sexual assault.” To imply that it’s in the same category is like saying that soldiers who return from war are all equal with those who died.  Or that those who return whole (in both body and mind) are somehow equal with those who return broken.  Of course we honor and appreciate all of them, but we also know that some of them have experiences far and away more intense than others, not because of anything any of them do, but because of sheer luck (both good and bad).

My husband is a Vietnam-era veteran. He was in the Navy and never saw combat. He would never, in a million years, ever place himself in the same category with his brother who served two deployments to Vietnam. And my brother-in-law (now dead) would never have placed himself in the same category with many of his fellow soldiers who came home pretty much destroyed. He would have been offended by the mere suggestion of that.

To even imply that my encounter with Don is equal in any way to the horror that is rape is just appalling to me.

Don’t do it. Just don’t.

If what I’ve had to say about this offends you so much that you “can’t even come here anymore,” well, all I can say is “it’s been nice.”

I’m turning off the comments on this page because as far as I am concerned, this subject is closed.