Its not about the joke, its about the impossibility of being a woman.

Even the things that get brushed aside as a joke are the ripple effects of giants shifting just below the surface. I am begging my culture to look at the giant, but it seems like no one can look away from the waves.

***trigger warning: I will be discussing sexual abuse and issues of racism and sexism in this blog post.

Between the Cornell Seven, a joke about women dressing like whores at the gym, and Francis Weller (a prominent leader in the grief tending community) being held accountable for his abuse of power… The ugly underbelly of the patriarchy has never been more visible to me (thank you, Venus retrograde!).

It feels wild to be hosting a grief tending event this weekend while naming that one of the most prominent teachers in the field is being exposed for abuses of power in relationship with women and sex. Another space of vulnerability and depth compromised and fractured by a power dynamic story that we know all too well. It also points to the importance during these times to turn toward and address what is arising in the collective on the topics of sexuality and gender and the way it is affecting our communities. I deeply resonate with the words of Siena Tenisci on this topic. My co-facilitator and I are holding these ethical considerations close and in the forefront in our own leadership roles.

In the midst of digesting multiple sexual harassment cases, it was a joke about women “dressing like whores” at the gym that became my personal tipping point. I think it was the tipping point to a lot of other women and femmes, too. Funny, how something as unfunny and flat as this joke, sparked such a strong reaction in the collective that it yanked the undertones of oppression up to the surface.

The undertones that have shaped how the collective perceives all oppressed peoples, not just women. It was never about the joke. It is the energy behind the joke, which is the same energy that gives dominant culture permission to dehumanize other people. To relentlessly tear them apart because of their appearance. It is about the impossibility of being a woman in this world, and so much more.

She wears baggy sweats to the gym, she is a slob.

She wears a cute skimpy outfit to the gym, she is a whore.

She dresses modestly, she is a prude.

She dresses to express herself, she is destined to be single forever.

She wears makeup, she is catfishing.

She dresses up, she is attention seeking.

She owns her sexuality, she is a “pick me.”

She gets yoked, she is unfeminine.

She is confident and loves herself, she is conceited and full of herself.

She is too fat, too skinny, too strong, too outspoken, too quiet, too… what, human?

Many people (mostly men) across the metaverse are accusing femmes and women of overreacting to a joke. But it was never about the joke. It is about the context. This particular time in history; when we have all simply had enough of the shifting giant under the surface whose waves and ripples look like women walking home with keys between their fingers.

This is not even about men. I have seen women policing other women’s bodies, too. I have seen the ways that women will see another woman as a threat before they will see her as a sister. I have seen the ways that women will attack other women’s character out of jealousy, projection or assumption. I have seen women vilify other women for the sake of men.

I am not naming any of this to throw fuel onto a raging gender war dumpster fire. I am begging humanity to take five minutes to look away from the ripples and into the face of the giant who is causing them.

I could cover every inch of my skin with clothing, or I could run around naked, and I would be vilified for both because I am a woman. Because I am a woman, I will carry the weight of my own abuse and generational trauma simply because it will always somehow come down to “asking for it” while men are excused for it.

Another wave, just like a black man being murdered and then blamed for his own death. Because when it comes to dehumanizing people, it will always somehow come down to them “asking for it” while those in power are excused for it.

A few days after the SNL monologue joke in question was displayed on screens across the world, I made a cheeky response reel, hyperbolizing my joy of going to the gym for the sole purpose of exercising my sluttiness (“SLUT,” for the record, will never be an insult in my eyes).

You know who ACTUALLY couldn’t take a joke? The DOZENS of men who left vile, hateful comments about my body, clothing, and appearance (ironic, right? They missed the snaggletooth though, they were too distracted by my mustache). It is equal parts hilarious (because they are proving my point) and horrifying (because this is what can happen when a woman uses her voice).

Let me be clear: I do not care about what people think of how I look, or what they have to say about my mustache. I am here to educate, make art, create beautiful journeys and intentional spaces for others, and do my best to be vulnerable and open hearted in this mad world. I know and love who I am. No one, not even the most vile people on the internet, could ever take that away from me. This is what I teach.

Let me be clear: I DO care that these sorts of comments appear when women and femmes are brave enough to be who they are and tell the truth. I DO care that women and femmes are constantly battling a looming threat of online, verbal, physical and sexual abuse. I DO care that women who come forward to name their abusers are so often not believed or listened to. I DO care that this is the same dehumanizing, oppressive and aggressive behavior aimed at people of color and indigenous people, too.

I care because the world needs women’s voices to be louder than the slop that seeks to overpower them. I care because the attention keeps turning toward the joke and the man who made it, the abuser and his reputation, and the men screaming in the comment section… instead of toward the women and what they have to say.

I care because I hunger for the truth spoken by women, femmes and queers. I hunger for the truth spoken by women of color and indigenous women. I care because I have lived a life of relative privilege, and know that my experience is just a ripple compared to the waves crashing over other marginalized people who are strong beyond belief for what they have endured. I hunger for their truth.

I wish I could say to my clients, students and participants, “yes, when your embody your full self, and the world will receive you as such.” Instead, I must say this: The natural world and your chosen family will receive you and embrace you in the bigness of who you are. And, it is likely that you will fight upstream against the dominant culture to live your truth. Not always, but when the world needs your truth the most. And it will be the good fight.

Because every time women are HEARD rather than seen as something to fuck or forget, the trajectory of culture shifts by one degree. Every time we genuinely listen to and allow ourselves to be led by black and brown folks, indigenous people, queer folks, and women, culture shifts by one degree.

I know that this is not the end of the story. I know that there are so many ways that women also perpetuate systems of oppression. I know that feminism is a messy thing that is so often steeped in its own flavor of oppression, hypocrisy and white supremacy. I know that there are 1,000 other horrific things happening in this world as I write this that outweigh a badly timed joke.

Yet, I have to name that even the things that get brushed aside as a joke are the ripple effects of giants shifting just below the surface. I am begging you to look at the giant, but it seems like no one can look away from the waves.