Let me start by saying this is really fresh, y’all, so I’m not sure I’m going to do the best job of writing about this topic right now.
Nonetheless, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. This most recent encounter just hammered home for me the fact that an awful lot of people, including my fellow queers, are making a giant mistake in how we approach the all-powerful topic of consent in our personal relationships. Namely, the mistake we are making is to treat this topic as though it is all powerful. We act like boundaries and consent are simple, one-size-fits-all strategies that apply equally and equitably to every situation, when really….
Well, let’s take a look at what I’m talking about.
I moved into a communal house. A pretty boy-queer with a pretty-boy face hit on me. Only problem? Pretty-boy had a girlfriend, who I met right away.
Naturally, being an ethical sort, I am not the type to hook up with pretty-boy types with partners. Especially not with cute, peppy partners who are so close to living together that they have freaking keys to the house already.
So I accepted pretty-boy’s flirting, but set the line there. And to be honest, dear reader, I was damned uncomfortable with pretty-boy’s intense stares, his tendency to ignore basic social boundaries around emotional contact, his clear discomfort around boundaries, and his pretty clear intent to seduce me into his ‘harem’. It was obvious that every other female housemate hung on his every word, allowed far more physical contact than I was comfortable accepting from a guy I was not sleeping with, and generally treated him like a partner-in-process. The whole thing just squicked me out.
Fast forward three weeks, and I found myself having dinner with pretty-boy alone. We somehow went from ‘let me tell you a bit about myself and my trauma’ to him singing Lionel Ritchie to me while making food for us…and then the whole thing spiraled out of control. When I didn’t reciprocate, he pouted and grew resentful, an attitude which did not lift the rest of the night. Later, his girlfriend came over, and I suddenly found myself in precisely the situation I did not want to be in.
That situation was not alleviated the next night when I walked into my kitchen to find pretty-boy post-coital with yet another girl. Oops. Turns out pretty-boy was polyamorous all along…a detail he inexplicably “forgot” to mention to me, perhaps in order to maintain control, perhaps out of a vaguely self-destructive pattern I’d begun to perceive in him.
Whatever the reason, I “nope-d” right on out of there and spent that night in a hotel. I just. Could. Not.
When I sent a series of poorly thought out texts to pretty-boy attempting to explain myself and my perspective on this matter to pretty-boy, he responded as follows: you have violated my boundaries. Do not contact me again.
This is where things really get crazy.
Pretty-boy then began to avoid me, which is fine….except that pretty-boy’s avoidance does not preclude acting like a jealous git the moment I brought another lover over to the house, of course. In fact, not one week after I did that, I was summarily ejected from that house for reasons never articulated.
This is the problem with boundaries and consent, is what I started off trying to say. But what I really want to say is, this is the problem with power. This is the problem with emotions and power, with consent and power, with boundaries and power.
This is the problem with teaching boys to articulate their boundaries without teaching boys to first articulate their emotions. This boy who is not really a boy at all, who is in fact a 29-year-old man, physically ran from me the morning after I slept with another man. He ran. In sandals. At 6 AM. When he returned, he claimed he had simply decided to “go for a run.”
In sandals. At 6 AM. As one does.
I’m not saying that feelings are easy, or that boundaries are not hard. I’m not saying that people should be forced to talk about things we are not ready to talk about. What I am saying is that if I move in to a house where other people live, and one of those other people is in a committed relationship, I should be able to operate within that house without being hit on by that person. Period.
I should not be played Lionel Ritchie songs. I should not be sung to by that person. I should not be cooked food “just for us” because it is that person’s “love language.” I should not be played sexy Latin music. When I do not respond to that person’s overtures, they should not say something stupid and petty and vaguely gaslighting, like “I’m making a songlist for my sister, what do you think of these music choices?” Who does that?
I’m saying that when a person does all those things, and then I attempt to have a conversation with them about those things that they have done, they do not have a right to hide behind the word “boundaries” to avoid having a conversation with me. I’m saying that the actions we do that impact other people continue to exist whether we like it or not. I’m suggesting that the things we do in the shadows go on existing, whatever we think about it.
The things we do in the shadows don’t vanish in the daylight. Maybe this guy expected that because I’m fat or disabled, I would keep my mouth shut. Maybe he was ashamed by his attraction to me and he thought he could convince me to be ashamed, too, if he tried hard enough. Perhaps he thought if he used the term “boundaries,” he could then communicate that shame.
I am scared by the idea that there are men out there, queer or straight, who are using the term “boundaries” to silence women. I am scared that there are men who are hitting on women in violent and degrading ways, or even simply in thoughtless and underhanded ways, who don’t want this getting out. I’m scared that they assume we will collude with them in silencing ourselves.
I absolutely overshared with this person, of course. I was triggered, as a former rape survivor, as someone who had just shared intimate details of my life as a survivor and not ten minutes later was being hit on in my own house. I was triggered as someone on a sublease, being hit on by a white man who’d lived in that house for years, someone I knew was keeping secrets from me. We all know when we’re truly safe, versus when someone is going out of their way to try to convince us we are safe because they know how much danger we are in. My gut knew I was in danger from them, even if my mind did not.
This person was disciplining me out of speaking up about my own story. I thought I had real feelings for them, in the way of a survivor encountering a man who sings “think of me as your soldier” to someone who has just shared with him that she was once brutalized. I forgive myself for such a crazy thought. I was being manipulated by a master manipulator. I didn’t know.
Even the word “boundaries” can be employed in the service of manipulation.
Perhaps that’s all I hope to leave you with here today.
Don’t fall for it, when it happens.
Consent means nothing when one person hopes to use the framing of the idea to manipulate the other out of her power, agency, sovereignty, or self-respect.
Don’t let them win, my dear. Stand your ground. Hold your head up. Don’t let something as important as boundaries become one more game for narcissists or sociopaths to play at the expense of well-meaning and open-hearted people who understand consent, sure, but also understand the concept of equity in relationships and sexual encounters.
Don’t let them win.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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“I should not be played Lionel Ritchie songs. I should not be sung to by that person. I should not be cooked food […]. I should not be played sexy Latin music. When I do not respond to that person’s overtures, they should not say something stupid and petty and vaguely gaslighting […]” So many expectations. So little communication. You did respond to the overtures! You kept listening to their choice of music. You kept listening to their serenading. You kept eating their food. You continued the conversation. You stayed. Why did you never say “No”? Why didn’t you change… Read more »