Undoing The Bitch Game
We Don't Have to Make Anyone Anything … Except More Loving
In my last post, I talked about an older gent who’d said to me, “I could see, as you walked here in that dress of yours, that you weren’t wearing a thong.”
I noted at the close of that post,
“What will I say to him the next time I see him? I honestly don’t know. The words, if any, will come like the flow of my dress in the breeze and the feeling of cotton swishing my legs. I owe him nothing. I owe myself the chance to enjoy who I am. As I am.”
That Was Then
Today, I confronted him. “I don’t appreciate what you said to me the last time we talked.”
“Oh,” he said, “That was just a slip.”
“No, it wasn’t. I thought you were a better man than that. Don’t you dare ever say anything like that to any woman, let alone to me. Are we understood?”
I walked away.
Ten minutes later, he approached me with a “Yes, but I have several excellent excuses” apology.
I said, “I don’t ask for an apology but that you treat people decently. How about the next time we talk, I’ll say, ‘Hello, how the heck are you?’ and we’ll leave it at that, all things new?”
All Things New
I didn’t write this or the last post to portray myself as a saint and him as a scoundrel. None of this vindicates anyone. There are no winners in the I’ll Make You My Bitch game.
Just people. With hearts. And wounded hearts wound other hearts.
Until we cease trying to make everyone else “our bitch,” nothing and no one will be made anew.
Bitch Roots
The word, “bitch”, comes from an Indo-European root meaning “queen.”
Notice a slight degradation of the epithet in the intervening centuries? Now, it’s formally the term for a female dog in heat. Informally, it’s a description of what so-called “winners” make of those they perceive as prey.
Picture that. Too many men routinely see as their privilege making one half of the human race their “bitch.” Whether it’s by undressing women with a gaze or words, it’s game that our culture trains men in. His comment about me, to me, was no slip.
In confronting him about his words, I wasn’t trying to “make him my bitch” but saying that I won’t play a game that wrongs both of us.
From the Beginning …
The exact words we said don’t matter. We had to reframe the terms of how we encounter each other, then, now, and in the future.
No games. No bitchiness. No right.
Just room for ourselves, as we are.
… to the End
What will our next conversation be like? I honestly don’t know. He and I can’t erase our last two exchanges. Yet, it’s worth trying.
Not because he owes me anything. Not because I think I owe it him. Let’s take debt out of the picture, say hello, and talk in a way that says, “My heart sees your heart.”
That’s where endings become beginnings.
A girl can hope.
Bethany Beeler writes novels of transformation, love, and self-discovery. To read stories portraying what she says here, go to her Amazon Author Page.