Nothing Much Has Changed
Getting out of inertia and into utopia
I’ve been filled with emotions lately. Like whack-a-mole, I find myself punching down tears nearly daily and at the most unexpected moments. I’m well past menopause, so why the drama from someone who is famously stoic? When I dig deeper, I can see I am raging on the inside while (barely) maintaining a calm demeanor on the outside. This duality stems from an opposing dynamic I have dealt with my entire adult life, but is coming at me full-force as I lean into my third act: I am angry at and hurt by a system that I have richly benefited from.
Unlike my mother, at 18 I was free to get a prescription for birth control. I never expected a woman’s right to health care to be taken away. Unlike my grandmother, I’ve been able to vote in every election since I became an adult. I didn’t think it was possible to dismantle voters’ rights. Throughout my career, I have felt the unspoken dismissiveness some men have for women. It never stopped me from trying. But it was unfathomable that a handful of men would be able to regulate what opportunities were available to me.
What really boils my blood is my own self-deceit. That moment I realize nothing much has changed. When I wake up and see that the progress I thought we had made was just a deep fake. I’ve never had the same rights or opportunities. Women have never been equal, especially women of color. Everyone was just being polite. Or some shit.
Who am I to rage? I made a career in the tech world and rose to senior leadership positions, climbing the shorter career ladder as far as it went. I have a retirement plan. In my leadership roles, I did what I could to advocate for other women and people of color. I don’t recall ever saying “there’s nothing I can do about that.” I knew it was my responsibility to be a decent person, no matter what was going on around me. Luckily, I never had to wade too deep into the muck. I could be an ally without ever having to pay a price for it. When you live and work in a segregated culture, you can feel pretty good about how well you would have treated the people of color who might have worked for you.
I am no stranger to denial. It’s a veil that obscures the reality behind it. I could live in a world that felt safe and secure, as long as I didn’t ask too many questions. I was “happily” married to a man who was a serial philanderer. I worked for men who praised my work to my face, and never fully advocated for me behind closed doors. In the ocean of white people at the company meetings, it was always such a relief to see the 2 or 3 people of color who were happy, productive members of the team. Boy, we did a good thing hiring them, didn’t we? And we didn’t even have to lower the bar.
There is a relief that comes with being in denial. When something doesn’t feel right, denial provides the comforting belief that “this is not mine. I have no part in this.” But denial is a lie, and the relief is not a release. It is just a burial of the truth.
I wonder about all those people who were within circles of Epstein, even in the outer concentric ripples. Probably many of them didn’t indulge in sexual abuse. They probably looked the other way or decided not to be curious about what was actually going on. But I wonder how they could be in those circles with people who behave like that and never say a word, never ask about it, never stand up for those women? How could anyone within those circles claim deniability?
"I might not be able to trample the patriarchy. But I can build a community that leaves it behind."
But in truth, I am one of them. I might be in a very distant wave, but I watched when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. I have not yet traveled to Washington D.C. to protest the attacks on my transgender relatives and friends. My heart aches, but inertia keeps me at home.
Perhaps #MeToo, Black Lives Matter, and the COVID-19 lockdown marked the “point of no return” at the end of my life’s second act. All the pleasantries went to shit. Men got away with murder, and women lost their careers. The whole structure malfunctioned. The truth about the patriarchy came out and something deep in me snapped.
It felt like a loss of innocence. For many people of color, it exposed the brutal reality they dealt with every day. The laws may be different, but people of color still face discrimination and the threat of violence daily.
That must be what those daily flirtations with tears are about. I saw who’s behind the veil, and it broke my heart. I wanted it to be a beautiful, powerful woman: Michele Obama or Helen Mirren. But instead, it was a rich, white dude who preys on those with less power than him. He surrounds himself with others who believe their own stories about why they deserve to be on top, why no one else could achieve what they have done.
Thinking about that makes my head explode. I want to punch holes in walls. I want to trample the patriarchy.
There is only one thing in the world that keeps me from going insane: I escape.
I have a group of girlfriends I get together with once a year for a long weekend. We rent a house on a river and leave all family members and obligations behind. It is a time when we can just exist, just relax, just be. Life is a lot. It comes at you every day. There are roles and expectations. This weekend away with my best friends is the connection to a community where there are no roles and no expectations. It is a level of existence that I cherish for the rest of the 360 days until we meet again. For four days, we feed ourselves, but we don’t cook. We are tidy, but we don’t clean up. We amuse ourselves, but we are not there to entertain each other. In short, we are responsible for only ourselves, and we support and care for each other the entire time. We swim in the river, tell stories by the fire. It is a utopia.
But, just as meditation is easy in a room without distractions, not performing for someone else’s expectations is easy when no one expects anything from me.
And then I go home. The anger is still there, the threat of tears just under the surface. So is the will to lean into my third act.
For this final act, I want to live in a community where I am free to be me, where I can support and be supported by the people around me. A place where mutual respect and respect for our environment are the forces that help us thrive. I will be my own boss and run a business that promotes products made by other women-owned businesses in the community. Together, we will create a virtuous cycle where everyone benefits. Except Amazon. They won’t be in on it.
I might not be able to trample the patriarchy. But I can build a community that leaves it behind.
Renee is the co-founder of Here I Am Self-Care, which she started right after the pandemic. She lovingly curates gift boxes for women who need a little care. Every purchase supports a community of women building their own businesses. Available at hereiambox.com