This blog was originally posted on November 6. 2017. You can read the original comments here.
Trigger warning: this post describes sexual abuse
Last week while responding to a comment on my blog, I suddenly remembered a series of incidents in which men I did not know exposed themselves to me in public places. The first time occurred at a park around dusk during an outing with a group of girls. I was about 11, I may have wandered away from the group, or I may have been with others. What I remember is seeing a man with his pants down sitting on a park bench, possibly the first time I ever saw an adult man’s penis. I told or we told, but the man was not reported by the adults. Fast forward to the beautiful gardens of the Palace Schoenbrunn in Vienna where I was confronted by a penis while lost in thought when I was 19. I ran, but said nothing. In my 20s at the early showing of movies in New York City men would sit next to me and jerk off into paper bags. I learned to move whenever a man was near me in the theater, but I never told the ticket seller. A few years later, I crossed paths with a man who had his penis out on my favorite walk in the hills of Alum Rock Park in San Jose. I never walked carefree in that park again. When I was looking for the cave of the Furies on the Acropolis Hill in Athens, a man followed me waving his penis. I told the guard, but when the police came, he was gone. I arrived home in distress. My boyfriend said I was over-reacting. I learned to stay clear of men in cars on the streets of Athens at night after seeing things I did not want to see more than once in their hands. I coded this behavior as part of the background of my life. There was a man who from the basement apartment a few doors up from the Cycladic Museum pressed his erect penis against the window. I told the guard at the museum who said, “We have called the police more than once, but he always cries, and they let him go.” On a trail I had walked many times with my dogs near Lafionas in Lesbos, coming around a bend, I encountered a young farmer, who as soon as he saw me, pulled out his penis and urinated against a fence. That was the last time I walked the trail. We are supposed to learn to consider this behavior as well, if not normal, anyway, not such a big deal. After all, I wasn’t hurt, or was I?
When I started to think about whether or not I was a #MeToo, I did not even remember these incidents. It took another woman speaking about her experience at the opera to jog my memory.
Recently a friend of mine told me that she had come to a deeper understanding of the impact of early childhood sexual abuse in her life. This woman is one of several friends who suffers from chronic insomnia. As someone who usually falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, I have often wondered what it must be like not to be able to sleep and to go through your days in a fog induced by not getting enough sleep. My friend told me that she had realized that a single incident of childhood sexual abuse was the source of her lifelong inability to sleep. A SINGLE INCIDENT OF CHILDHOOD SEXUAL ABUSE WAS THE SOURCE OF HER LIFELONG INABILITY TO SLEEP!
But most of us get over these things, don’t we? I suspect that in most cases we do not, even if we think we have. They remain engraved in our bodies, telling us: you cannot walk freely in the world. Oh yes, I sleep at night. But I never looked for the cave of the Furies on the Acropolis hill again. And I stopped walking in nature with my dogs. If I think about it rationally, being forced to watch a man take out his penis in order to pee in front of me does not seem like sufficient reason to stop walking alone with my dogs.
But it was.
And I doubt that I even know how other instances of being confronted with penises I did not want to see has affected my being, the way I am in my body, my life.
BIO: Carol P. Christ (1945-2021) was an internationally known feminist and ecofeminist writer, activist, and educator. Her work continues through her non-profit foundation, the Ariadne Institute for the Study of Myth and Ritual.
“In Goddess religion death is not feared, but is understood to be a part of life, followed by birth and renewal.” — Carol P. Christ
2 thoughts on “Carol P. Christ’s Legacy: Please Keep It in Your Pants by Carol P. Christ”
Seeing penises is so ‘normalized’ that I think we have a tendency to discount these experiences. I know I never considered them to be part of my sexual abuse history –
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The first time a man exposed himself to me was on a dark night after a rehearsal (I was active in College Theater) during my freshman year. It was dark, and at first I had no idea what I was not quite seeing. When I figured it out, I ran away. The next day, I told some friends, and after rehearsal the next night, one of the actors walked me home. I was very lucky to have good friends. YES, THEY SHOULD KEEP IT IN THEIR PANTS. And they should keep it zipped up!
Carol, wherever you are, we still miss you. Bright blessings! Thanks again for your wisdom and your good work.
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