Ever since I wanted to be a mom, I wished I had a son.
Not for me, for him.
That he would not have to deal with moments I kept in my stomach throughout my life as a woman.
Those that explode in my head today because of the #MeToo protest, which will mark four years tomorrow since its hashtag burst into our lives.
A protest that reconnected the pieces of cases that were first shattered in our hearts, the women, who had been silent and restrained for years.
Until the wedding ring started to serve as a deterrent to other men (having a cop motif, how convenient), sexual harassment has been an integral part of my life since I was a girl.
Most of the time I scoffed at myself for the disconnected, and especially for the disconnected, who claimed in my face or behind my back that I had gained a beauty that brings with it only bonuses.
There are no free gifts, and alongside the benefits inherent in it - and there is, it is true - the external beauty is accompanied by a heavy price of intruders to the private space.
This price includes a constant need to keep boundaries, a matter that no man will ever understand.
Out of place comments, lewd messages after work meetings, and of course the classics - a forced wet kiss or a forceful hug accompanied by friction.
It happened, for the most part, in daylight.
In prestigious and influential work environments, where war at the time was out of the question.
All of these are not an old norm of an older generation, but a sick evil of our generation as well, at least for me.
This is the first time I admit, even in front of myself, that as a young woman there were times when I actually tried to ugly myself outwardly, for the sake of defense. It happened when I had to meet with the same people in a professional setting. For the most part, the harassers were consistent. I always asked (and also blamed a bit) myself, how much these harassments are just because of my appearance. Was it because of him that the harasser decided to shove my tongue into my throat, or to send a foolishly detailed sexual message that does him no honor. Today I understand well - it's not me, it's him. And this is a conduct that our society has a duty to destroy.
When you are sexually harassed at the age of 15, you do not grasp the depth of the event.
When this happens at the age of 25, you are paralyzed and then injured.
A decade later, at the age of 35, something in my gaze is already telling a different story.
Whoever dares to bother me, I will bite his neck.
I went on the attack, and I'm proud of her.
I am proud that with the years and the bitter experience, I have learned to put such people in their place, in private.
I do not believe in field trials, and in such cases their family does not deserve shaming, only they.
On this issue, me and the check are divided.
I did not believe in the protest at the beginning of its path, I admit.
I saw it as a seemingly misogynistic movement that had gone too far.
Not every man is potentially annoying, the overwhelming majority I know and surround myself with today are incredibly respectful and sensitive, but when I come across any of those annoying, I feel a sense of triumph to see them look down.
Today, I know, the credit for deterrence is not just mine.
It mostly belongs to the huge back I got from #MeToo, which made them, and other men with a "norm" of their kind, think twice.
danieller@israelhayom.co.il
