I read Caitlin Flanagan’s profile of Oprah in the December issue of The Atlantic. The whole thing is worth a read, but this passage in particular really rang true to me:
There are certain things about women that men will never understand, in part because they have no interest in understanding them. They will never know how deeply we care about our houses–what a large role they play in our dreams for ourselves, how unhappy their shortcomings make us. Men think they understand the way our physical beauty–or lack of it, or assaults on it from age or extra weight–preys on our minds, but they don’t fully grasp the significance these things have for us. Nor can they understand the way physical comforts or simple luxuries–the fresh towel or the fat new cake of soap–can lift our spirits. And they will never know how much our lives are shaped around the fear of bad men and the harm they can bring us if we’re not careful, if we’re not banded together, if we’re not telling each other what to watch out for, what we’ve learned. We need each other’s counsel, and oftentimes it comes when we’re talking about other things, when we seem not to have much important on our minds at all.
I didn’t have much experience with bad men in my life until very recently, but when it came, it came all at once. Between months of infidelity, even more months of lies and emotional manipulation bordering on abuse, and a grand finale of taking thousands of dollars of money from me, I think I’ve had my share. And I will probably always be on the lookout for bad men, now. It took just one bad man to get me there.
