My Topless Endeavor

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how important is it that you do this?"

"10," I said without hesitation. (I surprised myself at both my answer and how quickly I arrived at it.)

He immediately looked into my eyes, gave me 'the nod', and declared, "Ok. Let's do this."

We both took a deep breath, stood up, grasped each other's hand, and walked back over to the demonstration.

The #gotopless demonstration in San Francisco in support for gender equality.

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My boyfriend and I sometimes joke around about my many feminist posts on Facebook. He laughingly said one day, "Ok, you're only allowed to post ONE feminist thing per day!" Of course he was kidding. And, of course, I laughed at the irony of his joke. And, of course, I have been posting WAY more than one #amightygirl or #nationalwomenshistorymuseum post per day. Ha! But in all of the reading and learning I've been doing (because I fully read what I post), women's equality has recently come to the forefront of my brain - my heart. Now more than ever.

It's funny, really. I didn't think about women's issues until 2011 when my daughter brought home an assignment from school about the fight for women's rights at the turn of the 19th century. I even blogged about how moved I was yet how little I knew. (Women's Independence...Have We Overcome?) I didn't know that the Suffragettes were beaten and jailed and even died. I didn't know how women with any kind of voice were outcast from society. I didn't know about the Gibson Girl, Bloomers, or how important the bicycle was to women's freedom. And after just now reading that blog I wrote 5 years ago - I am SO glad I participated in the topless demonstration yesterday. Even more so than before.

So, naturally, a few days ago when my boyfriend showed me the Facebook event for #gotopless I was excited that we were going to be in San Fran the very day of the event! And on a non-work day! And we happened to be staying right across the street from the venue! It couldn't have been more convenient! I had 2 entire days to think and ponder and daydream and plan. The event flooded my every thought! What was I going to say to the world? What words did I want to display on my bare chest? What message did I want to send to my friends and family. But mostly, I wanted my daughter to be proud of me. I wanted to feel proud of myself. And, oh, how I wanted to feel free. Finally.

But, oh, it was so hard.

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When we first arrived at Union Square park there were no demonstrators in sight. We walked around the park expecting to see a huge crowd, people on loudspeakers, the masses cheering with colorful signs and posters and reverie! (Well, at least that's what I had expected.) But no. The park was empty. Just a few people milling around as people do in city parks on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Then, just as we were about to leave, I noticed a small crowd of what appeared to be the #gotopless folks on the outside corner perimeter of the park. I was both elated and disappointed. I was soooo happy that people showed up and I was sad that it was only a brave few. But! There they were! Bare chested! I motioned to my boyfriend, "my tribe is over there!" So, towards them we walked.

When we got to the demonstration, we saw a small crowd standing around a smaller group of topless men and women. There were a few men from the crowd interviewing the demonstrators, taking pictures and asking questions. I stood behind the inquisitive crowd and squeezed my boyfriend's hand. I was terrified. I wasn't ready to take a stand. I wasn't ready to bare my breasts to the staring crowd. I was not ready to potentially get in trouble with the police (even though I did the research and found that it was legal for women to be topless at Union Square park). I just wasn't ready to take my stand.

I was terrified.

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You see, I grew up in a VERY conservative culture in a small South Texas town. It was ingrained in me to be modest. Don't attract the wrong attention by showing your figure. Cover up. Be a proper lady. Be subservient to the men in our family. Girls back home didn't even go swimming without wearing an over-sized t shirt over their swimsuits. And as a teenager, when my body matured, I felt more and more afraid to show it. Especially because I have large breasts. Always have. (Yep. I went from a training bra to a full C cup in the 7th grade.) And as a young teenager, I was thin, barely over 4 ft tall and my big boobs were noticeable, so I dressed very conservatively, making sure I hid my breasts and body as best I could. In fact, I distinctly remember running into a very popular boy in my high school at the grocery store on a Saturday morning. I remember getting dressed in a hurry because my mom needed me to pick up just 1 thing. It was early. It was a weekend. Surely I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. So I threw on an old pair of shorts that were very short because I had outgrown them. But they were all I had clean! And sure enough... As I saw him, I remember trying to duck around the corner. I didn't look his way, and instead did an about face to walk in the opposite direction. My mother's words ringing in my ears, "always fix yourself up when you go out in public because you never know who you are going to run into." In other words, look like a lady. Of course, he saw me. And then my teenage nightmare came true. He caught up with me and said, "Damn, Dori! You look gooooood! I never knew you had legs much less such nice ones!" (Ironically, that same boy asked me at our ten year HS reunion if I had always had these boobs.)

I was mortified.

I felt humiliated. Ashamed. I felt so uncomfortable that a boy had not only noticed my legs, but in a catcall sort of way, commented on them. I felt dirty because I had attracted sexual attention and that meant I was the problem. My body was the problem. And when I went to college, the catcalls got worse. I even got fired from my first job because I declined to go out with my manager. (Of course he called me into the office a week later, gave me a form to sign saying I had resigned, and handed me a nice recommendation letter. I'm guessing corporate did  not like his reasons for why he fired me.) Those years in college, I got groped in a crowded hallway, had a car follow me when I was walking home with a guy hanging out of the window yelling grossly sexual remarks, and even had my roommate's boyfriend tell me he thought I was slutty because I was heading out for a study date at 11pm. At my second college job I had to ask my supervisor to shut down a chat room conversation two guys were having about how it must be to have sex with me. This was a chat room the entire office used regularly and bosses could see. I was mortified. My boss stopped their unprovoked conversation, but I felt outcast for some time because, yes, I complained and stopped their fun. I was being "too sensitive."

And worse, I was date raped. Twice. (Yep, I said no. To both men. Both times. Emphatically to the point of screaming and crying. But my NO did not mean NO to them.)

So shortly after that, I gained weight. And a lot of it. In less than a year I put on 100 pounds on my 98 lb, 4'11" frame. And I think part of why I put on so much weight was because the catcalling stopped with every pound I put on. Men were no longer taking an interest in my body. I felt more comfortable in a bigger body. Invisible. Getting crappy remarks from my teenage female second cousin about fat being gross was way better than the sexual advances I received when I was thin. I did end up losing most of the weight my junior year in college and kept it off until I had my daughter. And I am overweight now. But now, at 44, I have never felt more beautiful and proud of my body. It has taken several years, and oh, yes. I still get catcalled. But I don't blame myself anymore. I don't feel like my body is indecent or immoral just in its mere form.

It also affects me at work.

I am a software consultant. I work in mostly male dominated industry. So I have to make CERTAIN that I hide my boobs to ensure I am taken seriously. I wear super high necklines, nothing too fitted, jackets, scarves, anything to make sure my boobs are not known. But it sometimes doesn't seem to help. Just last week a manager told me the conference table was for dancing, "so get on up there!" Yep. I was the only woman in the room. Yep, I was shocked. Yep, I told him, "I thought the table was for you to get up and dance on!" The look of shock on his face was sort of funny to me. But I was livid. I did nothing to provoke his comment...and yet, I did nothing to address it either. I couldn't. He is my client. And I like getting a paycheck. I've also been patted on the back with sympathy because, "honey, this is data and it's hard to understand." Yeah. I am a data analyst, so I know data. I was also asked a few months ago if I was going to take notes (at an all male meeting) for everyone - as a secretary would. I said no, thank you, I can take my own notes since this meeting was called by ME so the vendor to explain their data mining strategies to me, the quality assurance data consultant.

So, I REALLY felt I had to participate with the other #gotopless folk. It was my mission to stand up and be seen and heard.

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After watching the demonstrators for a few minutes, I told my boyfriend I was not ready to join. He suggested we go take a rest under a nearby tree. We sat down, and I shared with him what this demonstration means to me. How challenging it is to be taken seriously as a woman for our brains despite our bodies. How I want a better world for my 19 year old daughter who is embarking on a male dominated career herself. He, as he always does, tried empathizing with me and all women. It was a great talk. And then he asked me on a scale of one to ten, how important is this to me. And then that's when I immediately answered with a resolute "TEN." And that's when we walked back over to join the demonstration. 

When we got back to the crowd we noticed it had grown. Both the audience and participants. We stood there for a moment, then moved our way front and center. I don't remember looking anyone in the eye, not even my boyfriend. But I do remember saying, "it is time." I put my purse down, took off my cardigan...and then my shirt. 

I was topless. 

My boyfriend looked at me with those eyes which asked me without words, "are you ok?" I smiled at him, pulled out my phone, and asked him to take a picture of me. That was my way of answering him back, "hell yes." 

I was free. 

Soon afterwards he took off his shirt. Moments later, I asked a wonderful gentleman who was also shirtless and who seemed to be the #gotopless house artist, if he wouldn't mind letting me have some paint. He offered to paint words on me and so I asked him to add the words, "FREEDOM" to my bare chest. 

Freedom. 

My boyfriend also asked for paint. He asked the nice gentleman to paint 'EquaLove" on his chest. And, yes, that meant the world to me. My boyfriend not only supported me without hesitation, but joined me as a feminist himself. I've never known what that sort of unfettered and wholehearted support felt like...and it is incredible. 

We stayed for a short while and talked with a couple demonstrators. We heard that earlier the police asked them to move because the group appeared to be blocking the stairway therefore blocking the disabled from entering the park. Thankfully, the demonstrator in the wheelchair pointed out that disabled folk wouldn't be using the stairs but rather the ramp around the corner...they weren't blocking accessibility and thus infringing on the ADA. We stood for pictures from the audience. We took selfies. We even waved to a tour bus which passed by with tourists who seemed to suddenly jump out of their seats in cheer.

And then, when I felt fulfilled, I turned to my boyfriend and said, "I'm good." 

With that, he smiled, brushed my cheek with a kiss, and reached to help me with my shirt. I gave him his. And together we got our shirts on and left Union Square park. Hand in hand. With a new understanding for each other. 

And a heightened resolve for me.

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Freedom. 

Freedom to have the same rights as anyone else despite my breasts. So, yes, that absolutely includes going topless because men can...and women cannot.

Freedom to be seen equal under the Constitution regardless of sex. This means having the Equal Rights Amendment ratified...because today, we don't have one.

Freedom of being judged, minimized, sexualized, victimized because of our gender and bodies.

Freedom from the notion that we cannot possibly be taken seriously in our careers because of our breasts. And yes, this includes EQUAL pay.

Freedom on a larger scale for so many women suffering around the world in ways I cannot even fathom.

Freedom for my daughter. I never gave much thought to all of the things that happened to me as a young woman. In my mind, it was just the way of the world. However, now that my daughter is in college and about go out into the world herself, I do not EVER want any of those things happen to her. Ever. I don't want her to think the way I have for so long about my career: that I have to be twice as good at my job so the men in my field think I'm at least half as good. I want her to have all of the very best this life has to offer her. I never want her to feel inferior or feel the need to be ashamed or apologize for being a woman. I want her path to be free and clear so that she can soar to the great heights she so much deserves. And the world deserves her in her true form - intelligent, bold, brave, compassionate, free, and hungry for a full life.

So I did the only thing I could on that day. A day near which marked the anniversary of Women's Equality Day. Removing my shirt was was my way of taking a stand for all women. I know it was a tiny gesture compared to the great work others are doing, but for me it was huge.

I feel like, in a way, I just started living my life.

And damn, I feel free. I no longer feel like "Just a Girl."

Hell, life isn't worth living if you don't do things that scare the shit out of you, right?