so amidst my human exhaustion limits,
I've been watching a lot of korean dramas.
it's been more than fascinating,
looking at these pretty faces,
and wondering what they would have been like minus surgeries.
and when I'm not doing that,
I'm reading about plastic surgery in korea and the social norm it has become,
liken to be just an ipl or a trip to your local beautician.
except to me, it looks like it hurts, a lot.
is it really just insecurity? does it stem from inside out or outside in?
i've been asked before, if i were to get plastic surgery,
where would i choose to do it on.
in honesty, im realistic enough to know that people can't all be gorgeous,
im not ugly, im not gorgeous either,
and that's enough for me.
yes, we all have our own insecurities about the way we look,
but is that really reason to look like someone you're not?

you know,
it's been months and everyone expects you to be ok.
and you expect yourself to be ok.
but the reality is, im not ok.

and when i say,
i want to stab him so many times so that my pain goes away,
i mean it.
i want him to disappear and i have no sympathy.
no, it doesnt mean i will actually do it,
because my ability to reason outweighs my impulsive delusions.

but i know im scarred for life.
because you're fucked up.
you've screwed me up.
and you just walk away unscathed.

i dont know how many times i have to tell myself
that there's always something positive that will come out of it,
just so i can get up in the morning and have to pretend that i dont want to stab you.
you dont understand.

from: http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/context-and-variation/2012/01/30/from-the-field-hazed-tells-her-story-of-harassment/

you're not alone.

When I began to experience sexual harassment as a graduate student, I felt I was being hazed. As one of few female students in a male-dominated field, I assumed my professor wanted to see how tough I was.  I must say, I rose to the challenge.  I laughed off his and other male students’ sexualized banter and came back with insults of my own in an attempt to fit in.  I was a young, enthusiastic researcher and I wanted to be accepted. I interacted with my professor and male colleagues informally, not realizing how badly it could backfire. As time passed I became a target, rather than a participant in the joking.

In moments of discomfort, I kept my feelings to myself.  At our research site in a foreign country, my professor and the male students often made lewd comments about the local women.  One day early in my training, my professor took us on a tour of a rural town.  We came across a friendly young pregnant woman and her husband.  My professor chatted with the couple in their language then turned to me. In English, he commented approvingly upon the woman’s breasts.  Her husband realized what he was saying and ordered his wife to cover up.  The young woman quickly drew her shawl across her chest, eyes cast to the ground. My professor seemed unconcerned about the humiliation he caused them. I was put off by his lack of respect, but I said nothing.  The incident has nagged at me for years.

My professor often joked that only pretty women were allowed to work for him, which led me to wonder if my intellect and skills had ever mattered. He asked very personal questions about my romantic life, often in the presence of the male students. His inappropriate behavior was a model for them, making it not only acceptable, but the norm. My body and my sexuality were openly discussed by my professor and the male students. Comments ensued about the large size of my breasts and there was speculation about my sexual history. There were jokes about selling me as a prostitute on the local market. Once I mentioned that I admired a senior female scientist and they began describing scenarios in which she and I would have sex. Pornographic photos appeared daily in my private workspace. What started out as seemingly harmless joking spiraled out of control. I felt marginalized and under attack, and my work performance suffered as a result.

Often, I was left with a pile of work at night while my professor and his male students went out to bars.  They enjoyed the attention of local women, who were attracted to their wealth and prestige as foreigners. Many of my co-workers engaged in affairs with local women. On the other hand, I received unwanted attention if I went out unaccompanied. Local men would follow me down the street, making catcalls, sometimes groping me.  Foreign women were often treated that way.  Because of this, I became increasingly reliant on the men I worked with, though I felt nearly as unsafe at work as I did in the streets.

By the time the harassment got out of control, it was too late for me to back out. I had spent too many years immersed in the research to walk away and start over.  So I modified my own behavior, hoping things might change. I dressed as modestly as possible to avoid drawing attention to my body, but the sexual comments continued. I tried dating one of the male students, thinking that if I had a boyfriend I would be protected. But the romance fizzled, leaving me more vulnerable to humiliation than before. I also tried working twice as hard as everyone else, but my professor never noticed.

I finally confronted my professor, out of desperation rather than courage. It didn’t go very well. He told me that I was oversensitive and that I kept talking like that he’d fire me. And for many reasons, mainly shattered self-esteem, I stayed. The most blatant sexual jokes and comments stopped.  My professor curbed his comments out of fear of the consequences. But our relationship deteriorated so much after that conversation that he eventually revoked his promise to fund me through graduate school.

In the early days of my research I knew nothing of academic life. I didn’t realize that many research projects are run like pyramid schemes, with rigid status hierarchies, ruthless competition, the exploitation of students and objectification of women.  I realized too late the extent of the strings attached to the funding my professor had promised. My education was compromised for no reason other than my femaleness.

When a professor makes the commitment to mentor a student, the student’s professional future is in their hands. This should never be taken lightly, and in the case of male professors and female students, it is crucial to maintain ethical boundaries. Women students at foreign research sites are particularly disempowered, being far from family and other support networks. This is the kind of setting in which the power imbalance between student and professor can be exploited.

I have read about sexual harassment lawsuits underway at Yale University.  Some of the stories are eerily similar to mine. We start with a young, enthusiastic, intelligent woman.  A male professor takes an intellectual interest in her, takes her under his wing, gives her a job and training.  When the inappropriate comments start, she feels uncomfortable, but says nothing. She feels indebted to the professor, and he has promised to guide her to a successful career.  She becomes deeply engaged in and committed to the research, but the professor continues to pester and demean her.  She feels increasingly insecure, and she must decide whether to confront her harasser or leave the research she loves. She has to pay a price, simply for being a woman.

Someone always asks, “Why didn’t she just leave?” Well, she might not leave because she is funded, and there aren’t many other opportunities. She may be too committed to the research.  She could be years into a graduate program, and changing professors would slow her progress to graduation substantially.  Potential new professors will want to know why she left, and it will be difficult to answer.  Others in her field will think she is an unreliable scholar for switching horses midstream. Her professor may refuse to give her a recommendation, limiting her options. She knows her life and her choices will become subject to public scrutiny. She knows that some would say that she was “asking for it.”  Finally, she knows that there is a lot to be lost from standing up to an abusive professor.

What can we do about this? Individual responsibility is fundamental, and many women do set boundaries and investigate potential graduate programs for any history of sexual harassment.  I wish I had thought of that. But it is not enough to place all responsibility on the would-be victims.  Women students deserve to have the same learning options that male students do. In this day and age women should not have to forego certain educational opportunities out of fear of being demoralized, harassed or abused. Universities must hold their professors accountable for their actions.  There must be a safe place for women to present their concerns about harassment without having to risk their futures. I also believe that professors with a record of harassment should be ineligible for research funding until they demonstrate a commitment to professional conduct.

I managed to graduate and have a great job doing research I love, but I bet a lot of women in these situations don’t.  Fortunately I have discovered a community of brilliant, outspoken and supportive female scientists.  If I’d had role models like them as a graduate student, things would have been very different.

To the women who have had experiences similar to mine, I hope you are healing, and I hope you consider sharing your story. And to any women who are currently in such a situation, you are not alone. Don’t be afraid to reach out for support.  As I’ve learned the hard way, women in academia really need to look out for each other.

it's taken me awhile to put the pieces together,
to want to try and write it out.
it's almost as though im now forced to face what's in front of me.
and it's not an easy road.

not because i've done anything wrong,
not because i've slowed down,
but because someone has decided to make a decision,
to actively screw up my life.

i don't understand how anyone can choose to do something,
so selfish, and so unbelievably inappropriate.

i've questioned myself for a long time,
whether i've just been acting inappropriately,
wondering what it is that i've done wrong,
everyone around me keeps telling me that it's not anything that i've done,
but for this to happen like that,
i cant help but think that I'm almost at fault.

it's been a traumatic few months,
and i know that im still not feeling right.
i cant bear to want to think about going into work,
to face this horrible person who has made my work life so tough.
yes, you.
i cannot imagine having to work with you,
or even having to acknowledge your presence.

it still sends chills down my spine,
thinking about how disgusting this is.
and the end result is that i've got to deal with the consequences.
why? - i often wonder.
why is it that i have to pretend that it's all ok?
it's not. im not ok. and i dont want to pretend that it's ok.

i dont want to work with you.
i dont want to acknowledge that you exist.
i dont want to be in a 1km radius of you.
i dont want to sit in a meeting with you.
i dont want to hear your voice.

and now that i've made the decision to start from scratch,
it means that you,
because of this selfish decision you chose to make,
ive wasted one year out of my very precious time.
it's time i have to make up,
because you're retarded enough to do something so unbelievably unethical.

i move between breakdowns and intense happiness,
as though this bipolarity is almost ok.

the fact is that,
I'm really upset and i do find tears rolling down the sides of my cheeks,
but my heart is also intact.
it's not hurting, it's not feeling empty.
i just feel upset.

i have to keep reminding myself,
that this person is not meant for me.
there were tell tale signs from the beginning,
and it's time to just root it out.
there's no point hanging on,
because it just gets harder and harder.

i keep thinking: is he thinking about me? does he regret it?
but the answers don't actually matter.
we were never deep into anything,
because somewhere down the path,
both of us forgot to try and understand each other.

you've made a decision, miss.
it's time to stick to it.
you know you're fully capable of doing that.
down the track, it's just going to be one of the things,
you weren't quite sure why you got so upset about..

im sitting here,
late at night,
wondering if it's time to let go.

im staring at the stars,
feeling my heart all knotted up,
and im all frustrated trying to figure it out.

we've got differing views on life,
on loved ones.
and im not sure anymore how this can come together.

i havent had a good sleep in weeks,
and it's just killing me inside.

i keep saying,
just one more day.
but i know,
every day just kills me more and more.

im really hurting,
and you just dont know that.
ive let my insecurities run wild,
and now im struggling to hold them back in place.

i wished i could focus,
i wished i could find clarity,
but all i know now,
is that the nightmares have just begun.