I’m astounded by all the kind emails, tweets, Tumblr notes, and Facebook messages sent my way. Thanks, guys. Indeed, as many of y’all have noted, the comments to my Salon piece are mighty scary. But I’m surprisingly unfazed by them … even though I think I would have been pretty bothered just a year ago. Maybe this means that I’ve sort of begun to make peace with the past.
Writing that essay took a great deal of emotional energy. What got printed looks absolutely nothing like the initial draft, which was far more feminist-y and deconstruct-y, but not at all what a personal essay should look like. It was not, in other words, actually about me. My editor (the awesome Sarah Hepola) told me after I turned in the first version the following:
Instead of talking about it in academic terms, instead of using the words “society” or “dichotomy,” I want you to put it in personal terms, tell me what *you’re* scared of.
And I thought, fuck, what the hell am I supposed to do now? I’ve never had to do a rewrite of a personal essay before. I’ve had to do this for various reported articles, but never for anything first-person. I don’t think that’s because I’m such an awesome writer, but rather because I have an intuition for what is needed for a story to feel complete. There’s an element of honesty to personal writing that is totally unrelated to the quality of the writing itself, if that makes sense, and good editors can tell when it’s missing. I haven’t done personal writing in years (which is probably why it’s been so damn hard to get my memoir proposal off the ground), and I knew when I turned in that first draft that I was holding back something. I guess I sort of hoped that no one would call me on my bullshit. That I wouldn’t actually have to be honest after all and instead could hide behind intellectual arguments that I knew to be true. True or not, nothing exists solely in the abstract. What do double standards actually look like in real life? What does a so-called “slut” look like? And how does said slut deal with harassment?
Not by hiding behind textbooks, that’s for sure. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past couple years. I write about sex, sure, but not about my own experiences. I write about reproductive access, healthcare, abortion, contraception, all things I’m passionate about. But what I really, really want to do is not possible anymore. At least not online. And this is an explanation of why.
A lot of the commenters over at Salon seem to think that I was either faking my naivety in not expecting consequences for writing about sex (which, okay, you don’t have to believe me, but if you’re not going to take my word for it, then there’s no point in engaging in a discussion at all) or that I am merely whining because there are people who judge me. I’ve heard this before. I’ve been told at various points in my blogging career that I’m essentially “asking for it” by sharing personal details about my life. And when it was just me and a laptop and random insults about my sure-to-be-single-and-lonely future, I took the criticism mostly in stride. Sure, no one likes being made fun of, but it’s something that I learned to live with and ignore. And I don’t expect everyone to agree with all my opinions! That’s why I have a comments section, after all. (And by the way, I don’t even moderate it unless someone says something truly horrifying and racist or attacks another commenter.)
But that’s not all that happened to me. It’s not just about hurt feelings; it’s about the fact that there were and still are people absolutely obsessed with ruining my life for no reason other than the fact that they couldn’t stand to see someone — especially an Asian woman! — fuck and write about fucking without being punished for it. It’s not “whining” or naivety to express shock and dismay at my family and friends being outed on the Internet. A few questions:
- Was I suppose to just take it in stride that random pervs found out where my little sister went to high school and speculated about whether she, too, would become a “whore”? An anonymous asshole emailed her last fall asking her that. Don’t tell me that’s normal criticism.
- What about the manufactured “scandal” that Internet vigilantes began in hopes of getting my boyfriend kicked out of his Ph.D program? They decided to email the entire sociology faculty list. I was a junior at the time in the same department. Do you have any idea how incredibly difficult it is to force yourself to graduate when your professors have all read about how you’re supposedly being “raped” on a regular basis? That is not criticism.
- Is trying to get me fired also normal? In 2009, when I was working for an education non-profit during my time off from Harvard, someone wrote a fake article about how my employer was so embarrassed to have hired a “porn blogger”. There were made-up quotes from “company reps”. They disseminated it online, not realizing that I actually told my boss about my blog during my initial interview. (He emailed me the article and totally had my back. It was one of the most touching things I’ve ever experienced from an employer, no joke.)
And last but not least, as recently as this spring, my readers — that is, the folks leaving comments here and “liking” my posts — were being outed and falsely accused of being reprimanded by their educational institutions and fired by their employers. Not for writing about sex themselves but for reading about it on my blog. I have at least 50 emails sitting in my inbox from people who are completely freaked out about how their names and emails and various affiliations were discovered and printed on the Internet and I have no answers for them beyond, “Folks are fucked up! I’m so sorry!” I haven’t blogged anything intimate about my relationship since 2008. It’s been THREE YEARS. I stopped sex blogging because of this shit, but that’s not good enough! They want me to stop writing altogether, I suppose, because they are not only STILL going at it, but they are intent on turning as many people into collateral damage as possible. I now write about feminist dating etiquette for god’s sake! This would ALMOST be funny, ALMOST, but if you think about it a little harder, it’s mostly just weird and scary. Because think about it: my various stalkers through the years have spent inordinate amounts of time tracking down individuals who know me personally or follow my writing, and then they try to ruin their reputations. They obsess about Lena Chen even more frequently than Lena Chen herself. (And trust me, that is hard to top.) I mentioned all of this in the Salon piece, but I guess it’s really easy to just skip over those parts. ‘Cause then I wouldn’t be a whiny slut anymore. I’d be a woman concerned for her personal safety and the well-being of her loved ones. That’s slightly more complex-sounding and harder to stereotype.
I’ve written about all of this before, and to be frank, I was and am afraid of writing about it again. Sometimes, readers ask, “Why do you pay so much attention to this stuff?” Answer: because it astounds me! Doesn’t it astound you? I can deal with people calling me names on the Internet. But what I have never been prepared for? The twisted, sadistic attacks on people I care about and on people I don’t even know (like my readers). I guess my stalkers thought that if they couldn’t hurt me anymore, they’d just start aiming for the closest targets. And that was something I never once anticipated. Each and every single time it happened (and the attacks became progressively worse over the years), I was deeply surprised. I didn’t even know that people were capable of this kind of malice. This is not criticism. This is not disapproval. This isn’t even bullying. This is harassment and intimidation. How does one get over the fact that this is the consequence of writing about sex? That another human being who doesn’t even know you in real life can hate you this deeply?
That’s the reason I stopped SexAndTheIvy.com. Because I didn’t have any recourse or protection (legal or otherwise) and I was sick of being constantly afraid for myself and those around me. So I adjusted accordingly and made myself as non-controversial as possible in order to not attract this type of attention anymore. And even that didn’t drive them all away. The haters won. If you were expecting a happy ending to this entry, I’m afraid there isn’t one. I wake up everyday hoping they haven’t decided to target someone new. When I turned in the second, more honest draft of my essay to Sarah, I was scared, not just of the reactions from readers but of the potential backlash. Because I know the second I start to feel safe, the moment I start to believe that I’m flying under the radar, that’s when it’ll happen again. This is what slut-shaming looks like. It’s not just a slur, a curse word, something uttered and forgotten. It’s about breaking your faith in humankind. It’s about reminding you of the depths of people’s malevolence. It’s about instilling fear so that even if you have a voice, you shut yourself right up because you know what happens when you use it. And at some point, you become so paranoid and terrified that they don’t even need to police you anymore because you start to police yourself.