Can a Woman Hate Me Like a Man?

Misogyny is romantic.

It is the pillars we placed upon the platform of loving relationships. There has not been a time when women were seen as the ground necessary for others to stand. Pretty, decorative towers that hold up no ceiling, are stuck atop a cement floor that prevents straying. Stopping these untethered minds from being swept away in unpredictable fancies and hysterias. To be approached, pursued, and taken is an honor which a woman must remain grateful. Someone has seen past your inability to successfully function independently- or not- and chosen to take you despite it. How thankful we must be. How humbling to realize it is unlikely any other would offer you the same kindness- pity, even.

Though I wanted to talk about this, my intentions quickly grew muddier and muddier. I couldn’t place my finger on what I was trying to learn- or for my catharsis, share.

​When it is political, it is clear. It is statistics and legislation, it is poor representation at the round table and ridiculous denial rhetoric. When misogyny is intimate, it is a flurry of indecipherable nuances. Despite the unspoken nature, it continues to be a fundamental definition of how we love, and how we are loved. The intention was to compare and contrast, I suppose. To hear the experience of another woman subjected to the same themes of hatred, to compare the typical perpetrator with the atypical. The impenetrable confusion we endured by a partner's hands put us side by side. It wasn’t long before I realized the confusion was mine alone. It makes sense a man inhabits what he is taught to inhabit. She had no reason to be confused.

Misogyny in lesbian versus heterosexual relationships. Outloud, the word lesbian sounds harsh. There is neither melody nor rhythm between the four words. It is a bad sentence, phonetically. In fruition, it was no better. With the camera on and a kind friend sharing her experience, none of it made sense anymore. The topic that led to a swell of unexplainable feelings was suddenly incoherent. What did that mean? Lesbian misogyny? The entire notion seemed ridiculous. It did not encompass what I had meant it to. Women are littered with the effects of misogynistic socialization, the internal struggle of letting go of the expectation to be with a man, etc, etc, etc. This falls in line with the wretched sounding four words. What I was furiously trying to understand, however, did not. The conversation felt off topic. The problem was how perfectly so it was.

Was it possible that a woman could hate another woman in the same fashion as a man? That she could be the blueprint for toxic masculinity despite her undeniable feminine identity? Was it possible to experience a hyperbolic, irreconcilable disrespect for being a woman by another woman? I needed to know that it was either possible or impossible. I was riding the fine line between being insane or a victim- though maybe being a victim is what makes you insane. I experienced this, or I experienced nothing. This, alone, is a recipe for madness- and hearing the actions of a typical misogynistic ex-boyfriend was anything but alleviating. Listening to the recollection of low blows and questionable actions made my experience sound like a textbook chapter full of buzzwords and amplifications. How could this be when she was the one dating the textbook? The scenarios should have been switched. I began to feel like a caricature. She went home, and I spent an hour stuck in a dream full of insurmountable grief. It ripped into my guts and spilled into the bloodstream. It was unenjoyable. No topic encapsulated the confusion of having a woman, especially one who claims to love you, despise you for your womanhood.

“Ew, it’s gross you have a period.”
​“But you have one?”
“It's different.”
Okay.
“I hope you get more feminine.”
I tried.
“It doesn't matter how you dress, you have a masculine face,” and “It's the way you move.”
Alright.
Most odd, “It's weird that you're gay. It's weird to date a gay girl. I don’t like it.”

I used to laugh. Recently, however, it hasn't felt funny. With each day, I become more confused. There is no hurt, but a jarring sense of disorientation. I assumed that I would escape misogyny at the hands of a partner- maybe not all, but at least the particular parts I found. A lesbian naivety. It is natural to expect a sense of solidarity- of understanding, when you are with someone who has suffered the same socialization which aims to diminish you. A society that has made the experience of womanhood synonymous with inferiority. To find resentment in the place of empathy is incomprehensible.

It did not help to hear the unspoken undertones of this disease in my friend's heterosexual relationship- but it did help to hear her say, “He would never intentionally be misogynistic.” In that, lies the core difference. She was intentional. She hated women, and she hated me for being a woman, intentionally. There were no wires to be crossed or misunderstandings to be had, she enunciated every word and clarified each sentence. She ensured I was aware that to be a woman was to be inferior. Sex was not for women to enjoy, their career was to be the labor of domestic chores, their clothes to be per their partner’s wants. They must accept infidelity without question, they must exist as nothing but an object of pleasure. These were not insinuated, they were continuously claimed. The severe upfront nature gave me whiplash, and in some twisted way the admittance made the words less real. She hated me because we were fundamentally the same. She hated me for being a part of her. Her misogynistic actions were not a side-effect of the subconscious. She was not confused by her hatred, and that has left me nothing but. Nuance made sense, this did not. A man spitting such vile hate made sense- a woman did not.

The experience helped justify the argument that misogyny is a result of socialization. It is not born from the physical renderings of a man or she would not inhabit it so easily. She could not create it, she could only perpetuate it- yet she remains a carbon copy of hating womanhood. She hated that she was gay, she hated that she was a woman- there are so many pathologizations for this behavior, but none of them matter. It does not untangle the web of her effects. It does not make sense of the irrationality that is her existence. The memories live inside me as overlapping explanations and unexpected reactions. I now know that it was never about comparing relationships. It was about confirming that this detestation, which I thought could only exist in men, could exist in women, too. The answer is yes, and no. The projections look the same but the roots are different. Men hate women for being women. She hates women because she is a woman who has been hated by men. I recognize the humanity behind the hatred. I cannot comprehend the use of beating down women as a coping mechanism. I felt the effects of a stereotypically aggressive male’s misogyny by the hand of his victim, rather than his own. To reconcile whether or not I should be so deeply affected, to contemplate if the hate is less pure because it is a side-effect of the greater problem- this unravels me. Is it fair to be hurt if her behavior is a consequence of the same perversions? By denying an understanding of women by a woman, she has effectively severed my connection to being a woman who understands women.

​I no longer feel safe from gender-based romantic hatred because of my sexuality, as naive as that sense of safety was. That is for the best. Even better, my intention behind wanting to discuss the topic of misogyny in lesbian versus heterosexual relationships is slightly less muddy. With that being said, I am less satisfied now than I was to begin with.

​Here is my realistic ending to what I once believed was an unrealistic situation.

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