<p>Just to respond a little…</p>
<p>Thank heavens, I’m incredibly well-respected for the work that I do. I’ve been in the department for about a year and have rocketed up the ranks (might provoke a little resentment, but the people who would be resentful are the ones who are actively providing the rocket fuel… “We’ve got to get you through management training as soon as possible,” my superior said).</p>
<p>I have no intention of even breathing the word “harassment” unless someone corners and grabs my chest. There’s no way I would go to HR with something like this, water-cooler talk. I’d be branded with a scarlet “H,” I’d torpedo my career. I’ve worked very hard to be thick-skinned, to bounce, to retaliate with humor. Most days, the kidding is overt, and I’m “one of the boys,” and it’s okay. It’s when it turns from kidding or tweaking towards an undercurrent of true misogyny, true distaste for women, that makes my stomach turn sour and makes me feel like I’m going to end up paranoid of my colleagues someday. The situations where this sort of thing happens are subtle, not easily described in a post, but like pornography, even though I can’t define these undercurrents of hostility, I know it when I’m around it.</p>
<p>And that sucks, because it messes with your head. I know it’s there, clear as day what their sentiments are and what they’re doing, but on the surface, as described using words and disregarding gut instincts, it seems fairly innocuous. The individual situations don’t occur in a vacuum, either… Those are just the two most recent situations; I try not to file them away or dwell on them.</p>
<p>Most days, I can handle the crap I’m dealt, and it’s no big deal. Most days, I’m able to shake it off and tell them they’re being jerks when they’re being jerks, and they’ll go back to, for example, giving me crap for being anal retentive about my clean desk, and everything’ll be good.</p>
<p>Some days, though, the true colors come out and really shake me up, in ways that I can’t really articulate. Yesterday was one of those days. It bothers me that I see that I’m starting to wear thin. Some day I’ll get out or I’ll burn out, but I hate that something so stupid and wrong will eventually get the better of me and drive me from what I’m passionate about. As I told my husband, it’s an unsolvable problem, and it demands that some day I’ll have to compromise on my career-- I’ll either have to continue dealing with this sort of thing in the larger firms or I’ll have to give up working on the really fantastic projects.</p>
<p>I guess my point is that this bites. There’s not really a solution.</p>
<p>Don’t think I’m not grateful for this job. I am. I’m overwhelmed by the grace of having gotten this far in my career, of having found a loving husband, of having purchased our first home. I just wish I didn’t feel like I were giving up some irreplaceable essence of myself for the benefit of a paycheck and health insurance, though.</p>