Dear Mr. Butker,
I paused before crafting this correspondence, for so many reasons. You are, as they say, viral at this very moment. Your commencement speech at Benedictine College has drawn attention like none other than I’m aware of. You have your supporters and those who strongly object to you and your words, and then, everyone who is seemingly in between. Those who can’t figure out how they feel. Those who are the religious sort or who live a more “traditional” life, who appreciate your celebration of certain values, but perhaps struggle with your denouncement of what is ostensibly progress. Those who are silent as they are afraid to speak or don’t wish to participate in such a public conversation. There are those who I can’t begin to categorize because unlike you, I acknowledge that the most beautiful part of humanity is its absolute uniqueness.
I want to rage against your words, your statements, your assumptions, your condemnation. That anger does not serve me though. It will not propel me. I will not be greater for it. I will be diminished by allowing you to spark something in me that shrinks me, instead of growing me. There is passion and inspiration and then, there is the kind of fury that blinds and leads astray.
Instead of criticizing you and those who choose to support you and your rhetoric, I want to tell a story.
I am forty-three and a half years old. I am single. I live in a small, studio apartment in New York. I have an undergraduate degree and two Masters degrees. I work in real estate finance and have done so for the last twenty plus years.
If you had asked me where I would be when I was twenty years old, I would paint a very different picture for you. That image would have likely involved a husband and children and perhaps, a house. I had a vision for myself that was very different from the life I am leading today. I also thought I’d be running an art gallery, but that’s a story for another time.
I dated from age fifteen until, oh, a year or so ago. When I was a younger woman, I found the boys, the men, I engaged with in my social circles, at school or perhaps work. In these modern times we live in, I found myself, as many have, using dating apps. I would love to share that I have fond memories of my dating history, but that would be an untruth. Most of my relationships were fraught.
It was only later in life, after many years of heartache and some years of abuse, and some therapy sprinkled in, that I sorted out all the ways in which I attracted and picked the wrong men for me. I picked men who reduced me, who belittled me, who cheated on me, who harmed me. And me? Well, I made every mistake in the book. I was not innocent, not by a long shot.
Not that it’s really your business, but for the sake of context, I want to explain that I was a relationship person. I was never a serial dater. I settled into the treacherous relationships that I had chosen. I made myself at home. I dreamt of a long future, a big one, with all the trappings we are taught to desire.
The thing is, I never grew bitter or soured on the idea of love or relationships or marriage or family. Never. No matter how I was harmed, no matter how much self-harm I caused, I never gave up. I always thought that my turn would eventually come.
And then, when a five year relationship ended with cheating and abandonment and a quick elopement to someone else (him, not me), and I found myself single, again, in my late 30s, I decided that I might have to consider a different future. Much as I admire women who are single parents and/or later-in-life parents, I knew that I wasn’t made for such paths. I knew that I had to shift.
And in many ways, that shift was the hardest thing I had ever done. Not because our society holds so tightly to antiquated and punitive gender roles, as evidenced by your misogynistic speech, or because my identity existed only in my thoughts of being a wife and a mother, but because I had to reimagine bits and parts of my life.
Mind you, that version of my future was never really crystal clear. Every time a relationship failed, and I had to regroup, the picture became a bit fuzzier. In time, I had difficulty envisioning who I would end up with and how many children I might have and where we might live. The concept became bigger than the actuality. And still, walking away from that concept and wondering what things would look like was scary. Would I end up alone? Would people judge me? Would I be able to maintain friendships given that I was about to embark on a different kind of journey?
I was always proud of my educational and professional accomplishments, despite random bouts of imposter syndrome, but my desire to be a mom and wife had nothing to do with such things. Not in my head, and certainly, not in my heart.
Why?
Well, because I had a mother who worked, and a grandmother and sister who worked and work, and friends who are spectacular wives and mothers and also, excel professionally. I could also do both. I could also have it all. But I couldn’t, or was making a very personal choice based on my age and circumstances.
And the worst part was not the pivot. The worst part was the way I judged myself. The worst part was feeling like a failure. The worst part was endlessly wondering why I couldn’t figure it out when so many others had and have and will.
But eventually, after time and a lot of soul searching and even more hard work, I came to a place of peace and acceptance. I was finally able to appreciate that my life would move in a different direction and that inevitability would only look glorious if I was willing to lean into the uncertainty. And, I did.
I love my life. I have good days and bad, like everyone. I have really good friends and an amazing family and a great job. I support myself (financially and emotionally) and that includes traveling the world, enjoying every bit of culture I can get my hands on, and taking a pause when I need it the most.
And there are days when I really need a pause.
Like the day that I listened to your speech. The day when you condemned and judged women like me. Women who had to shift. Women who have chosen to shift. Also, all the other women, and every other human (like the LGBTQ+ community) who you decided to rip to shreds in your ill-conceived, and frankly, immature rant.
Your privilege is staggering. Your ignorance is telling. Your rigidity is sad. Your myopic view is tiresome.
To save you your tired, age-old toxic masculinity: I am not a bitter old shrew who couldn’t get a man to love me or be with me. I am a hard-working, loyal, loving, woman. I am an incredible employee, daughter, sister, friend, yoga teacher, and plant mama. I have my flaws and issues and I misstep often, but I try. Always. I have seen so much of this beautiful world and I find myself endlessly grateful that it’s so much bigger and bolder and braver than the likes of you.
I do still hope. I still hope for love. I also hope for success. I hope for peace. I hope for friendship. I hope for adventure. I hope for equality. I hope for freedom. I hope for the end of the kind of nonsense you seem intent on propagating.
The truth is that I feel sorry for people like you, Harrison. Not because you’ve chosen the life you have, because unlike you, I respect your choices, but because despite your so-called success, you still have so much hate in your heart.
I am so sorry that despite finding your way to the life you dreamt of, you cannot find it in your heart to do the same for anyone who doesn’t look and think and act and love just like you.
What a small, lonely place to live.
How terrifying.
Anyway, I’ll leave you with this….
The opposite of love is not hate, sir. It’s indifference. At a minimum, perhaps you can find your way there.
The world is so tragically upside down right now, the last thing we need is another hateful human telling the rest of us why we don’t deserve our very own version of happiness.
X
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 