T
his past Saturday, I stood in the
campus Diag and saw countless
signs for the Women’s March
in Ann Arbor. Some of them were witty
and creative, others were more direct
and serious. But there was one sign in
particular that stood out. Reading it
made me re-evaluate how I see myself
as a woman. The sign, simply put in
black and white, read: Treat yourself
the way you would treat your daughter.
I had to go over this message in my mind
because, no, I don’t have a daughter, and
I couldn’t wrap my mind around the
meaning.
Most signs were direct messages
or questions, many revolving around
women’s empowerment, LGBTQ rights,
racism and President Donald Trump’s
misogyny. So, it was odd to see a sign
that provoked so many questions and
made me reflect on how I respect
myself. I felt like it made an assumption
that I do not treat myself with the
respect I would and should give to my
hypothetical daughter.
At first I was confused and somewhat
insulted, but after much consideration,
this message rightfully began to make
sense.
Far too often, there are times when
I verbally beat myself up. Whether it
be my body, my actions, my regrets
or my relationships, I am consistently
blaming myself for not believing in
my full potential. And, no, this is
not how all women treat themselves,
but unfortunately I’ve noticed that
I and the women around me share
this notion (the Women’s March and
movement is changing this norm —
thank god).
So I actually asked myself: “How
would I treat my daughter?”
Clearly, I would treat her with
unconditional love: tell her she is
beautiful the way she is, to never let
anyone bully her, to fight for what she
believes in, to wear what she wants, to
say what she wants — the list would go
on.
I immediately thought of my past,
the regrets and painful moments
scattered in my mind like a swarm of
bees. Memories of being bullied, of all
the apologies I should not have been
sorry for, of all the times I gave up, of
all the times I devoted so much to guys
who treated me like shit, of all the times
I cried because I didn’t like the way I
looked, and, most painfully, the time I
was sexually assaulted.
My assault happened my first term
freshman year. Looking back, it feels
so fast, so odd and so fuzzy — I did
everything to block it out of my head.
Anyone who has been assaulted might
still feel those hands unbuttoning their
jeans, can still smell the breath of the
attacker, can still feel the surface they
were being pushed up against, can
hear the sound of pushing the attacker,
the monster, off of them. It breaks my
heart to know that that is not always
the case.
The most mentally grotesque part
of my story could be that, for an hour
after, I thought it might actually have
been my fault. If that were my daughter,
I wouldn’t even let her finish that
sentence.
I would hold her tight and tell her,
“don’t you ever think that way.” I would
tell her this is not OK and it will never
be OK. I would tell her to report this and
to have her voice be heard in marches,
like the one this weekend — standing in
front of a sea of people who understand
what she has been through.
I would teach her and all my children
that being a woman, in any and all
aspects, is not something to beat
yourself up about. It is not something to
apologize for. Being a woman does not
mean being inferior.
After sharing my story with friends,
they, too, shared stories similar to my
own. The fact that I can find this much
common ground within my community
of friends surprises me. This is what
boils my blood.
And then the sign comes back into
focus. I don’t want to just tell my friends
“I’m so sorry” and “I understand.” I
want to tell them, “Treat yourself the
way you would treat your daughter.” I
want them to take care of themselves
the way they would take care of their
daughters. And yes, maybe it’s not
that simple in some cases, but maybe
this is an opportunity to change our
perspective on how we see ourselves as
women.
If I could see that woman who held
that sign again, I would thank her
for opening my mind to a new kind
of confidence and self-care. The next
time I judge my body, apologize for
something unnecessary or doubt my
potential, I will remind myself of those
nine simple, but groundbreaking words.
Treat yourself the way you would treat
your daughter.
2B
Managaing Editor:
Lara Moehlman
Deputy Editors:
Yoshiko Iwai
Brian Kuang
Design Editor:
Katie Spak
Photo Editor:
Claire Abdo
Editor in Chief:
Emma Kinery
Managing Editor:
Rebecca Lerner
Copy Editors:
Danielle Jackson
Taylor Grandinetti
THE STATEMENT: MICHIGA N IN COLOR
Wednesay, Janurary 25th, 2017 // The Statement
Little Things: Treat Yourself the Way You Would Treat Your Daughter
B Y E R I K A S H E V C H E K , D A I LY A R T S W R I T E R
ILLUSTRATION BY CLAIRE ABDO
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | NOVEMBER 16, 2016