Written November 14, 2024.

Women should not be in combat. GASP!

This isn’t actually going to be an essay about that, although I could easily identify about 5 common sense reasons why that is true. But what I do want to use this inflammatory time for, is to share a story.

One that popped into my head as I was chatting with a friend of mine about the controversy of the day.

As we were chatting, a memory flooded back to me from 2015 - which seems to have been a very hot era for me and my immature, entitled feminist ways.

I was in Mykonos, Greece with a good friend of mine, having a classic, let your hair down, drain your bank account, cheat on your boyfriend of 4 years kind of Euro trip. Yes, I’m outing myself pretty big here to really give you some insight into my development back then. I had been in a sexless relationship with a good man for many years and I was 26 years old. There was a LOT under the surface that was waiting to erupt and the fine cocktail of hot weather, Euro vibes, anonymity, hot men and an abundance of alcohol, gave just the right permission for it all to bubble up to be seen.

Bless her.

Which brings us to this hot day in Mykonos, at a very large, very rowdy beach club, filled with every type of person you could imagine. My friend and I walked in and every bit of “pick me” energy in my body flared up. You see, she was the “hot” one. The blonde skinny one that seemed to get the attention of all the men. It was a role she’d held in contrast to me since high school so I was very familiar with that gnawing feeling in my stomach, just hoping I would not be left in the dust in a ring like this. I always seemed to be the regular attractive looking girl in a sea of hot biddies so I adopted a fantastic strategy that once you started talking to me, that fabulous personality of mine would shine. I could draw you in, make you feel special (or not) and battle you in an energetic tug of war that would get you hard as rock. It was a mechanism I used to overcompensate for the little one who just didn’t feel hot enough on the outside, or worthy enough on the inside.

Of course, within not very long, we attracted a group of young men into our space, and one of them in particular was huge. Tall, jacked, bald and had a tattoo of a skeletal hand across his neck. I don’t remember too much about how we even started talking - he probably tossed out some crude comments, which of course made my head turn because there I was, getting the kind of attention I desperately wanted. And within minutes, he and I dropped deep into an alcohol induced conversation, aka. energetic colosseum where we started the dance.

He was incredibly big in all ways. A dominating masculine presence that really mirrored a piece of me that I repressed deep down. He thinks he’s the shit, I thought. His chest was out, and I could see the way he looked down at me (literally). I met him with my eyes and asked him about himself. Game on. He shared that he was a Navy SEAL, stationed in Athens. Interesting. I could feel the intrigue and the judgement that came about. You see, at this point in time, I was still living in my hometown, Toronto, Canada and had a very naive idea about war and military. Military basically does not exist in Canada, and so the way I looked at it was oh the big bad US of A and their goons who love to go fuck up other country’s shit. Mind you, I had just been in Rome and on a pub crawl with a bunch of young American guys and watched them smash beer bottles everywhere and yell obnoxiously in the streets like they owned the place, so that didn’t help - classic example of how my world view continued to get amplified and reflected back at me.

I told this man that I didn’t really understand the military and why anyone would go into it. It felt harsh and brutal and unnecessary in the day and age we lived in. I want to say here, that there was also a really honest and innocent part of me alive in this conversation. Who genuinely wanted to connect with him and understand more. This was the shit I actually loved - getting to know people and understand other perspectives. Which, at a loud and rowdy beach club with thousands of people, was kind of difficult. So I’d find myself sort of split, titrating back and forth between my heart felt genuine openness and curiosity, and the flirtatious, wanting to impress and challenge dominatrix who was playing the game.

As we chatted back and forth about my disdain for violence, he responded with great certainty, that he did not think women should go to war.

WEEEOOOOOO! My Feminism alarm went off - MAN TELLING ME SOMETHING HE DOESN’T THINK WOMAN CAN DO. SEXIST. MISOGYNIST. LET ME SHOW HIM.

Here we go.

Oh realllllllly, I said, probably doing some weird body movement like putting my hand on my hip and hooking into his eyes with that sexy “I’m disgusted with you, yet want to fuck you, yet I dare you to challenge me here” type of look.

“Yes. There is shit I have seen in war that I do not think any woman or child should EVER witness.” He was not budging and in fact, he got bigger.

A simple, heroic, masculine expression of his nature. And instead, I heard, I don’t think you can handle it.

How dare he.

And so I puffed up my chest back and went in. I challenged him and probably alluded to his sexist nature, provoking him to get bigger, and louder and direct his energy towards me in a way that started to feel violating and scary. I had hit a nerve. I backed down, turned it around on him and told him to back off.

Jesus, I’m a woman for God sakes.

The hypocrisy I know.

I stormed off all self-righteous, having proven myself right that he was the big hyper masculine buffoon with a big ego. Dangerous. Just like I had imagined those American military men to be.

I was also a little shaken up.

Until about 20 minutes later, one of his friends (also a Navy SEAL) approached me. He had soft and kind eyes, a totally different energy than his friend, and he said, “I want to apologize for my buddy.”

“Yeah, you better keep him in check.” I was still feisty.

“He gets really heated sometimes, I know. You see, he’s a sniper. And he’s done and seen some really horrible things. He doesn’t want anyone else to experience that and he also can get triggered pretty easily. You pushed some buttons of his. And I’m sorry.”

My heart dropped down a notch and I began to soften. And I also actually felt a bit scared. Because here I was obnoxiously pushing the buttons of someone who had killed. I was playing him like a fucking voodoo doll, and I was so unaware of the level at which I was fucking around.

Now I don’t fully remember, but I think I went up to him to apologize. Told him I didn’t understand the reality he had lived through and that I was careless with it. I can’t remember if he really softened or if he sort of brushed it off. I do remember the part of me that really wanted him to become this soft little teddybear (which I recognize as another gross pattern where I would soften men into their hearts to become their mother in those moments because that felt like that was the only way I could connect with them. It was another way I would feel useful.)

I don’t think that worked on him, but it did diffuse the intensity between us.

And the only other memory I have after that is he and I walking down the street, drunk and maybe holding hands, then sitting down at a table in the streets to eat with everyone else, and him whispering in my hear how badly he wanted to eat my pussy. Hot.

I had no plans for that happening (honestly, there was no way in hell my system could actually hold the amount of fire this man had. He would probably consume me in a heartbeat.) However I absolutely loved how much he wanted me. I was dripping.

He did not eat my pussy and I never saw him again after that night, although he did send me a couple explicit messages during our trip. I admittedly was a bit afraid of him. I blocked him at some point, but not before grabbing a screenshot of his face, which I still have to this day.

And I’ll say, I haven’t thought about that story in a long long time. So many aspects of my manipulative participation I didn’t see until looking back at it now. The way I provoked. The judgement. The entitlement. The demonization of his heroic instinct as a man. All I could hear was an invitation to battle. To prove my worth and my value, because all I was seeking at that time was someone to tell me I deserved it.

I had no connection to the truth of who I was as a WOMAN. The power that lived in my womb and my pussy. The reality of my very nature being in service to LIFE- which is obviously worth protecting.

And now here we are, in a time where women are fighting for the right to kill - their children and other humans.

The greatest inversion of our nature.

I have such a love for that version of me. And gratitude for that man. It was an important phase of my maturation.

And honestly, looking back, he and I should have probably just had some hot sex and we could have avoided all of that. But alas, instead, we engaged in a different kind of fucking. One that opened my eyes ever so slowly to the reality outside of my bubble.

Until next time.

Katie