When he called Rosie a “Fat Pig,” it got personal.

I’m a big woman. I am a woman of size. I am funny. I am smart, and I am very competent, too. I speak my mind, I work hard, and I call things like I see them. Since puberty I have been referred to as a “fat” and “fat bitch” literally and overtly and sometimes in subtle, metaphorical ways (but obviously) more times than I can count.

To my face.

At work.

On the street.

By colleagues.

By a roommate’s boyfriend.

By students.

By some idiot in a parking lot.

By men.

By boys.

By my neighbor.

By employees.

By a relative.

And, sometimes, by other women.

(And these are the ones that I know about.)

For years this bothered me because I felt like I was somehow inferior to the people who made the statement. I wasn’t as good. I was less than.

Eventually, I realized that it was because on some level, the people making the statement somehow thought that my only value to society was my sexual attractiveness to them. It doesn’t happen as much now, but when I was younger it didn’t matter to some people what level of education I had reached, how funny I was, what job I had, or how competent I am.

It mattered whether or not I would be a suitable recipient of their sexual advances. If I wasn’t someone who met their standard of a sexual partner because I was bigger than their fantasy and was willing to speak my opinion (even though I had absolutely no interest in their sexuality or sexual advances whatsoever), I was dismissed.

Fat bitch.

Not worth screwing.

Doesn’t agree with me.

Doesn’t seem to want to have sex with me.

Keeps talking when I don’t want her to.

It was incredibly frustrating to be treated like a walking and talking vulva that wasn’t supposed to talk.

Please understand that not every man treats or treated me this way. My father never did, nor does my husband, my sons, my male friends (of which there are many), most of my students, the men I have worked for, the men who have worked for me (but not all of the women), most (not all) of my relatives (creepy), and nearly all of my (current) colleagues.

But over the years, enough people have done it it to prevent me from ignoring the whole thing.

Eventually, I realized that it wasn’t just me. My friends who were considered “hot” by the same ridiculous standards were often given preferential treatment at school and at work not because of their mind, or thoughts, or content of their character, but because of the size of their boobs, waist, and hips. My friends who were masculine were called “Butch” and were shunned because of their haircuts, or demeanor. We were all short-changed. We were all ranked as a piece of ass, not as human beings.

Things changed for me as I got older. I met a lovely, hilarious, and adorable man who appreciated me for who I am. We got married and had two sons.

Overnight, I went from being “possible sexual partner” to wife and “mother of sons.”

Once I was no longer being judged on the scale of “fuck-worthy ingenue,” it was suddenly ok for me as a mommy to be chubby and bossy as long as I provided snacks and bottles and was friendly and smiled a lot. If I was smart or funny, that was cool, too. If I was disapproving, or disagreeable, or spoke my mind, that was ok. I was mom. Everyone knows that mom tells you to be quiet, and to behave and to eat your vegetables. I was playing the right role, for once.

“If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

“She who must be obeyed.”

“Angel in the House.”

It was that way at work, too. Male students thought of me as a mother substitute. Male coworkers focused on my competence, education, and ideas.

Now that I am 47 years old, when other woman my age say that they have become “invisible” because people pay less attention to them now that they are older, wiser, and saggier, I am at the top of my game.

I am matronly.

I am wise.

I am well-educated.

I have money.

I have status.

I have a good job.

I am assertive.

I am a leader.

Life is good.

But I haven’t forgotten. And neither have many of my sisters.

When the country elects someone to be the leader of the free world who once referred to Rosie O’Donnell as a “Fat Pig”…

Or brags about grabbing someone’s pussy…

Or talks about his own daughters in terms of their sexual attractiveness…

We don’t forget.

It gets personal.

And it stays that way.