Heather McLeod

It occurred to me, as I allowed my hips and arms to find their most comfortable version of “the child’s pose” at a restorative yoga class last night, that I haven’t been very nice to my body lately.

Self Care vs. Frenetic Masochism

I thought the theme of all this activity these past few months was “self care.” I thought the hours at the gym and the hikes in pursuit of beautiful mountain views were me releasing all that pent up energy from my five years as a caregiver, prioritizing others’ needs over my own.

Once Isaac started kindergarten in September and I was free to spend 28 more hours a week doing whatever I wanted, I used that time to be active. Finally I was free to do all the physical things a full-time parent finds impossible. Finally it was all about me.

The hike to Mount Swansea’s tower is easier and faster every time.

But my shins are covered in bruises (despite the shin pads I wear at kickboxing) and maybe, just maybe, my body would appreciate some gentle stretches too. Wearing fleece-lined sweat pants. With candles, even.

Hallelujah

Tamela the Yogi played K.D. Lang’s “Hallelujah” during the “open heart” stretch.

That was the first song during our slide show at Brock’s memorial service.

Here’s the thing: I’m not a spiritual person, in any way. Both Brock and I believe(d) that life ends at death, and there is no after-life existence in any form.

But.

My DJ B-Rock loved music and I hear his/our special songs all the time.

Maybe that’s inevitable, since there were so many special songs in our 11.5 years together. And we loved our mainstream classics, which tend to be played on the mainstream classic Sirius channels I listen to in the car, and on the radio stations in the stores I shop in.

It comforts me when I hear these songs. It doesn’t matter if Brock is magically DJ-ing them from the afterlife or not. They remind me of him and of our life together, and that usually makes me smile.

Sometimes the right song will play exactly when I need to hear it.

So there I was at the yoga class, realizing that maybe I need to incorporate some gentle body care into my life, and “Hallelujah” starts to play. Which:

reminds me of Brock, specifically of his memorial service / death, which makes me sad, and
I realize I never listen to that song voluntarily, or any slow song, these days — it’s all about our Spotify dance party playlists, to fill our house with energy, and then:
I see it’s not just slow songs I’m missing in my life, but also slow moments. Our couch faces the Rockies and the Columbia River wetlands, and yet I’ve sat down to enjoy the view less than five times since we moved in mid-September.

Too Much Yang, Not Enough Yin

I’ve filled my new life here with activity, and I’m pushing my body hard. The other night I beat the shit out of a punching bag at kickboxing, and wanted more despite the bruised shins. My climbing shoes are as uncomfortable as they’re supposed to be. I found new armpit muscles while showering this weekend. (I only know they aren’t tumours because they’re symmetrical.)

Now I think I might need some yin to balance out the yang I’ve been revelling in. Even if that’s just some quiet time on my couch, or an “open heart” yoga pose on the floor after Isaac’s bedtime. A new playlist with my favourite slow songs, to balance out the dance parties.

Balance. The older I get, the more I learn how important that is. And how it’s up to each of us to recognize what’s missing, seek out and incorporate that balance for ourselves.

My son reminds me to slow down and appreciate the moments.

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How do we respond? And why does it make my skin crawl?

One day, new to Instagram, I received a private message from a man I didn’t know. It was an innocuous “hello.”

I did the responsible thing and checked out his profile: from the photos he’d posted, he appeared to be an actual human being, and not a spam robot. There were photos of him and his daughter. So I was the polite small-towner, the professional writer with a public social media profile, and said “hello” back.

He responded immediately; I could see those little dots as he typed.

His response and, more importantly, my reaction, left me baffled.

INSTAGRAM GUY: hi beautiful.

MY RESPONSE: [Nothing. I immediately blocked him.]

Let’s watch that again, in slow motion

INSTAGRAM GUY: hi beautiful.

Reaction part 1: Panic. “Duck before he sees me!”

Reaction part 2: Anger, at him and myself. “That sneaker. I let him in, and he’s being creepy.”

Reaction part 3: Disappointment. “I almost made a new friend, but nope.”

I didn’t think rationally about how to respond to him. I just clicked that “block” button and walked away.

Second-guessing myself

Almost immediately, I started second-guessing my choice to block this stranger.

First: maybe I overreacted. Maybe he wasn’t creepy. Maybe he was nice and deserved a polite response. This guy thought “hi beautiful” was a valid thing to say, and maybe it is. Maybe he thought he was complimenting me. Maybe we were in Mars vs. Venus territory here, and men think that’s a great way to break the ice with a woman they don’t know.

Second: was blocking him a responsible decision, given that it was my professional writer profile, and not just a personal profile? Was this how Michelle Obama would respond?

Maybe I should have thanked him politely for his kind words and redirected the conversation. I could get him to sign up for my newsletter, or be a patron. He might become one of my biggest fans.

In two or twenty years, when I’m a famous writer, I will have to deal with more socially awkward men like this. Will I block them all? How will I handle them in real life, at book signings and when they groupie me after I win the Man Booker Prize?

Fact: social media scams come in many forms

I did some Google research and learned that direct messages from strangers, even strangers with photos of their supposed children and/or dogs on their profiles, even strangers all dressed up as corporate executives or brain surgeons, are often red flags for scams. In retrospect, I’m 99% sure that first message was a scammer trawling for a bite.

Despite knowing I did the right thing by blocking him, that message (“hi beautiful”) and my reflex response puzzled me.

Why did this seemingly innocent, technically complimentary phrase trigger my negative reaction?

What’s wrong with “hi beautiful”?

Yes, it’s nice to be complimented. And sometimes I do strive to look “beautiful.” Why else wear mascara?

But on the list of qualities I want to be celebrated for, physical appearance is low.

Why not start a conversation with “hi outdoor adventurer,” or “hi future best-selling writer,” or anything that shows he’s read my writing, heard my story, and values what I value about myself? Why not “hi Heather”?

All “hi beautiful” shows is that the message sender has seen a photo of me: one I chose to post publicly because it was a good angle on a good day. Or not: maybe he says that to all the random women he cold calls on social media, not realizing he’s making our skin crawl.

When a man starts with “hi beautiful,” it’s a red flag that he’s focused on himself. He only sees our physical appearance, because he’s only thinking about his attraction to us.

He is not thinking about the three-dimensional person he’s addressing: the woman who has ideas, feelings, life goals, a story, strengths and weaknesses.

While I think physical attraction is essential for a romantic relationship, I would never want a relationship where he thought my physical appearance was the most important part of me.

What about those long minutes it takes my 40-year-old face to lose the pillow marks in the morning? What about my snotty nose when I’m outside in the winter? I don’t want to try to be attractive for someone all the time.

I love my smile lines and am proud of my wrinkles (aka battle scars).

Online vs. real life

The glorious thing about being objectified in this way through an Instagram message rather than in real life is that we can click that “block” button.

In real life, we don’t get to “block” and move on.

When someone physically objectifies us in real life, how do we respond?

There’s that pressure to be polite, to be nice, to smile and say “thank you for the compliment” or some other ridiculous phrase that puts us in the weird position of being grateful to someone for assessing our physical appearance and approving. As if we’re meat and they’re the health inspector.

Is this reaction to “hi beautiful” an over-reaction?

So far, the women friends I’ve spoken with have validated my response: yes, block that guy. One said “hi beautiful” is “grabby”. It’s invasive and aggressive.

One said this stranger (if he wasn’t a scammer) was in the wrong because he “didn’t follow the rules of engagement.” Maybe “hi beautiful” would be appropriate on Tinder or in a dating context, but not on Instagram to a person who doesn’t post sexually inviting photographs.

I wonder what a man would say about “hi beautiful” as a conversation starter, and about my reaction. Is this a Mars vs. Venus thing? Is it a generational thing, or an urban vs. rural thing?

Does it even matter what the guys think, if the women say it’s bad?

In the years I’ve now been on Instagram, I’ve received many more “hi beautiful” direct messages. Presumably this kind of trawling works, if the scammers continue to use this particular bait.

Therefore, some women must continue those online conversations. That means either some women like the “hi beautiful” approach, or their polite response to the line allows the scam to play out.

Do some women like “hi beautiful” as a first line?

What do you think?

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