I believe I should start this open letter by saying something like, “I’m a good girl.” I want to offer up a caveat to what I am about to say, because I believe my opinion on the topic of my own boundaries is not worth listening to. 

I am going to ignore that belief. My opinion regarding my own boundaries is the ONLY one that matters. 

Therefore, when I tell you that I do not wish to move to the center of the classroom, you need to listen up.  

I have PTSD. I get flashbacks, especially when surrounded by strangers all day long. If I choose to sit in the corner, it is because that is literally the only way I can get myself into the classroom and still feel safe. 

I should not have to spell this out for my teachers, or for anyone else. My psychological health is my business. I am an adult: I have earned the right to manage my own emotions and psychological reactions in my own way.  

Choosing to sit at the far side of the classroom is not about being ornery or antisocial.  No, sitting where I wish is about respecting my own needs. Now I am asking for what should be freely given, without me having to ask: I am asking that my teachers also respect my needs. 

I am also asking for my teachers to respect my privacy. While sexuality is of course an aspect of some of the texts we read in class, perhaps consistently bringing the conversation back to this topic is not the best use of class time. For that matter, if a white male professor continually brings up sexual subject matter in a class not related to sexuality or reproduction, perhaps this is not the best use of his power. 

Power is what I am talking about. Power is the problem here. 

I acknowledge that I have power granted me by privilege and position, power I have not earned. I acknowledge that I have abused this power in the past, but I am trying to do better. 

Feminists have written a lot recently about how even liberal men, even self-declared feminist men, presume an entitlement to women’s bodies, time, energy, emotional resources. For example, one of my DVC professors once asked me to walk to his office with him, where he said he had one of my papers.

When the paper was not there, he asked me and two other students to go to his car with him, alone, in a parking lot at 10 p.m. at night. My paper, somehow, was not there either. Without apologizing for this lengthy exercise in futility, this professor initiated a conversation about an article I’d written for the paper recently.

He said he was concerned the article was about him, and he wanted to initiate a dialogue (at 10 o’clock at night. In an empty parking lot. Without asking my permission or consent to have this conversation). Now, you might be wondering if I should have known better, should have said no at some point and just gone home.

To you I say, of course I wanted to leave! Yet I did not feel I had the ability to tell him off without risking academic repercussion. I did not feel that I was worth as much as he was, that my time and my sense of personal boundaries and safety were worth as much. 

More than that, though, I find I have to set boundaries for people who don’t understand how to do that. No, I don’t want to talk about your child, your wife, your pets, especially not during classtime I pay to partake of; no, I don’t want to tell you about my life. This is my time, this is my attention and energy, and you are taking it, stealing it even. I don’t want to offer emotional support. I don’t want to do unpaid emotional labor. I want to go to school, and be treated with respect, and have my time treated with respect.  

I have many good teachers. I have even had good teachers who sometimes, occasionally, leave me frustrated that they don’t seem to understand (or maybe don’t care) about the impact of their behavior on me. Undoubtedly some of the fault lies with me, because I have become skilled at hiding my anger and pretending that being liberal and a declared feminist is the same thing as being self-aware and wise to one’s uses and abuses of power. It is not. 

I am not here for your entertainment, your unwanted sexual projection, or your embodiment of the insidious nature of patriarchy. I am not here for you to move around like a chess piece until I am seated someplace that suits you. I am here to learn. 

Please just back off and let me do that.