As Downton Abbey drew to a close, I'd just started watching it with my mom.  She truly loves this show, and I quickly became enthralled with and invested in the characters.  **WARNING: This post contains spoilers-- from Season 1.  So if you're past there, you're good**

This is about Mary.  And Pamuk.  

It's hard to find a clip of this scene (they have all been strategically removed due to copyright), but you can see some of it here, to refresh your memory.

My mother had told me that Mary had slept with someone.  When I saw this scene, it wasn't what I'd thought it was going to be.  It was significantly more... rape-y. 

And yet Mary herself says that she hadn't been raped.  And, this isn't what we're conditioned to view as sexual "assault."  There doesn't seem to be much assault here at all.  It seems... almost consensual.  But I'd have to throw that "almost" in there.  And, as a song once said, almost doesn't count...

Look, I'm not here to point fingers.  I'm not trying to give Mary an excuse and an attempt to look more virtuous for her or her family's sake.  And I'm not trying to peg Pamuk as a rapist, necessarily (besides, he won't be bothering anyone else now anyway).  But I think this is important.  I think this is important because I know a lot of Marys.  And they get caught in the in-between because a lot of us aren't willing to talk about the fact that there is an in-between.

Pamuk talks to Mary earlier.  We see that in the clip.  She says no.  She's clearly interested in him.  But she makes it quite clear that she's not interested in that.  

But he shows up, uninvited, unannounced, to her room anyway.  At night, while she's in bed.  And she says no again.  She tells him to leave, threatens to scream, tells him he has all the wrong idea.  He's kissing her at this point.  And he's telling her that he doesn't have the wrong idea at all.  It's fairly clear that- at some point- Mary consents.  And she doesn't seem to fear for her life or safety.  She doesn't appear worried how this will end if she continues to resist.

The question here is if what Mary gives truly is consent.  As others have argued before, I'd call this coerced.  And true consent cannot be coerced.  If this had been a truly consensual encounter, when Mary said no the first time, Pamuk would have stopped and wouldn't have shown up to her room later at all.  

What is my point?  Why do I care to bother about the sexual activities of fictional characters?  Because again, I know a lot of Marys.  And I know a couple of Pamuks, too.  And I know that many of us have an idea of sexual assault that is far more violent than what may typically go on.  And the idea that it isn't always violent doesn't make what generally goes on any better.  

Somewhere in the range of 80% of women who are sexually assaulted know their attacker.  Some of us know that statistic.  But we still have this idea of sexual assault being... an assault.  There has to be fear, and a weapon of some sort, or a threat.  There should be a struggle, or injuries.  The truth is that it doesn't always look that way.  It can be not knowing what to say at all because you've said no, but then blaming yourself because maybe you didn't make it clear enough.  It can be a date deciding that it's ok because you'll enjoy it.  It can be not being afraid because you're with someone you trust.  It can be saying no until you're talked into saying yes, like Mary.  

Consent isn't always possible.  We talk about people being unable to consent when they are drunk, or asleep, but I'd argue they can also not consent when they're just too tired, or too stressed, or too upset.  They can't consent when they think there are consequences to saying "no."  They can't consent when you're talking them into it or deciding for them.  

Is it clear-cut? Not always.  Not always even for the victims... Mary was coerced, but felt it was ultimately her decision.  Our own perceptions of sexual "assault" come into play.  "I wasn't in danger, but I also didn't want that to happen."  It's the in-between, because of the language we use and the images we have of what sexual assault is and looks like.  But because of this, we have victims walking around, confused, and sometimes unbelieved and uncared for.  

If we want to respect and honor victims and prevent sexual assault, we need to amend our definition to include things that don't look like "assault" at all.  Sexual assault is any kind of sexual activity that is unwanted or coerced.  Whether or not it was violent or threatening at all.  We need a different mindset (and maybe a different word).  We need to close the in-between.  Not-quite-consensual is sexual assault.  

I started my Ph.D. program in Fall 2012.  I decided to get my Ph.D. because I wanted to be a professor.  Towards the end of my undergrad experience, I fell in love with teaching, having been given the chance to be a Teaching Assistant for three different classes.  And I fell in love with research.  But mostly teaching.  And not just any teaching.  College students.  Students who (mostly) wanted to be there, who had thoughts and ideas all their own.  The thrill was not just to teach, but to exchange ideas, to help someone else polish their own ideas and reach their goals.   

In the past three years, I've mentored 15 undergraduate women and 30 tenth grade girls in my campus' Women in Science and Engineering program.  Several of the undergraduate students have gone on to continue their training under my direction and become research assistants on my projects.  I've developed an interest, a passion for women in science.  I started this blog.  I've written for a newsletter on the topic at my school.  I've read articles on the disparity of women in the sciences.  How at the undergraduate (and even graduate) levels, the numbers are actually evening, but it's at the higher levels-- post docs, professorships, where things are still quite distant.  Professional articles about ways to bridge the gap.  About childcare and household labor.  

I believe in representation, in mentorship.  I believe that if we want more women in these positions, if we believe in diversity in academia-- we need to create it, to be it.  I have spent four years trying to be it.  

I have told the women and girls who come through my lab many things.  I have told them to do what they love.  I have told them to follow their passion.  I have encouraged them to be innovative.  I have reassured them that they are able to do the work.  I have eased nerves, pledged my help and time to their learning.  I have guided their research ideas, attempting to channel my own best professors.  I have helped, assisted, edited, re-written, searched for papers, taught, given constructive criticism, given examples.  I have modeled what poster formatting should look like or how a method section should read.  I have given advice on choosing a major, a graduate program, a research advisor.  I have told them how hard graduate school is.  I have been candid about the struggles.  I have told them that it's ok if they find themselves crying in their office from time to time, because I have too, and if it happens to them, I want them to know that they're not alone.  I have told them to be kind to others.  I have told them to remember to eat, to sleep, to have a life, to have relationships.  And, I hope, I have shown them how rewarding what I do is.  At least, I hope they have seen it by the fact that I have told them all of these other things.

And yet, at year four, as I propose my dissertation and ready myself for the job search, I find myself disillusioned with academia.  I still want to be a professor.  I still want to teach.  I still get a thrill when a student learns something.  Anything.  And I still love the exchange, the innovation.  The amount of research training that can be done in the classroom.  The amount of teaching I find myself doing in the lab.  

But I also want a life.  I want to come home.  I want to watch TV.  I want to read books and have conversations and unwind.  I want to speak to friends and cuddle with my boyfriend.  I want to cook, and eat, and shower.  I want to have time to have solitary hobbies.  I want to contribute to the world outside of my ivory tower.  I want time to keep abreast of the news, and to volunteer or write to my senators.  I want to right wrongs.  I want... a life outside of work.  

It makes me better.  It makes my work better.  And, honestly, I deserve it.  We all do.  And I don't want to have to choose between my health, my work, and the stuff that makes life worth living.  And, frankly, right now, I don't question anyone who decides to leave academia.  It is still, potentially, a question as to why (and if) women are leaving more frequently, but the system is broken and inflexible.  It is no wonder that it is leaking. 

I still hope to find a job as a professor.  I think I would be happy doing that.  And I think I'd be good at it.  But even if I do, it might not be as I first imagined.  I would be just as happy, I think, at a small liberal arts school as I would at an institution that was more research-oriented.  Maybe I'd miss some of the hustle and bustle and focus on research, but to spend my days with students and not with grant applications-- I think I'd be ok with it.  

It's taking some getting used to that I may not always be able to call myself a scientist.  I may not continue research.  I may never be the P.I.  I may never get a grant or have my own lab.  Or, maybe I will.  I still hope I will.  But I'm considering the possibilities.  I'm not sure I want to be a part of such a broken system.  I have started to doubt my abilities to fix it from the inside out.  I am afraid it will break me instead.  

The feminist ideal of "having it all" seems to come in stark contrast to the open mouth of academia, swallowing whole all the time and energy of those who participate in it.  Academia is a jealous god.  It wants all you have, and the system is set up expecting that you will give it.  And as many articles as I've read on work-life balance, nothing seems to change that fact.  

This is a confession of sorts.  I feel embarrassed by this.  I have worked hard to try to empower others.  I have all the arguments in my head about why diversity is so needed, and I believe every word.  But I can't help but wonder, in my own life, if the academic life has enough room to also be a well-rounded person-- for family, community, activism.  I don't know if it's possible to be a good, productive scientist at the same time as being a happy, good person.  I don't know if it's part of the alleged Millennial work ethic or the new economic structure.  I don't know if I'm helping my students on their way to a misguided goal.  If I'm a failure for pointing the direction to a road I'm not willing or cut out to take.  I don't know what it means if I'm just another drop dripping slowly out of that leaky pipeline, after years of trying to help plug the holes.  But if I go, I refuse to ooze out quietly.