It’s not me, it’s you

The internet is abuzz with Lenny Letters and Jennifer Lawrence’s incredibly relatable account of her wholly unrelatable problem of making several million dollars fewer than her male co-stars.

As a female partner at a Venture Capital fund in the midst of both investing in tech start ups and fundraising, I share her hesitation to join a “trending” conversation where voicing your opinion and sharing your experience could piss some people off. We all want to be liked.

However, her essay struck a chord for me, as it was just as hypocritical as it was refreshing (don’t worry, Jennifer, I still like you!) She says, “When the Sony hack happened and I found out how much less I was being paid than the lucky people with dicks, I didn’t get mad at Sony. I got mad at myself. I failed as a negotiator because I gave up early.”

It is shocking that even the incredibly badass Jennifer Lawrence is falling into a trap that women have been falling into for thousands of years. It’s a trap called: “It’s not you, it’s me.”

When we are faced with resistance or rejection, no matter how awesome we are, we automatically assume it is our fault. No matter how complex the challenge, we can’t help but wonder, “What did I do wrong? Why am I not good enough?”

This phenomenon is so deeply ingrained within us, we don’t even realize we are doing it. In fact, once we realize we’re doing it, we raise the issue, but somehow still make it our fault. This is frighteningly prevalent in both our personal and professional lives. While it makes us stronger in many respects, it holds us back in countless others.

First, let me start with the personal (even though, as women, we’re really not supposed to do that since it means people may take us less seriously. Fuck that.) I recently spent some time with a pretty attractive man. He was tall, good looking, smart, philosophical, driven, and well educated.

While these things were initially compelling, the more time I spent with him, the more I thought he seemed to be controlling, manipulative, and passive aggressive. Any time he felt insecure, he would dole out reverse compliments that would sound like they were nice, but were actually just quietly insulting enough to make me question myself.

Luckily, I saw through many of his tactics, but for whatever reason, I played along instead of speaking up. I guess I just wanted to be liked. I also happen to be quite charming myself, so I wasn’t totally surprised when he expressed his interest in dating me.

However, when I didn’t reciprocate his affection or enthusiasm, he responded by telling me that he thought I was great, and he knew we could be really great together, but clearly I’m “not emotionally available.” He said that things were unlikely to work, because I was “unwilling to open up.” The idea that something may be suboptimal about him or his behaviour never occurred to him. Instead, my apparent lack of interest was obviously a result of my inadequacy.

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this speech, either. I’ve been dating men for years who insist that if things are not working, it’s somehow my fault. I was not being loving enough, giving enough, forgiving enough, available enough.

And you know what? I have believed them. It’s only now that I’m now realizing that this is simply the classic male philosophy called “It’s not me, it’s you.”