After filling out lots of detailed paperwork, I sat in Lonny Jarrett's office and answered his many questions. Some questions were invasive and uncomfortable ("what are your bowel movements like?") but I answered gamely and honestly. I told myself, "He's here to help. He wants a full picture." I'd been told he was a brilliant acupuncturist, and I wanted to have a good acupuncturist. So I continued to answer questions: my diet, my menstrual cycle, my sleeping habits.
Then Mr. Jarrett peered at me and said:
"Are you aware that you are yelling?"
It was a question tinged with condescension.
I was not yelling. I had not much raised my voice.
It felt like a trap, like a move he's done a zillion times on more vulnerable patients, likely more on women. There was something mind-effy about it. Maybe even with a tiny smidge of sexist sadism.
Ten years ago, I would have said, "I'm sorry! Did I raise my voice a little? I didn't mean to!" Even if I knew I hadn't raised my voice. I would have been ashamed, embarrassed, shamed, flushed with awkward remorse.
But maybe the benefit of being a little older is to recognize a micro-aggression for what it is.
I said evenly, "I'm not yelling. And if I sound a tad tense, it's because this is kind of scary and uncomfortable to me. I am in a vulnerable position here, as a new patient. This is your office, your practice, and you have more power than I do in this situation. So maybe I am responding to those dynamics."
He tried for awhile to say he hadn't meant to be imperious/judgmental/condescending but didn't really change the tone. By the end of the appointment, my feeling was: I am not going back.
I haven't returned. read more
