“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t let you do this job.”
A friend said that to me in 2010. We were offstage at a conference, and I’d just shown him the emails I was getting. Vulgar, obscene, stomach-turning messages. He was horrified. This was fifteen years ago. We were younger, optimistic, and the business internet felt smaller. Back then, people still acted surprised by bad behavior online, even if we knew better.
I rolled my eyes and said, “It’s a good thing you’re not my husband.”
The web got worse
Years later, the web is worse. Same perverted, disgusting messages. More ways to reach me.
Why not quit?
Over Labor Day, I thought about my career and how it’s grown alongside the internet. Here’s what I know: every step toward visibility—more LinkedIn writing, a book, videos—brings more harassment.
I don’t blame platforms for the choices adult men make. Blame isn’t the point. The point is this: my job can be scary, and I’m often told my options are suck it up because “that’s showbiz,” or leave and do something more traditional and wholesome—or not work at all.
How is that fair?
Now that I’m older and more established, people wonder why I’m still online at all. Can’t I do something else? Why take on a job where men send disgusting photos and then get mad when you’re not emotionally available?
The price of visibility
The only answer is that I have work to do. I will not accept the internet’s terms and conditions as the price of admission. But there is a price.
For example, I limit how companies “interact with my brand” to protect my sanity. People laugh when I say I don’t want to be on influencer lists. But those lists have consequences. In 2022, a vendor used an out-of-context photo of me without consent and dropped me on their “top 10.” Hours later, a stranger emailed: “I just came on your face and your tits.”
That wasn’t the first message like it. Or the last.
When I drew a line, people in my industry were jerks about it. While I don’t owe anyone an explanation, I said I didn’t want my image used for marketing without pay, which is reasonable. But many were still irked, as if that made me a snob. The truth is simpler: I didn’t want the double work of being harassed and then inviting copycats by talking about it.
Some people shrug and say, “That’s the price you pay for being online.” No. That’s complicity.
The working conditions
This job can be dehumanizing.
Since 2004, when I blogged anonymously while working at Pfizer, men have sent me audio files, video clips, and threats because I didn’t like their favorite athlete, actor, or band. My home address and Zillow link have been posted in Facebook threads. I was stalked in bars back when Foursquare was a thing. I’ve gotten DMs so foul I worried for my team. A recruiter once told me the Nazis were “very good at recruiting.” When I asked him to stop, he doubled down on Hitler’s ability to organize and told me that I might not understand because I’m American, not from Europe where he was based.
Why I still do this work
And yet, it’s the work I wanted. I prayed for this kind of role. Not because I believe in an intervening God, but because it’s good work and needs my effort. And it’s still better than working in human resources.
I sat in synagogue this weekend and gave thanks—for stability, freedom, and purpose. I asked for wisdom. For maturity. For a voice that cuts through noise and helps people.
But alongside the gratitude, I still get messages like, “Let’s meet up so I can eat your pussy.”
Who would want a job like this? What rational person would stay online?
Apparently, me.
Why do it? Because I can offer pro bono coaching to people harmed by AI. I can advocate for universal income. I can go on television and talk about the human cost behind record profits and layoffs.
That is the work. That is service. I am uniquely positioned to do this with integrity. Opting out isn’t my story.
Boundaries, not emotional labor
When I think back to my friend’s line from 2010, I give him grace. He wanted me safe. He wanted a world where I didn’t face this garbage just to do my job. I want that world, too.
But staying home won’t build it. Being less visible won’t build it. And I’m not here to accept abuse or carry men’s emotional labor.
I’m here to change the world. And I’m not fucking around.
so sorry – so awful. Writing here to confirm your work has helped me like I know it has helped others. Grateful you have not let these mens behavior keep you from your work and as someone who believes in karma here’s hoping that it is quick.
Thank you for being so supportive and kind. I hope you’re right about karma.