The BBC has published four “Faces of the Year” articles this week: “the men” and “the women” for the UK and international markets.

Removing gender references, here are the lists:

After I was assaulted last year, an awful lot of people pointed out that if I go into dangerous situations, I should expect bad things to happen, and that if I don’t want bad things to happen, I shouldn’t go into dangerous situations.

I [...]]]> I’m scared to go to OSCON or the Community Leadership Summit this year.

After I was assaulted last year, an awful lot of people pointed out that if I go into dangerous situations, I should expect bad things to happen, and that if I don’t want bad things to happen, I shouldn’t go into dangerous situations.

I was harassed at OSCON & CLS last year. I got a lot of grief after I wrote about my experience at ApacheCon. And I fully expect that some of the people responsible for both of those things will be at OSCON & CLS this year.

I don’t think it’s realistic to assume that I’ll be able to get through this year’s conference without being harassed again, and O’Reilly don’t seem to be willing to assure me that I’m wrong. But worse, I genuinely get the impression that if anything does go wrong, if I do get harassed, that O’Reilly don’t want to know, they don’t care, and they won’t do anything to help me, to help prevent it happening again, to help prevent it happening to someone else.

A very smart friend of mine reminded me that fear is not a good driver, and suggested that I consider whether OSCON is valuable and whether I can send a positive message by attending.

I’ve been looking forward to speaking. My slides have been rewritten from a previous version of this talk that was very well received, and I think they’re a really good deck. It’s a topic I care about, and I love being able to share my knowledge. Plus, I’m expecting a couple of potential employers to be there, as well as many friends.

And aside from that, there are so many talks I want to see, often several at once! There are people I want to catch up with, and parties I’m looking forward to. So yeah, OSCON is valuable to me.

Can I send a positive message? I’m not sure. I’ve seen the research, and I know from my own experience, that open source events and projects need more role models, and need more women as role models. And frankly, I don’t want people who’ve gone through things like I did at ApacheCon to think that it’s “ok, game over, I can’t go to industry events any more”. That’s not true; I’ve been to and enjoyed many conferences since then. But OSCON is a big event, and it’s a big message to send.

On the other hand, I really don’t want my attendance to be taken as a message of “everything is fine here”. I don’t want to be held up as a statistic, as an example of “plenty of women speaking at OSCON”.

So, on that front, I don’t know if I can send a positive message. I’m just not sure.

I don’t feel safe going to OSCON, and I want your advice.

Is this a dark alley that I should stay out of? Or is there some reason you think I’m wrong, and that I’ll be safe at OSCON?

And to those of you who’ve offered to join my posse, I’m grateful, but I was assaulted at ApacheCon in a bar with dozens of my friends, so I don’t assume that even the best posse will keep me safe.

In one sense, I have every right to be depressed. It’s not all that long ago that I was assaulted, torn into by strangers, and misguidedly told how I could have, should have prevented it. It’s even more [...]]]> (No, I am not in danger; yes, I am getting professional help. Either way, I still need friends.)

In one sense, I have every right to be depressed. It’s not all that long ago that I was assaulted, torn into by strangers, and misguidedly told how I could have, should have prevented it. It’s even more recent that Stephen and I got divorced. This week, I need to gather the paperwork for last year’s taxes. I could make a list a mile long of things that are stressing me out right now. But of course, none of that is the point. That’s not how it works.

Depression is not a logical thing. There’s no scale I can heap up with the good and the bad, and even if there were, the good would probably come out tops.

By any measure, my life is awesome. I live in a country that, while often infuriating, is stunningly beautiful. I have a job that’s the envy of friends and colleagues alike, and I have choices coming out my ears if I want a change. I’m solidly in the top 1% of rich people worldwide, and even on a more local scale, I have no debts or ongoing financial obligations–I could quite happily support myself for a year or more, even at Swiss prices. I successfully fed two lovely vegans yesterday, unexpectedly, using only the supplies I already had to hand (ok, they were pretty easygoing vegans, but still!).

I can list off a hundred people who are worse off than I am; a thousand reasons I have to be grateful. But does it change how I feel? Not one iota.

I spent today alternating between bawling crying, and curled up in bed wishing the whole world would wink out of existence. I completely failed to attend the BBQ I’d been looking forward to, because of a combination of paralysing apathy and hateful self-doubt. Promising myself fun, socialisation, probably good food, and beer, all failed to motivate me to do anything other than wish I lived in a remote Tibetan valley.

But I eventually managed to turn things around, to console myself, to climb out of that despair. And three things helped me do that.

One of them was realising that I am not the only person who feels this way; some of the most amazing people I know have arguments with the black dog on a regular basis. The next was reading someone else’s account of hitting rock bottom.

Two things stuck out from that: I’ve got to find a reason for someone to care and I call my wife and ask her to remind me why I’m worth keeping around

See, part of the problem is that when my brain wants to hurt me, it has all of the weapons. It knows where the soft spots are. It tells me no one has any reason to care about me, and because it’s in charge of the thinking, I believe it. Even when I know it’s being a lying toad, even when I can conclusively say it’s wrong and people do care, important people, people I love, it doesn’t shut up, and it’s very convincing. It tells me that all of the awesome things I do could be done just as well, and with less fuss, by someone else.

And the final thing that helped me turn today around was realising that there is help out there. There are people who care about me specifically and personally, and there are people who care about the things I’ve done, and there are people who care about me just as a plain ol’ human being.

The dog is gone home for today, but he’s not dead yet. And when he does come back, when he’s looming over me, sometimes it’s hard to remember that other people feel this way, that people care about me, and that there is help.

And so, I write this, as a reminder to myself, and as an offer, and as a request.

If you want to talk, let me know. If I can help you out, please, ask. I know it’s hard to do, but I care about you, and if I can, I’d like to help. If I can’t, phone or email the Samaritans (UK & Ireland), or phone the Samaritans (US).

And if you want to help me out, leave a comment, or send me an email. Share a cute animal picture, or a memory that makes you smile, or just tell me that you care. Chances are, I won’t want to talk about this much more, so if you’re open to talking about it, let me know, but don’t take it personally or hassle me if I don’t want to. (Mum, I love you, but I still don’t want to talk about this. Thanks.)

Comments are moderated–I generally publish any that aren’t obviously spam, but if you don’t want yours published, just say so.

Neurochemistry is a pain, but for now, mine is on my side

The good came first. The ApacheCon lightning talks were, as usual, hilarious. The talented Paul Fremantle brought out his tinwhistle and I danced an only-slightly off-time hornpipe. Bertrand revealed the secrets of the members@ mailing list with a speaking chorus. A [...]]]> I had a hell of a time last night – in good and bad ways.

The good came first. The ApacheCon lightning talks were, as usual, hilarious. The talented Paul Fremantle brought out his tinwhistle and I danced an only-slightly off-time hornpipe. Bertrand revealed the secrets of the members@ mailing list with a speaking chorus. A crazy person with a graphing calculator and a psychedelic three-ring binder gatecrashed and spoke about no-one’s sure what. Ross, Paul and I did an “Ask Me!” talk. Leo, Rich, Shane filled their five minutes in traditional and hilarious and moving fashions. Jean-Frederic had us saying Hello World in more languages than I could count. We laughed as we counted hesitations, repetitions and deviations. It was great.

The party moved up to my room. We had beer, and beer pong, and altogether too many people crammed in. It was more egalitarian than I remember last year’s being – lots of new people, lots of people who weren’t part of the old Apache guard. A charming Southern gentleman with the most awesome belt I’ve ever seen (Carl, where did you get that!?), an excited Berliner who picked me up and whirled me around and somehow managed to avoid having me kick anyone in the head. I lay across the bed, sat on laps, generally tried to squish in to any available space and get time to talk to all the fabulous people thronging the place.

At some point, it was too late and too loud to reasonably continue. Everyone cleared out (Nick, you are a *god*, for spending the extra five minutes to clear the carnage, so that I could wake up in a room that showed no signs of what had happened the night before!), and we headed to the Irish pub next door that has become our local.

Some food, a few more beers. Squeezing everyone up so I could sit next to someone I wanted to talk to. Laughing at the events of the week, and the night.

And then I went to the loo, and as I was about to go in, Florian Leibert, who had been speaking in the Hadoop track, called me over, and asked if he could talk to me.

I’m on the board of Apache. I’m responsible for our conferences. I work on community development and mentoring. If you’re at an Apache event and you want help, information, encouragement, answers, I will always do my best to provide. So this wasn’t an unusual request, and it wasn’t one I expected to end the way it did.

He brought me in to the snug, and sat up on a stool. He grabbed me, pulled me in to him, and kissed me. I tried to push him off, and told him I wasn’t interested (I may have been less eloquent, but I don’t think I was less clear). He responded by jamming his hand into my underwear and fumbling.

I broke away, headed back to the group, and hid behind some of the bigger, burlier infra guys, while Bill sorted out all the people who’d left stuff in my room, so that I could reasonably escape. We headed back, people got their stuff, Bill stayed around, and I slept.

When Bill woke up, I pretended to still be asleep, because I couldn’t deal with speaking to anyone. I sent a mail to our planning committee to say that I’d been assaulted. Charel came to talk to me, and then I e-mailed Nick, who came up and helped me sort things out so I could get to the keynote and feel safe. Florian didn’t turn up today, and it’s probably for the best.

I had a few drinks. I was wearing a skirt of such a length that I had cycling shorts on under it to make me feel more comfortable getting up on stage and dancing. I had been flirting with a couple of other boys at the party.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened to me, at all. It’s not the first time it’s happened to me at a tech conference. But it is the first time I’ve spoken out about it in this way, because I’m tired of the sense that some idiot can ruin my day and never have to answer for it. I’m tired of the fear. I’m tired of people who think I should wear something different. I’m tired of people who think I should avoid having a beer in case my vigilance lapses for a moment. I’m tired of people who say that guys can’t read me right and I have to read them, and avoid giving the wrong impression.

But I don’t give the wrong impression, and it’s simply not true that guys can’t read me right. I don’t want to be assaulted, and the vast majority of guys read that just fine. It is not my job to avoid getting assaulted. It is everyone else’s job to avoid assaulting me. Dozens of guys succeeded at that job, across the week. In the pub, in the stairwell, on the MARTA, in my bedroom.

One guy failed, and it’s his fault.

ETA: My heartfelt thanks to the Atlanta police for their sensitivity and professionalism.

Before I do though, what is the challenge? Suw Charman-Anderson set up a pledge on PledgeBank, saying “I will publish a blog post on Tuesday 24th March about a [...]]]> Costigan Quist says he’s not taking the Ada Lovelace challenge. But I think he’s missed the point, and in my own rambling fashion, I’ll shortly explain why.

Before I do though, what is the challenge? Suw Charman-Anderson set up a pledge on PledgeBank, saying “I will publish a blog post on Tuesday 24th March about a woman in technology whom I admire but only if 1,000 other people will do the same.” Within a week, 1,000 other people signed up, and I can’t wait for 24th March, to read about all those amazing women! The pledge is still open to sign up, and there’s more about the background on the Finding Ada blog, if you’re interested.

Costigan says he’s not in, because the women he knows in technology are just as anonymous as the men. He says ‘all I can do is to say of someone “she’s achieved the same as a man, but she’s only a girlie – well done you!”‘. Which, to give him his due, he recognises as rather patronising I think he’s missed the point big-time though.

“Blog about a woman you admire” doesn’t mean “blog about someone you think should be famous”. There’s nothing wrong with being an unsung hero – or heroine! But women have a greater need for female role-models than men have for male role-models. And Ada Lovelace Day is about showing women that there are role-models out there. A role-model doesn’t have to be someone famous, or even necessarily the top of their field. A role-model is just someone who occupies a role to which you aspire. It’s someone who does something that you would like to be doing, or gotten somewhere that you would like to go…

Ada Lovelace Day isn’t about saying “she’s achieved the same as a man, but she’s only a girlie – well done you!”. I don’t even think it’s about giving the women we blog about their 15 minutes of fame. It’s about showing the women who need female role-models that those role-models exist. It’s about showing the men who need a role model – male or female! – that there are role-models out there for whatever it is you want to do, or be, or have. Maybe they are famous. Maybe they’re completely anonymous. Maybe they don’t even know that they are a role-model to someone. But they’re there.

Maybe what they’ve done is stupendous. Maybe it’s fairly ordinary. A recent example I came across was someone desperately wanting to know if there were any women who’d gotten promoted to a particular level while they had a young child, because the person asking could only find male examples of people who’d gotten promoted to that level while they had a young child. And there were women who could say “yes, I have”. And that made a difference. They were doing the same things as the men around them. They got their fair due. But this isn’t for those women. It’s for the people who are asking. Who want to know if it’s even possible. Who just need, on whatever level, to know that there are women out there who’ve done it.

And Costigan, even if it’s only namechecks, knowing that there are role-models out there makes a difference, to many, many people.

Remember today, all the women who have made your life possible. The woman who brought you into the world. The woman who, in all likelihood, brought you up, cared for you, fed and clothed you as a child.

Take a moment to think about the women you work around, who [...]]]> Happy International Women’s Day 2006.

Remember today, all the women who have made your life possible. The woman who brought you into the world. The woman who, in all likelihood, brought you up, cared for you, fed and clothed you as a child.

Take a moment to think about the women you work around, who make it possible for you to get on with your job. The women who probably work longer and harder than you do, for less reward, and with less job security. The women doing jobs you probably don’t even notice, unless they’re not done. The women who are probably just as well-educated as you, but who are doing less ‘qualified’ work.

Thank the women around you today, notice the things they do. Look out for them, help them, give them a hand up – the same as you would if they were men, doing an equivalent task. Don’t let their work go unnoticed. And yes – it really is work – just you try doing it some time.