Silence on the Field

Sexism persists when nobody speaks.

There’s something that happens the moment you step onto the field to play a co-ed sport as a woman.

You arrive capable, excited, and ready to play.

Almost instantly, you are seen as less than.

Not always loudly, not always directly.

But in a hundred subtle ways that land in your body before you can even name them.

You’re placed lower in the lineup.

Given fewer opportunities.

Talked to differently.

Watched more closely.

Trusted and respected less.

And suddenly, instead of just playing the game, you’re trying to prove yourself and struggling to take up a fraction of the space that’s handed to another.

I joined a co-ed kickball team last fall and experienced this, over and over again.

I watched it happen to every woman on the team.

And that’s when something became even more clear to me.

The damage isn’t just done by the people actively participating in sexist behavior.

It includes the many people who stay silent.

Most of the people on my team were kind, respectful humans.

They weren’t openly disrespectful.

They weren’t the ones making the comments, oozing inequality, or mocking women.

But they also didn’t say anything.

Not when women were dismissed.

Not when opportunities were uneven.

Not when the tone shifted.

They stayed quiet.

I called out some of what I was seeing and asked for equality on the field after one of our games.

The coach heard me out, we had a healthy conversation, and things were very different for one game.

The energy shifted and it was beautiful.

But it didn’t last.

Some of the men and the coach talked privately after the game and the following week everything was back to the normal boy’s club dynamics.

Only one man openly acknowledged the lack of equality after I spoke up.

One.

There were many days I left the field furious.

“Does nobody else see this!?”

Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

What’s even more painful than the behavior itself is the collective agreement to let it continue.

My partner at the time was also on the team and did his best to support me.

He listened. He saw and validated a lot of what I experienced. He could see how much it was affecting me.

But when the moments came when there were opportunities to say something in front of others, most importantly to other men, he stayed silent too.

As did the other women.

As much as this lights my fire, I understand it.

I’m passionately devoted to justice, and I stay quiet more than is sometimes called for as well.

It’s so uncomfortable to speak up.

It’s easier to stay likable, to stay safe, to not rock the boat.

To tell yourself that we’re overreacting or it’s not that big of a deal.

But it is a big deal and the reactions to sexism are valid.

Because as a woman, it is deeply painful to walk onto a field, into any space, and be immediately seen as less than.

To feel like your presence is conditional.

To feel like your worth has to be earned.

To feel like you are one mistake away from confirming a bias that was already there.

At one point, another woman on my team pulled me aside.

She told me I was her hero for calling these dynamics out and gave me a huge hug.

And while that meant so much to me, it also broke my heart.

She felt and experienced all of this too.

Like so many others, she didn’t feel safe enough to say anything.

Even when I called out these behaviors, I minimized what was happening in my communication to try to maintain connections, team morale, and be respectful.

I didn’t full call it what it is.

Sexism.

Blatant inequality and disrespect.

Bullshit.

This is how these dynamics continue.

Not just through overt behavior, but through silence.

Through the desire to belong.

To not get kicked out of the tribe.

To not be “too much.”

Clearly this isn’t just about co-ed kickball.

It felt way too familiar to my experiences in the banking industry.

Different setting.

Same dynamic.

Women navigating unspoken hierarchies.

Being underestimated, undervalued, and underpaid.

Less perks, less respect.

Doing all the extra tasks around the office that nobody values or gets paid for.

Watching opportunities shift in subtle, deniable ways.

People seeing it, feeling it, and saying nothing.

I don’t believe most men or women want to uphold these patterns.

But silence does uphold them.

Every single time.

Change doesn’t happen because we privately agree something is wrong.

Change happens when we name it, in real time.

When we risk discomfort and vulnerability for the sake of something more honest, more fair, more human.

And when men step up as allies?

It matters in a different way.

It matters SO much.

Because it shifts the dynamic.

It redistributes power.

It makes it harder to dismiss.

It says this isn’t just a women’s issue; it’s a human one.

I know it’s not easy.

I know what it asks of people.

I also know what it costs when we don’t.

Because this is something women are navigating every single day.

On fields.

In offices.

In conversations.

In rooms where we are still learning to fully take up the space we deserve.

This is an invitation.

To notice.

To speak.

To let what is right be expressed and honored even when it’s far from easy.

Because sometimes the most harmful thing in the room isn’t what’s said.

It’s what isn’t.

With hope, courage, and a healthy serving of rage,

Melissa