Trigger warning: Possible trigger for sexual abuse, consent, and childhood trauma.

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It’s not news that Lena Dunham’s new memoir Not That Kind of Girl includes a rather bizarre story about seven year old Dunham examining her one year old sister’s genitals. The retelling of that story went viral and two camps seemed to emerge in the social media melee — conservatives arguing the incident was practically akin to pedophilia and feminist Dunham defenders insisting the incidents were innocent sexual exploration.

There seemed to be no room for any other perspective — just plenty of distractions. Those Twitter #tcot types are obsessed with lurid details, and in the Dunham clan there are plenty of lurid details to go around:

I don’t care about her father’s artwork. That’s not what bothers me about the incident. Parents have a right to adult artistic expression, even if it’s obscene. You can be an outrageous artist and a good parent, although this incident doesn’t exactly scream good parenting.

To be clear, I wouldn’t call Dunham an abuser. She was seven. I do find the incident disturbing — something that should have prompted the parents to take action — but I’m even more disturbed by the many feminists who seem afraid to exercise their judgment when it comes to a girl’s bad behavior. Sometimes girls behave badly, and the memoir doesn’t always end with a series on HBO.

I’ve been the mother of a seven year old and one year old simultaneously. First of all, perhaps I’m being too literal but the intention Dunham ascribes to her sister seems totally implausible to me. One year olds don’t plan out elaborate pranks involving their vaginas. Hoarding pebbles or anything else in there would require a dexterity and sustained level of attention that seems damn unlikely.

Truthiness in retelling aside, the issue is that we are talking about a seven year old and a toddler. Had she described a similar incident with a kid roughly the same age, the story would never have garnered this much attention. The conservative freakout seems to be all about sex (as is often the case when conservatives freak out), but the problem is really the abuse of power. I don’t mean to charge too much — how much power can a seven year old have, really? Well, if we’re talking power over a toddler, the answer is a fair amount. And she should have known — or did know — better.

This shouldn’t be dismissed as innocent curiosity. She acted with intention and without any respect for the fact that her sister had a right to her own bodily autonomy. That is troubling, and feminists shouldn’t be afraid to say so. I believe strongly in the value of empowering girls but we need to be clear about our priorities. Girls can’t do whatever they want, not at the expense of bodily autonomy. To be blunt, if your seven year old thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to touch a toddler’s genitals on a whim just to satisfy her curiosity, then you have some work to do as a parent.

I know if my seven year old son had done the same, I would have taken immediate action. As the mother of a boy, I feel like I don’t have the luxury of ignoring that kind of bad behavior. Mothers of boys figure out pretty quickly that our kids will be held to a different standard. Boys are “wild.” Boys are looked at like this uncontrollable energy that needs to be contained. I started out telling my son “no hitting,” but at a very young age that quickly became “never hit a girl.” Did I want to make that distinction so early on? No. But the reality is that a boy who hits girls is violent and a danger, whereas a boy who hits other boys is never looked upon with anywhere near the same level of concern. I feel like I’m constantly talking to my son about how to respect personal space, particularly if that space belongs to a girl, because it is critical that we instill a sense of respect and boundaries in our boys. Here’s the constant underlying fear — Slack on that duty and your son might turn out to be Elliot Rodger.

To see folks giggling about Lena Dunham — knowing full well no one would find those antics remotely humorous or adorable if she were a boy — makes me want to scream. Please do not act like a child (and an adult in her unapologetic retelling) with no apparent respect for bodily autonomy is emblematic of feminism. My feminism isn’t represented by someone who doesn’t care about anyone but herself. I’m not that kind of feminist, and I’m not that kind of parent.

Featured image by flickr user David Shankbone.