I recently replied to a tweet, based on my assumption of what I read. Here’s the tweet:
How do you describe product management to your mom?
I jumped to the assumption that this question was one of those “mom” memes, where (mostly) young men ask a question that assumes that moms are not technical, incapable of understanding, and maybe have the capabilities of a fifth grader.
I think my jump took less than a nanosecond.
While you might not jump to that assumption, we all jump based on some assumptions. That’s because of the Satir Interaction Model.
I took in the words, and made meaning of them (the mom memes). I had strong feelings of resentment, anger, and probably more negative feelings than I can describe. My feelings about the feelings? Clearly, they consisted of “I’m not letting one more technical man get away with this.” My defenses of women—who may or may not be technical—arose. And since I have few filters, I responded to this tweet with mine:
Do you believe that moms don’t know about product management already? Without a “real” job, my mom was an expert at product management. Moms are way more technical and capable than most young men realize.
I could have stopped at “already?” I also could have stopped at product management. But, I could not help myself in the moment and added the last sentence. That’s the power of the Satir Interaction Model.
The original tweet’s author did not respond to me, showing his level of maturity. (I mean that in the most sincere way. He was mature. I showed questionable maturity.)
Later, when I described this interaction to Mark (my husband), he reminded me of the Rule of Three. Mark asked, “Why did you assume this? Are you sure he wasn’t just asking an honest question?”
How Do Our Assumptions Change Our Responses?
I had many assumptions on reading the original tweet. First, the author says he’s an expert PM (product manager). I am sure he is. Second, he appears to be a young(ish) man. Third, he didn’t say, “my mom,” as if he was asking for help. He wrote, “your mom.”
The combination of all three is what set me off. That’s when I stopped thinking and reacted. That’s because I am damn tired of anyone demeaning women, purposeful or not.
As a writer, I know that people don’t always read my words the way I intend those words. I could have offered this author some benefit of the doubt. I did not.
Imagine if the tweet had been: “How do you describe product management to your parents?” Or, “your children.” The “your” changes my perspective on the question, so I think of curiosity, not a mom meme.
When we use the memes of “explain to your mom,” we reinforce these disparaging and incorrect views of women and moms:
- Moms are not and cannot be technical
- As soon as a woman becomes a mom, her technical skills fly out the window
- Somehow, moms need more explanation because they are not even as smart as a fifth grader. (Another freaking meme I hate.)
If people don’t understand something, we owe it to them to explain. But that’s not how I read that original tweet. If that’s what the author meant, then I apologize. I was wrong and mean-spirited.
Writers can’t tell how people will react to what they read. We readers bring our assumptions and will react based on those assumptions. That’s why every word matters.
That’s the question this week: Which assumptions do you bring to what you read?