My dad always kept a stash of nails inside the glove compartment of his car. 

Whenever we got doubled-parked in (which happened whenever we scored a prized spot outside of my grandparents' high rise apartment complex) my dad would calmly grab a nail and sneak around to the back of the incriminating car. 

He’d carefully wedge his nail in-between the tire and the pavement so that when the car owner eventually came running out to move his car forward, the nail would quietly pierce through the tire’s rubber, creating a gash in the grooves. 

My dad was very satisfied each time he got to “stick it” to a schmucky car owner who had blocked us in. 

We never had to witness the fallout of the tire going flat minutes or hours later. There was no trace, or even suspicion that it could have been my dad. I mean, he didn’t shout at the owner, or even honk his rage into the loud NYC air. He just kept his hands on the wheel and barely blinked an eye, all emotions erased from his face. 

I tell this story because confrontation is not really in my DNA. 

I come from a “grin, bear and complain about it later” or “take your feelings out passive aggressively” kind of clan. 
 

So you could say it was out of character for me to write a letter condemning the doctor who said sexist, misogynistic things about my body, my choice of undergarments, my marriage and my weight during a medical appointment to zap my varicose veins. 

And that it was even more out of character for me to actually look into the eyes of the doctor during an official hearing last week, and explain to him in my own heated and well-prepared words why he couldn’t and shouldn’t ever openly degrade and critique a women’s body, especially a woman who is paying for his medical expertise. 

Where did this outspokenness, this courage and bravery to confront my aggressor come from? To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure.

But I know it has something to do with you.

When I was lying on the doctor’s examining table listening to him casually judge my body, I said to myself “I am a women’s empowerment coach, this won’t work on me.” 

That statement wasn’t 100% accurate, because my professional role didn’t save me from the tsunami of painful emotions that came up after the experience. 

But my mission did give me strength to make my voice heard, to speak truth to power. It washed out any non-confrontational DNA lurking in my system because it became about something much larger than me. 

James Clear in his book Atomic Habits says that the most effective way to change habits is to make them identity-based. “To change your behavior for good, you need to start believing new things about yourself. You need to build identity-based habits.” 

He boils sustained success, in any domain, down two main ingredients: 

1. Decide the type of person you want to be.

2. Prove it to yourself with small wins.

I think I decided in the doctor’s office that I was the type of person who would use my voice, my resources, my experience and my privilege to shed light on the continual way that women, and their personal choices, are disrespected and disparaged by people in power, not only publicly, but behind closed medical doors.


Because I believed that about myself I was able to set the ball in motion, without thinking so much about the consequences. In a way, I'm happy I didn't know that my letter would lead to a face-off with a 68-year-old man who has been living under an unethical rock and getting away with it for most of his existence. 


Looking him squarely in the eyes and explaining exactly why his words were inappropriate and unacceptable was cathartic and healing as well as intensely surreal, exhausting and sad. I don't think I've ever sweated that much without doing an ounce of exercise. 


It’s only now that I realize what a brave move I made, but it didn’t feel like I was being brave at the time, it just felt like I was being the person I want to become even more. 

And that felt empowering.