“Fuck Catherine, fuck Catherine! No, actually—I REALLY WANT TO FUCK HER.”

Hi there! I’m Catherine. And that drunken, lustful declaration was how I was welcomed into both life in the dorm I inhabited for the summer and into the tech community at large. It was fun and exciting, like a rite of passage—you can’t really be one of those mythical Women in Tech without being sexually harassed at least once or twice, and here I was, unlocking that achievement in my very first weekend. Afterwards, my (all male) peers who witnessed the event assured me that it was “definitely a compliment!” and that he was “saying all good things about [me]!”

Earlier that same night, I had been invited to a conversation between two young gentlemen about how much better looking I was than this other friend of theirs—she, one of them kindly explained, “could never get [his] dick hard”. I, they assured me, was far, far more attractive.

Needless to say, I walked away from that evening struttin’ tall and feelin’ sexy.

No, just kidding—I went back to my room, cried a little, and avoided everyone for about a week.

Despite that rough start, I did have a great summer—but it was still punctuated by small incidents, predicated exclusively upon my gender, that made me angry and sad and feel like I didn’t belong. I was the object of domestic violence jokes after innocuously stating that one of my friends had “beaten me” at Magic: The Gathering. I was explicitly told I could not be part of a particular conversation because, in the words of one participant, “we’re all sexist” (and, therefore, incapable of including a female perspective without being offensive—so, I suppose, why try?). In a community that was generally quite supportive—and I did make friendships that I hope will be lifelong ones—interactions like these made me feel…stunned. Sad. Shitty. Even when the people involved were drunk. Even when they were “just kidding.”

Here’s the thing—the people I’ve had these experiences with are often not vocal misogynists. On the contrary, these are the same men that share links to feminist writings on their Facebook pages and volunteer with Girls Who Code. But calling yourself a feminist does not exempt you from the need for continuous self-examination of your own actions and how they might be affecting those around you, nor does it dissolve the need for a major culture shift before women can feel safe and welcome in the tech community.

I’ve heard over and over again—from the mouths of VCs and CEOs and my employers and peers alike—that we need to get more Women in Tech, and that desperate attempts are being made to open the eyes of young girls to the world of coding and to welcome them into Tech with open arms.

Here’s the thing: convincing a girl that coding is fun is not that difficult. Coding is fucking awesome. The first time you make a computer print out “hello world”, it’s magical. You feel powerful. It’s addicting.

But, as a woman, coding is sometimes the only aspect of my professional experiences that makes me feel powerful—otherwise, even among people who are ostensibly my friends, I have felt alternately angry, sad, unwelcome, and unsafe. When I try to encourage younger girls to develop an interest in programming, as I smile and tell them about all the good bits, I also have to consciously push away the memories I have of being sexually harassed and regularly microaggressed.

Reasons like this might contribute to the fact that a February 2014 study from the Center for Talent Innovation found that, in the U.S., women are 45% more likely than men to leave the tech industry within the year. People are incredibly determined to steer young girls into programming careers, yet are incredibly reluctant to behave in a way that makes women who already have programming careers feel safe and welcome. It’s a despicable hypocrisy, and one that I didn’t fully comprehend until I had experienced harassment in a tech environment myself. Throughout my education, people had cheered for and encouraged my patriarchy-smashing choice of career path. Once I began that career, I realized why the encouragement had been necessary—there is internalized misogyny here, and it is evident in pervasive, ubiquitous, grinding ways.

The problem isn’t just a matter of getting Women into Tech; the problem is keeping them here. And that problem will get a lot better once we face the fact that it exists—and that it demands not only institutional change, but changes in our personal attitudes, our perspectives, and ourselves.