#notmetoobutistandwithyou
After my post of 9 October and the alarming and disturbing news out of Hollywood, after more and more women came forward, I felt myself retreating into my cocoon of silence. I cried for all these women, while at the same time I was frustrated and angry about everyone jumping on the “me too” bandwagon.
My logical self said they were doing it out of solidarity. Yes, there really were all these women. But my damaged self screamed that it was like the women that make false accusations of rape, diminishing the true rape victims. Perhaps there could have been a different hashtag: #notmetoobutistandwithyou.
Speaking of rape, that act is a bit different than catcalls on the street or a ninety-two year old ex-president in a wheelchair that gropes. Why is it all one and the same? I understand the mindset, the socialisation, the entitled old white man phenomenon. The look the other way attitudes that run deep. But still, rape is not the same.
And then I start feeling awful that I would even think these things. What kind of person would question any of this?
A hurt person would. One who never felt she was taken seriously. One that was told it was her imagination. And that he didn’t really mean it. And that he was bored with his wife. And it was his medical issues. And, of course, that she led them on. And that she shouldn’t have been hanging around with that fast Jackie. She shouldn’t have been a cheerleader and been around those boys on the basketball team.
Therapy only went so far. Or rather, mental health benefits only went so far. Other things like food and family and travel took priority. And I feel comfortable traveling to my cocoon now.
Several women emailed me telling me their stories; some were very hard to read. Oh, god, I never would have imagined. They seem so well-adjusted. Maybe I do, too. But I am hyper aware of all those around me. I get angry when I hear the people I work for laugh about their son and a situation at his school regarding a female classmate. I fume when men post questions online wanting to know about women’s experiences. Shut the fuck up. Quit trying to make this about you being an evolved guy. You’re not if you have to ask.
So I’ll be silent and return to my ways of comforting my damaged young self: with music, dance, good books, coffee with friends, long walks (with or without cameras), and nesting in my little abode with a warm cat and hot tea. I will try to shut out the madness, the sadness, that is our world today, if only for the weekend.
My logical self said they were doing it out of solidarity. Yes, there really were all these women. But my damaged self screamed that it was like the women that make false accusations of rape, diminishing the true rape victims. Perhaps there could have been a different hashtag: #notmetoobutistandwithyou.
Speaking of rape, that act is a bit different than catcalls on the street or a ninety-two year old ex-president in a wheelchair that gropes. Why is it all one and the same? I understand the mindset, the socialisation, the entitled old white man phenomenon. The look the other way attitudes that run deep. But still, rape is not the same.
And then I start feeling awful that I would even think these things. What kind of person would question any of this?
A hurt person would. One who never felt she was taken seriously. One that was told it was her imagination. And that he didn’t really mean it. And that he was bored with his wife. And it was his medical issues. And, of course, that she led them on. And that she shouldn’t have been hanging around with that fast Jackie. She shouldn’t have been a cheerleader and been around those boys on the basketball team.
Therapy only went so far. Or rather, mental health benefits only went so far. Other things like food and family and travel took priority. And I feel comfortable traveling to my cocoon now.
Several women emailed me telling me their stories; some were very hard to read. Oh, god, I never would have imagined. They seem so well-adjusted. Maybe I do, too. But I am hyper aware of all those around me. I get angry when I hear the people I work for laugh about their son and a situation at his school regarding a female classmate. I fume when men post questions online wanting to know about women’s experiences. Shut the fuck up. Quit trying to make this about you being an evolved guy. You’re not if you have to ask.
So I’ll be silent and return to my ways of comforting my damaged young self: with music, dance, good books, coffee with friends, long walks (with or without cameras), and nesting in my little abode with a warm cat and hot tea. I will try to shut out the madness, the sadness, that is our world today, if only for the weekend.
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| the uninvited ©Trish Korous |
I felt very much like you when the Hollywood hashtag ran it's course. I agree with you about the pettiness of some on the #metoo bandwagon, how they diminish what it means to be a Me Too. I'm sorry for your trauma. I have my own as well. I am glad you speak plainly. I'm glad you have found a way to shut out the chaos. I'm glad you keep finding beauty in life. I'm glad you know how to care for your soul. I have worked hard in my life not to let incest define me. It hasn't been easy but it has been worth every brave, gut wrenching decision I made to live as fully as I can. For me, that way was made possible through my relationship with God. I'm not a bible-thumping-soapbox-preacher-of-religious-rhetoric. I rarely step into a person's world or paradigm and offer platitudes. I respect people's journeys and understand that for many of us who have suffered sexual trauma and ultimate betrayal at the hands of those meant to love us, the issue of God is complex at best. I have done my fair share of shutting out the world...and people. It will always be my achilles tendon. However, my best living has come from refusing to let the crippling events of my childhood rob me of living out loud today. You and I, and the host of others who have shared a similar past, are so much more than our damaged souls. And, though we offer our stories, we have more to offer. We can offer hope, encourage bravery and shine the light on a path to liberation. Forgive me, I have written far more than I intended. Let me close this lengthy comment but applauding you! Kind regards, friend!
ReplyDeleteSherrie! Thank you so much for this. For sharing your views, for sharing your story, for understanding what I was (trying to) say. I am so sorry you have had similar experiences, too. So very sorry. But you are strong, as am I. We got this. Yes, we do. Regarding God, I fell away from all this some years ago, and called myself am atheist. But I found Him again while I lived in New Orleans. I found him in St. Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter. And I’ve been talking to him and the entire family since then. I feel much more at peace about so many things now. I feel kinder and gentler. :-)
DeleteAnyway, again... thank you from the bottom of my heart. ❤️