The way all the muscles
in my jaw and back clench
when I feel the gaze of a nearby man,
it’s no wonder I have knots in my neck.
I remind my hips
to relax into the earth,
grounding back into their Mother,
who does not recoil
when we mine her for all she’s worth
and gaze hungrily at her beauty.
Instead her mountains stand brilliantly,
her seas crash violently,
her desserts burn relentlessly.
She reminds me there is power in my bones,
strength in my muscles,
and fury on my tongue.
She shows me the resistance
of blooming
after a prolonged winter,
of new life interrupting the grey.
Tag: feminist
On the Three Year Anniversary of my Sexual Assault
*TW: assault, abuse, anxiety and panic*
The semester had just begun and I felt like I really had it together. I was organized, I was going to the gym each morning, I was ahead on my school work. But things were not as perfect as they seemed. I was beginning to doubt my long-term relationship with my then-boyfriend, “Ethan”. I didn’t feel like I could be myself. In retrospect, I now know that I spent years in an emotionally abusive relationship, consistently being told what I wasn’t allowed to wear, who I could hang out with, and that my opinions were wrong. After months of built-up doubt, I finally told Ethan that I needed time to think about what I wanted. He didn’t take it well, which is understandable, but amidst his consistent attempts to control me, his negative reaction pushed me away even further. I wanted out but I had attached myself to him for so long that I wasn’t sure I could make it on my own.
The next day, I went to work at a restaurant, anticipating celebrating at my friend’s birthday party afterward to blow off some emotional steam. I hadn’t eaten much that day. Distraught about the conversation I’d had with Ethan, I didn’t have much of an appetite. Despite this, I showed up at the party after my restaurant shift and had a few drinks. I vented to some friends about what was going on in my relationship, and I got some good advice. After a few hours, though, I lost most memory of much of what happened that night, but I do know how it ended.
As the party winded down, I made what I thought was a responsible decision to stay on my friend’s couch after the party and not drive home. I knew I had no business driving a car, plus it was extremely late, and I planned to leave in the morning once I had sobered up. However, I wasn’t the only one who stayed. A guy I knew from school, “Jacob”, also stayed. Admittedly, I had developing feelings for him. This was part of the reason I had begun to question my existing relationship with Ethan. I thought it was important for me to figure out what I was missing in my current relationship that led me to develop feelings for other people. I now know the answers to that question: kindness, communication, freedom to be myself. But at the time, I just thought I was a bad person for having feelings for someone else, when in fact I was being manipulated and emotionally abused by Ethan.
That night after my friend’s birthday party, I was excited that Jacob had decided to stay. We were alone together, and I hoped we would talk and get to know each other a little more. But that’s not what happened. Because I had not yet sobered up, things happened that night that I did not consent to. My feelings for Jacob did not make these things okay. My lowered inhibitions did not make them okay. What should have happened was this: Jacob, noting I was intoxicated and emotionally vulnerable, put me to bed on the couch and told me to rest up. What did happen was: I stated what I didn’t want, but he insisted that it was okay for him to those things. I don’t know if I said “no” or “stop”, but I do know that Jacob told me what he was going to do to my body instead of asking if it was okay. I know that I told him there were things I didn’t want to do and that he did them anyway. But instead of realizing I had been sexually assaulted, I spent months thinking that I had cheated on Ethan.
I woke up the next day in a constant state of panic. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating out of my chest. Partly due to what I perceived as my failure to be perfect and partly due to what I did not realize was a violation of my body, I felt unhinged. This past Sunday, I felt anxious and panicky throughout the whole church service I was attending. I was confused until I remembered the feeling of showing up the morning after my assault, to my internship at that same church, exactly two years ago. I had felt dirty, shameful, unworthy. I thought I had done something terrible that made me a failed pastor and a failed human. I’m not really sure how I moved forward the rest of that semester, but in many ways I’m still recovering. I hate that I still feel the need to use fake names to protect these men or to protect myself from them. Moving toward forgiveness for both of these men is a daily struggle. I still don’t know how to offer forgiveness in a way that doesn’t justify the things that happened to me. Others often say that forgiveness is actually for me and not for them, but I have trouble framing it that way.
I no longer feel like a failure because I know what happened was a result of abuse and assault, not a result of my own moral failings. I needed to get out of my relationship with Ethan in order to fully be myself. I needed to realize what Jacob had done to me in order to be able to heal from it. I still deal with the anxiety and panic that I hold in my body from these experiences. But on this 2-year anniversary of the most terrible thing, I do have the ability to look back and know how strong I am to have survived this. I can look back and see how far I’ve come in managing my anxiety. I can look forward and know that I am now in a relationship with someone who values me as I am, shows me kindness, and doesn’t try to take control of me. I can also look forward and imagine a future where forgiveness is possible, and I think that’s a good place to start.
Nasty Women
We beat our hands into
the muddy ground,
centuries of asking
for more,
always perceived as
a threat
no matter how we phrase it.
Internalizing requests
to be less,
settling for
assistant,
vice,
“Mrs. John Smith.”
We have our own names
and strong bodies,
consistently colonized
by laws
and vanity
and men’s mouths.
So the pain
of losing again
to a man
who has no idea
that he is a perpetrator
is no surprise,
but just another
thing to overcome.
We will continue
bringing new life,
subversively
proving our strength,
beating our hands into
the muddy ground,
packing down the seeds
in the earth
to grow.