Hi Everyone;
Every once and awhile I decide I need to step out of my comfort zone and do something that is difficult to do. Doing things like speaking out at the "Take Back the Night" annual celebration or journeying on to a stage at a mamapaloza event, and reading at the poetry jam. These little exercises in freedom; as I call them have helped my journey from victimization to life again. A few weeks ago in my women's studies class I learned about the Feministing Web site and began to read it every chance I got. I also began taking chances about this time by asking one of my professors at college to read three writings that come from my private journals. These writings are poetry and pros that come from the heart of a woman who journey took her to hell and back on many occasions. I felt the panic rise as I sent those three writings via email recently to this professor. I then sat an entire weekend setting on pins and needles with a thousands thoughts and sheer panic wondering what she would think of them. The Email she responded with started out with "Holy Crap" and then she went on to compare me to a well known feminist's writings asking me if I would consider publishing them, or at the very least write my autobiography. (I have read this feminist's articles and books and know that I could never compare to someone of her strength and insight.) I remember re-reading that email and tears would leak out of my eyes it was difficult for me to believe that someone with so many qualifications would believe I had talent. My initial response was as follows "oh hell no's" was coming out of my mouth." Yes I am a feminist, I just sometimes am human to and don't always believe that I am good enough.
Well today saying I am not good enough was sort of painful for me,
so painful in fact I began to rethink what I was saying when I said
"Hell NO". I speak at meetings, and tell my story in order to help
other women recover. I share my story of pain, of fear, of rape, of
alcoholism and of the journey to strength and peace often with women
sitting in jails, or at my coffee table trying to stay clean and sober.
I listen to their frantic phone calls and take them to safe places when
need be. When I am working with them I never say "Hell No", because
saying that could mean a women's life, staying silent when they need to
hear others survived and are okay could mean a women going back to
hell. So today I am going to step out of that comfort zone and attempt
to start a blog on Feministing. The following is a short writing I
wrote during the very first Women's Study class I took at the local
college I am attending.
A Women's Silence
I have stared at this blank page, wondering how to begin, and if I
began to write and open up that door, would the words ever have an end.
A strong women in my life told me once, that if "every women, who was
every abused would allow just one tear to fall, the whole world would
flood, but maybe then justice would be done". I start out with the
words, silence was my bitter friend. Silence kept me safe; it allowed
me to continue being a part of the family. Silence allowed my mother to
live in peace, not torn apart because her children were at war. My
silence allowed her not to make the choice of what child she loved
more. Who would she believe, a daughter who was diagnosed with a mental
illness, or a son, who she had spent her life protected because he was
not like the other boys and daddy beat him when ever daddy's world was
out of control.
Eventually the truth was told, on that day I saw my daughter who was
turning 4. I looked at her and the clarity and reality hit me like the
day he stole my virginity, at an age I did not know my ABC's and had
not been taught life's stark realities. Mom had bought me a new green
dress, and pretty white tights, My brother Jug had left for college,
and Red had became the oldest one in a world where there was just one
girl, a world full of older boys. I was no longer protected when I
played out side, Jug was not there to hold my hand, and help me pick
the flowers, keeping me safe from the all the evil ones.
But you see my daughter turned 4, and she looked like me, and her
laughter was so innocent, I knew then that I had not been the reason
this brother took away my innocent smile, My shame had been replaced
That day, 21 years after the day my green dress was wrecked, I spoke. I
opened my mouth and the tears, and rage, and awful pain, spilled like a
broken water main. And Brother Jug heard the words, and tears run down
his face. Then he said I am sorry for ever going away. For leaving you
in a world I had to escape. His wife went to the store, and she brought
home a cake, and on it she wrote, Happy Birthday. And we celebrated my
5th birthday, only he put a number 1 on my cake. I still cherish the
picture taken that day, as I see my brother's eyes and all his pain.
And he began to tell the truth, of how my brother Red always took
the blame, and how my father beat his back with that old leather belt.
He told the stories I had not heard, the memories and the shame, He
told of how I never walked until I was two, because he carried me. I
told my mom, I told my dad, I told my brothers every one of them.
Dobber he just walked away, I see him now again, and Oley, he began to
tell and admitted it was true. Butch, he just held me, and said it
would be okay, G--g he told his wife of feeling so ashamed. My Mom she
cried, and walked into her room, and father he sat there unsure of what
to do.
Red he denied it, and would for many years. A few months back he almost died, from years of the hell he lived in. I called him on the phone that day and for hours we talked of all the pain, and the apology was slow in coming, and I apologized too. I told him I was sorry too, and Brother Red, I forgive you. The story of my silence finally stopped taking away my breath. Sadly it would take many years from that day in 1985, before I sobered up. 14 attempts at suicide, 3 destructive marriages, I have lost count of the diagnoses, doctors and psychiatrists piled on me, or how many times they locked the psyche ward door, before I had enough. It wasn't until I chose to live, that life began again.
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I am not a writer and I won't pretend that I can approach this topic with the grace and simplicity that you have. But I need to thank you for your courage in speaking when so many women can't. My childhood innocence was not stolen from me until later in life, when I was no longer a child. By a husband whose increasing frustration with a wife who didn't seem to understand her place in the marriage led to criticism, anger, destruction or property, physical attacks, and threats on my life.
As I have come to terms with the fact that this did happen and that its effects will be with me for the rest of my life one thing I have not been able to accept is that it is still going on under other roofs to other women and children every day.
Feministing was one of the first acts of rebellion on the road that led away from that marriage. I remember the feeling of being "naughty" sneaking on a feminist web page that had he known about he would have ridiculed me about until I admitted that feminism was just a bunch of bullshit. That was the game. If he got angry about my actions, outraged, I could have become angry and fought back, mentally, verbally, legally. But instead he would pick at my mental and emotional well being until there wasn't anything left. And the final humilition would always be making me admit I was wrong.
So thank you for talking, for adding your voice and for reminding us all what we our fighting for.
You might have gotten more comments if you broke up that wall of text.
I didn't get past the first sentence...in fact I can't even remember what the first sentence was.
Foxdie, you yourself might get taken more seriously if every time somebody posted something more than two lines you didn't show up to whine about how long and unreadble it is. You're clearly the only person in this community who has a problem with people writing in *gasp* paragraphs. Maybe you'd be better off with a nice webcomic.
Putteringclutz, thank you for posting this. (And damn right you have talent.)