My initial thought was that I've never been assaulted. Not in the way I think of assault. Not what you see on Law and Order SVU and on the news. But I didn't feel completely sure. Something was blocking me from moving beyond that initial reaction, though there was a splinter in my mind about it.
I wondered (and I'm still wondering) how #MeToo might be impacting women who have been assaulted in the way I do think about it, and who have not talked about it with many people or anyone at all? There are no trigger warnings on these #MeToo posts. What if someone has buried it deep within and far away, and then these #MeToo posts pop up all over their social media feeds with their well-intended, but dangerous shovels, exhuming all that horror and making their news feeds feel as unsafe as they were when it happened?
It definitely exhumed things for me. Things I'd rather not think about. Things I very rarely talk about, and when I do, it's only with a select few. Things that tempt me to shrink and feel shame. Things that steal my words and strangle me. Things I wish I could completely erase from my mind. There's something that resonates in me when I read #MeToo.
What if a teenage neighbor boy catches you and his little brother being curious, and then the little boy's brother tells you to show him what you were doing? What if you remember feeling dirty and scared - like live kiddie porn? What if, later on you're told, before going to another neighbor's house, not to let what happened with the other neighbor happen with this neighbor? What if you feel ashamed . . . like what happened was your fault, but you hadn't even lost your two front teeth yet? Do you post #MeToo?
What if you act on this same curiosity with a relative half a year older than you, and that relative threatens to tell your big sister what you did if you didn't do everything he said? What if your parents weren't there, and this torture lasted for six weeks of your summer vacation while you were staying out on Long Island with other relatives you barely knew? What if you did everything he told you to do for SIX WEEKS, and then he told you he'd tell your sister anyway? What if you cried, and shook inside, and begged him not to tell, and then he told her something else in front of you . . . something benign, and then looked at you and laughed while your sister looked at you confused about why you were so afraid? Do you say #MeToo if you were only six when it happened, and the relative was not much older than you?
What if you're checked regularly to make sure no one has touched you inappropriately, but so much has happened behind closed doors while they played Bid Whist and Spades, and nothing the eyes could see would tell anything about it at all?
What if an older male relative asks you and another young relative to massage his thighs, and it feels creepy and weird, but you're a little kid, and you don't know that you can say no?
What if you're in junior high school, and after recess every day on the way in from the yard, the boys run through the crowd of students squeezing the girls' butts and laughing? What if you don't want it to happen, and it makes you so uncomfortable to be touched like that, but no teachers are ever watching, and no one ever does anything to stop it?
What about if you're 15 and then 18, and you're told about about the sexual assaults of loved ones, but you have no one to process it with you? What if you witness someone else's damaging response, know that it's so wrong, but don't know what to do because you don't know what the right response is? What if you have to hold it silently? Just hold it, even though it feels way too heavy? What if you feel horrified, and surprised, and sad, and scared, and confused, and soul-achy, but you have no where to put it? No one to talk to about it? What if you are left wondering, "If this happens to me, will I have to be quiet about it, too?"
What if you confide in a loved one as you're seeking guidance about a friend's sexual secret, and instead of supporting you, that loved one threatens to report your friend to the pastor if she doesn't turn herself in, even though doing so would result in your friend being suspended from church, and expelled from the "Christian" college you attend? What if it felt like an assault, and what if you felt complicit, even though that was not your intention? How do you recover from equipping a loved one to violate a friend? When you feel like a paralyzed bystander who unknowingly provided the weapon your loved one threatened to use to destroy her? In this case, would the person post #ItWasMe? How do you feel ever feel safe around that loved one? How do you ever feel safe to open your mouth again?
What if a male co-worker more than twice your age invites you to come out to lunch while you're working as a magazine intern, and he walks you over to a secluded area near the United Nations, and places his arm around your shoulder without asking you? What if it goes on for a long time, and you're sitting there, wanting him to stop, feeling immobilized and numb, so scared that this may not be where it ends even though you're only yards away from a busy Manhattan street, but no one can really see you from where you are? What if it does end there, and you feel like you dodged a bullet, but you shouldn't really say anything about it because you feel like maybe it was your fault because you asked him for all of those extra office supplies to take back to college with you? Thinking that if you tell, maybe your loved one will think you need to be turned in, too.
What feeds shame?
What nourishes it?
What makes it grow?
Secrets. All of those secrets.
Being afraid to speak them.
What do perpetrators always say?
Shhhhh . . .
Don't tell!
But nothing life giving grows in the dark.
Forget being quiet!
Speak!
Tell!
Cry!
Scream!
Publish your blog post!
Throw the curtains open and let the light in.
No one who means you well requires you to keep a cancer inside you.
No one who means you well would want to see you crushed beneath that weight.
It'll be so bright that it will ache at first . . .
But when your eyes adjust to the light you were meant to live in,
You'll be okay.
You'll be able to breathe.
You'll be free.
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