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Barbaric YAWP Girl

~ I'm tired of being silent. I'm stepping into the light, and I'm bringing the truth with me.

Barbaric YAWP Girl

Monthly Archives: October 2017

The “Harmless” Speech That Hurts Our Children

24 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by Christina-Marie in Uncategorized

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Tags

parenting, Rape Culture

I squared off with a healthcare provider, yesterday. 

One of our foster kiddos, Alpha, had a medical appointment which involved needles, and a measurable amount of pain and discomfort. 

Was the procedure necessary? Yes. 

What was not necessary was the words of the provider, immediately afterward. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked. 

Alpha didn’t say anything. 

“Did you have fun?”

Alpha, looking uncomfortable, didn’t respond. The appointment involved needles, and tears. I feel secure in telling you Alpha did NOT have fun during his appointment. 

I stepped in for him. 

“Alpha, you don’t have to say it was fun, if it wasn’t. It’s okay.”

“Awwww… you’ll hurt my feelings!” said the provider, in a mock whine.

At that point, my blood boiled, and I didn’t hold back.

“Alpha… You are not responsible for the feelings of adults being hurt. Adults can handle their own feelings.” I gently put my hand on his shoulder, and guided him toward the exit. 

The provider was taken aback, and quickly dismissed us.

Here’s the thing…

I’m sure the provider didn’t consider his words before he said them. I’m sure he’s a great human being. In fact, most of our other interactions with him have been awesome (he sees several of our children).

BUT… words like his can hurt our children. 

When children learn they have to please adults (“Say you had fun”), in spite of what their own feelings and bodies tell them (it wasn’t fun, and it hurt), it teaches kids that pleasing adults is more important than feeling safe.

When children learn they are responsible for the feelings of adults (“You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t ________”), it teaches kids they must comply with what an adult tells them to do, even if it doesn’t feel good or safe. 

This lesson is especially critical when we put it in terms of childhood sexual abuse. 

Telling a child, “Hug your (adult relative), or you’ll hurt (their) feelings,” teaches that child that the adult’s feelings are more important than the child’s comfort. Further, it teaches the child that the child has an obligation to do what the adult wants, to preserve the feelings of the adult.

I know a childhood sexual abuse victim who was forced — as a child — to apologize to her abuser, by her mother, for saying she didn’t like how the abuser touched her when her mother wasn’t around. Because it upset the abuser. 

When I was raped at 14 years old, an adult made clear to me that whatever I did, I couldn’t tell my dad, lest his emotions get out of control, and he do something regrettable. At 14, I was tasked with keeping my dad’s emotions in check.  

Children are not responsible for — nor should they be saddled with feeling responsible for — the feelings of adults, and when we let language like this go, without correcting it, we are setting our children up to be perfect targets for abuse. 

Children should not be pressured or compelled to be “polite” about their experiences, when those experiences cause them pain or discomfort. To allow other adults to suggest otherwise, without correcting it, sets our children up to be targets for abuse. 

A friend recently shared her story, about how she finally told her mother about the mother’s boyfriend sexually abusing her (my friend). The day after the disclosure, the boyfriend was angrily stomping around the house. 

My friend said, “I wish he wasn’t so angry all the time.”

Her mother responded with, “Well, you know what you need to do (to make him not so angry),” suggesting my friend offer herself up as a sacrifice to soothe the emotions of the angry boyfriend. 

Perhaps this is an extreme example. I know it was certainly outrageous, and heartbreaking, for me to hear.

However, people don’t need to implicitly instruct children to submit to sexual abuse in order to groom them for it, through language. 

Words that tell children they are not in control of their bodies groom them. 

“Give your auntie a kiss.” 

“Your grandpa wants a hug. Go hug him.”

Words that tell children they must state they are comfortable and enjoying themselves — when they are not — groom them. 

“Tell your uncle how much fun you had on his boat (even though you were terrified the entire time).” 

“Your cousin wasn’t hurting you… he was just tickling you, and playing (even though you repeatedly told him to stop, and started crying and trying to get away when he wouldn’t).”

Words that tell children they are responsible for an adult’s feelings — and that children have a duty to protect those feelings — groom them. 

“Mommy is going to be really sad if you don’t kiss her goodbye.”

“It’s going to hurt Daddy’s feelings if you don’t go fishing with him.”

It’s not enough to avoid using this language, ourselves. We need to also correct it when other adults use it, and expose our children to it. 
 

 

Don’t Tell Your Dad…

17 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by Christina-Marie in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Months after I was raped at 14 years old, I finally got the courage — after a suicide attempt — to tell an adult relative. Highlights from the response:

“What did you expect, hanging out with older boys, and dressing the way you do?

WHATEVER you do, don’t tell your dad… He’ll want to kill the guy, and you don’t want your dad to go to prison, right?”

So… at 14 years of age, I learned that I wasn’t capable of making rational decisions (like who I spent time with) — never mind that I had very little adult oversight to start with.

I learned that visually, I was a slut, because I didn’t have the modesty and self-respect to cover up, so I was — naturally — going to be treated like a slut.

I learned that it was my responsibility to maintain my silence, to protect adults from their own choices.

LET ME BE CLEAR: I couldn’t be trusted to make “wise” choices about my own safety, but I was solely responsible for keeping my dad safe from imprisonment. 

But before I learned all that… 

I learned, when I was 10, not to wear skirts to school, because when I did, I’d get called up to my teacher’s big desk so he could stroke my legs and thighs. 

I learned to wear padded bras, because they acted like armor between my breasts and his fingers. 

I learned that telling a grownup you’re being molested by your teacher gets you labeled a “troublemaker” who can’t be believed. 

I learned that telling your mom doesn’t mean she’ll go to the police (because she may not know she can). It might mean she goes and has a stern talk with him, and he keeps doing it, after gaslighting you (“I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable. I only want you to know how much I appreciate you…”).

I learned that — of all the things best friends can share — sharing abuse is just about the saddest fucking thing in the world. 

And today…

Today I learned that sexual abuse makes people so uncomfortable, some of them would prefer not to associate with its victims. Some of them are happier pretending they can’t see it. 

Today I also learned that my childhood abuse made one of my female classmates feel like an outsider to my social group, because she didn’t get “special” attention from our teacher. She didn’t know that attention was abuse, but it made her feel excluded and unworthy, and fuck him for creating an environment in which kids thought they weren’t worthy, and we were the “lucky” ones. 

But… I also learned today that my circle is wide. I learned I have some pretty amazing folks around me. 

I learned it’s perfectly okay and normal to celebrate literally surviving one more day. 

I learned I’m considered a role model, no matter how much I reject that idealization. 

I learned to make peace with that “role model” thing. Sort of. I’ll work on it. 

I learned how to stop worrying about hurting the feelings of the people who continue to protect my abuser. 

I decided I’m going to learn how to stop worrying about hurting the feelings of the people who furthered my abuse or trauma by enabling, gaslighting, and victim-blaming. (That’s going to take some time, but I start work today.)

I learned how to use the “unfriend” button. 

I learned how to ask for help. 

I learned how to stop apologizing for my truth… even when it makes people uncomfortable.

What did YOU learn, back then?

What have you learned, TODAY?

This #metoo Thing is Awesome, but… Check on Your Peeps, Please!

16 Monday Oct 2017

Posted by Christina-Marie in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

I’ve spent most of the weekend stuck on a hideous roller coaster of empowerment, outrage, PTSD, and pulling it together to appear functional and happy.

Wash. Spin. Rinse. Repeat. 

I’m guessing most of my friends have, too.

Here’s the thing… Friday night, I was on fire! I was so freaking ecstatic that sexual assault, abuse, and harassment were in the spotlight — more specifically, that the overlooking, coverup, and excusing of those things were in the spotlight.

Finally, FINALLY, everyone was talking about it!

And that… felt pretty damn empowering. It was like a massive army of warrior survivors, shouting in unison: NO MORE! NOT ONE MORE!

And, man… that’s a pretty high high.

But Saturday morning rolled around, and so did the victim-blaming. I stood my ground, and I lost friends over it. Friends I cared about. And that… was the beginning of a massive spiral into darkness.

As the #metoo movement caught on, the stories started rolling out. I found myself — in one moment — celebrating the shattering of silence, and — in the next — reliving my own abuse and assault.

My PTSD took me down, hard.

I ended up in a fetal position, screaming and crying and clawing at my own skin, wondering if living was really worth it, when it hurts so damn much, and when it means living in a world that covered up for and protected a teacher who molested his students.

But, I had people counting on me.

So… I pulled myself together, the best I could, and went to work, hours late, without even trying to apologize (because, how can you, when you’re HOURS late?), and plastered on a smile, and threw myself into work.

And when I got home at nearly 3 a.m., I fell right back into loneliness and despair.

I was supposed to immediately pack up and head out on a six-hour drive to a work training I’d registered for, but… I couldn’t.

I literally couldn’t. I stood in my kitchen, willing myself to get going and pack a bag, but I just fell back into sobbing and collapsed to the floor.

I decided to eat something, and think about packing, but I couldn’t get up. And when I did, I couldn’t eat. And because I never ate, I never packed.

If you’ve never lived with  mental illness, you probably don’t understand that bit, but in my mind, I needed to eat, first. And because I couldn’t eat, I became hopelessly incapacitated in regard to the rest.

I didn’t get in my car. I didn’t drive six hours to the training. That failure would return to bite me in the butt.

I recognized I needed to be surrounded by my support system, and Mr. Wright was out of town with the kids, so… I slept a bit, fitfully, and drove to where they were. It was only a three-hour drive.

On the way there, I started to feel a bit better. A little more empowered. I talked to Mr. Wright on the way, and we talked about how the tide was changing, and how, someday, it will be seen as unconscionable to excuse sexual abuse, assault, and harassment. By the time I arrived, I was functional and even a bit excited.

And then… the rug got pulled out from under me.

Apparently, at the training, I’d been recognized for an award, and it became very obvious that I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t there because, after fighting through suicidal thoughts, flashbacks, panic attacks, and a 15-hour work day, I couldn’t eat, couldn’t pack, and couldn’t get in my car to drive six hours for an eight-hour training.

Instead, I had tried to rest my body, and driven three hours to safety.

My absence embarrassed my team. I had let them down. I had been a notable part of a low-attendance problem, and I failed them.

I know, because an open letter was posted to “people who were recognized and hadn’t bothered to show up” in a group I’m a member of.

When it was first posted, I didn’t know I’d been named for an award, so I assumed it didn’t apply to me. I mean, it applied to me, but it couldn’t be about me, because I hadn’t told anyone on my team that I’d registered.

I commented that folks who didn’t make it probably had a really good reason (I mean, I did… a severe lack of mental health is a pretty good reason, I think, and don’t let anyone tell you — or me — differently), and maybe someone should reach out to those people and make sure they’re okay!

As I wrote it, I wasn’t okay. Not really. I was far from it, but I was faking it, and I had hope.

I wondered if maybe there were others who were incapacitated by reliving their trauma this weekend, like me. I wondered if any of them were fighting for their lives, like me.

Then, the post was gone. Poof! It disappeared.

Good, I thought. It was a pretty bullying post. Maybe the poster took my suggestion, and went off to contact those award-winners who weren’t there, to make sure they’re okay. 

And then, I got word that I had been one of those award-winners.

And THEN, the original poster doubled down, and posted it AGAIN, along with a challenge to “step up” and “show up when we say we will.”

It added, “How do you feel when your hostess cancels on you at the last minute?”

I was floored. I started sobbing. I was outraged. I felt betrayed.

The post hadn’t come down because the poster was off to call everyone and make sure they were okay. I know, because she never called me.

It was taken down so my comments wouldn’t be read by anyone else, and so she could reformulate the post into (I don’t know?) a more direct CHALLENGE.

I didn’t comment right away, because I was busy reading the comments from people who said they felt really targeted and shamed by the post, even if it wasn’t about them.

I was busy reading private messages from people who said the poster was out of line, and the post made them really uncomfortable, and upset.

I remembered all the #metoo posts I’d seen in the last 24 hours, and I knew some of these people — like me — had spent some time remembering and reliving their abuse. I knew they were at the very least, tender, and — if they were even close to where I was — they were fragile as hell, on the brink of a breakdown, self-harm, or worse.

And that, my friends, is when I lost my shit.

“How dare you?”

“NO ONE (most notably YOU) called to ask me if something had happened. (It did. It’s continuing. It’s devastating.)”

“NO ONE (most notably YOU) called to ask me if I was okay. (I wasn’t. I’m not. I’m far from okay.)”

“If my hostess cancelled because she was suicidal or her mental health was in jeopardy, I wouldn’t guilt her about doing so.”

Those were just some of the things I fired back. Because, you know what?

I. Was. So. Fucking. Done.

I did get a call. But not from her. I got a call from a leader who tried to tell me “she didn’t mean it like that,” and that the comments on the post were “volatile,” and didn’t create a team environment. And that comment about suicide was really concerning, and maybe I should get some help.

You think?!

And I refrained from saying all the things I wanted to say about wouldn’t it be nice if I had a built-in support system, like — I dunno — a TEAM of “sisters” who would support me and ask after me when I go missing? But I didn’t say those things, because I’ve never fit in, and while a lot of the people on my team seem to have that sisterly support, I am most definitely not one of them, because I’m not part of the camaraderie.

When I go missing, no one calls.

Not until I have to defend myself.

And then, it’s to gaslight me.

And today, I spent time on the phone and in person with #metoo people who have been pretty much going through the exact same feelings as I have… all the elation and empowerment and despair and trauma and hopelessness and grief and anguish and JUST. TRYING. TO. SURVIVE all the feelings that go with this movement.

And that’s sort of soul-crushing.

Even when we’re moving toward victory, we are still dying. We are still losing.

Because this shit NEVER GOES AWAY.

And when we think we have it neatly tucked into a box, it springs up like a terrifying clown out of a Jack-in-the-box, and we piss ourselves and try to stuff it back in, because after all these years, it still takes us by surprise. We crank that handle, and keep cranking it, and we know it’s coming, but it scares the shit out of us every. single. time it pops up.

I say allllll that to say this:

CHECK ON YOUR PEEPS.

When you see someone post #metoo, don’t just “like” and pass.

Send them a fucking message. “I believe you. I stand with you. Are you okay? How can I help? I love you. I value you. Thank you for speaking out.”

Copy and paste it, for all I care, but do something. Say something.

And for the love of God, if someone is missing from a regular activity where you expect to see them, pick up the phone, for crying out loud, and under no circumstances subtweet/subpost/passive-aggressively throw shade at them.

Spread love. Offer comfort. Don’t let anyone slip through the cracks.

This is too important for us to let anyone go missing.

We need one another, and we need you.

Rose McGowan is Storming Hollywood, and Bringing Fiery Hell with Her. I Love Her.

13 Friday Oct 2017

Posted by Christina-Marie in #ROSEARMY, bruce huntoon, Bystander Apathy, Rape Culture, Vision

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

bruce huntoon

Rose McGowan isn’t messing around. Seriously.

She’s naming and shaming the Hollywood elite who knew about Harvey Weinstein’s abuse of women, and did nothing, said nothing, stopped nothing, stood for nothing.

You want to play let’s play #ROSEARMY pic.twitter.com/uqd26Z78gc

— rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan) October 10, 2017

 

All of you Hollywood “A-list” golden boys are LIARS. We have just begun. #ROSEARMY pic.twitter.com/r5yPL2A3bC

— rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan) October 10, 2017

 

Donna Karan you are a DEPLORABLE Aiding and abetting is a moral crime. You are scum in a fancy dress pic.twitter.com/Vze7lnpdvj

— rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan) October 10, 2017

 

Hey @mattdamon what’s it like to be a spineless profiteer who stays silent? pic.twitter.com/rp0OrRrpqJ

— rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan) October 9, 2017

 

Ben Affleck Casey Affleck, how’s your morning boys?

— rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan) October 9, 2017

 

This is the girl that was hurt by a monster. This is who you are shaming with your silence. pic.twitter.com/TrtRNiYfIT

— rose mcgowan (@rosemcgowan) October 8, 2017

 

And, you know what? She’s absolutely right.

Anyone who knows about sexual abuse and chooses to stay silent is complicit.

Everyone who knew, had “been aware of vague rumors” (HELLO, Glenn Close), who chose not to hear survivors and victims because it might endanger their business dealings… all those people are complicit.

And it reminded me so very, very much of the acquaintance — an adult in the community when I was a child molested alongside my best friends by our teacher — who privately decried the actions of that teacher after I spoke out, adding, “Somehow, I always knew you were one of the kids affected.”

At first, I felt vindicated. Someone who was around during that time, as an adult observer, knew and believed what had happened to me, and kids like me.

And then… I got angry. I got right PISSED OFF.

How many other adults “always knew?” How many, like several who messaged me privately, “had heard rumors?” How many, like several others, “can’t stand him and what he’s done, but I have to keep the peace because my (insert associate/relative/business name) (does business/is friends) with him, now.”

Well, guess what?

If you knew, and didn’t speak up for children like me… YOU WERE COMPLICIT.

If you now know, and still choose to do business with Bruce Huntoon… YOU ARE COMPLICIT. You are endorsing him as a valued member of the community, IN SPITE OF the tattered trail of children he has hurt.

If you now know, and still choose to be “buddies” with Bruce Huntoon… YOU ARE COMPLICIT.

If you now know, and still choose to “go out on the boat” with Bruce Huntoon… YOU ARE COMPLICIT.

If you now know, and still choose to defend, support, or financially contribute to Bruce Huntoon in any way… YOU ARE COMPLICIT.

Harvey Weintstein put out this S.O.S. email to his colleagues and top Hollywood players:

My board is thinking of firing me. All I’m asking is let me take a leave of absence and get into heavy therapy and counseling whether it be in a facility or somewhere else. Allow me to resurrect myself with a second chance. A lot of the allegations are false, as you know, but given therapy and counseling as other people have done, I think I’d be able to get there. If you can, I need you to send a letter to my private Gmail. The letter would only go to the board and no one else. What the board is trying to do is not only wrong but might be illegal and would destroy the company. If you could write this letter backing me getting me the help and time away I need and also stating your opposition to the board firing me, It would help me a lot. I am desperate for your help. Just give me the time to get therapy. Do not let me get fired. If the industry supports me, that is all I need. With all due respect, I need the letter today.

Maybe… maybe… maybe if everyone “fires” Bruce Huntoon (business-wise, community-wise, support-wise), he, too, will be compelled to “get into heavy therapy.”

Maybe I’m dreaming, but if Hollywood can oust a man like Harvey Weinstein from his very powerful position, and say, “We won’t do business with you, any longer, Mr. Weinstein,” by just a few vocal individuals speaking out, why can’t a community — as a whole — oust a former teacher who’s had his credentials indefinitely revoked?

Why can’t that community loudly and vocally say, “We won’t do business with you, any longer, Mr. Huntoon,” and force him to humble himself to admit the truth?

Maybe, like Harvey Weintstein hopes, “given therapy and counseling as other people have done, I think I’d be able to get there.”

Maybe, he’d be able to “get there,” wherever “there” is. I hope “there” is where Bruce Huntoon faces his victims, admits what he has done, and takes full responsibility for the pain and trauma he has caused. I hope “there” is where Bruce Huntoon gets help and therapy for what is a very serious pattern of victimizing children.

Remember… I was not abused alone. In my case, at least, there were witnesses. My friends and I were witnesses to one another’s abuse. We told what we experienced and what we witnessed to the sheriff’s office, and we told what we experienced and what we witnessed to a pastor who knows Bruce Huntoon.

Can we stop, today? Can we stop being complicit?

The lives Harvey Weinstein has harmed are not insignificant to us, as a society. And they shouldn’t be. Some of our favorite stars are telling us they’ve been hurt by his actions.

Nor, I would hope, are the former children who have been harmed by Bruce Huntoon insignificant. They might just be some of your favorite real-life people. We are telling you we’ve been hurt by his actions.

Where do you stand?

 

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