April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month
If you are like me, the word “assault” brings to mind images of fists striking flesh or men spitting out teeth while flying over barstools.
In this case, however, “assault” is so much more than beatings and broken bones. ANY kind of abuse (the ones I know of are physical, emotional/mental, spiritual/religious, sexual, and those that somehow involve an imbalance of power in a school or workplace situation) can leave scars that cut much more deeply than kicks and punches ever could.
Abuse can result in the loss of a person’s identity, the loss of a person’s dreams, the loss of a person’s power, the loss of a person’s very self. The journey back to “me” is sometimes never completed.
I don’t know for sure WHY abuse happens. I have heard some of the theories. They sound much like the stated reasons of why addiction begins: job frustration, feelings of loneliness and isolation, the yearning for love (however twisted that love turns out to be), the attempt to regain some kind of individual power (hurting people hurt people and bullied people bully). As they say on many of the procedurals watched by my husband and myself “(Abuse) isn’t about (sex-violence-dogma-belief-bruises-broken bones-or even obedience, really). It’s about power.”
And assault is often about taking power BACK.
Here’s the thing–Abuse can take many forms. It can happen to ANYONE. It’s not just little old ladies, drunk college girls and venerable children who are targeted. Bodybuilders, business people, brides to be are as well. Strong people. Successful people. Pregnant people. Police people. High school cheerleaders. Math teachers. Mothers and fathers. Husbands and wives. Gay people. Purple haired people. People in miniskirts. People in sweatshirts and jeans. Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime.
And it doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter what you had to drink, how you wear your hair, who you were or were not talking to, if you were sitting two feet away or across the room. It doesn’t matter if you were walking home in the dark or jogging at noon in full sunlight. No one….NO ONE has a right to force, trick, coerce, bully, manipulate, gameplay, push, shove, guilt, emote, attack or any other verb into being hurt, scarred, abused, neglected, molested, raped, drugged, lied to, or any other action that takes away any ANY piece of your dignity, humanity, belief, sanity, love, relationship, reputation, character, identity or any other thing that makes you…you.
It doesn’t matter what you ate, drank, wore (I was in a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt with cartoon penguins on it), said, did, danced, sang, signed or typed. Someone else’s imagined idea or interpretation is NOT YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. Someone else’s driving need for control is NOT YOUR FAULT. It’s not on you. It really really isn’t.
Abuse victims are often called “survivors”. They are. They am. They can be. It’s so much more, however, than simple survival. The aftermath is a journey, a rocky road, a wave that comes ebbing and flowing in the middle of the night. It’s words that were said and relationships that were severed and strength discovered in places you didn’t even know existed.
It is…it can also be…bravery.
Speaking up-sharing stories are SO important.
I have, for example, recently been shocked by the words and attitudes of the very friends and relatives that people my everyday life. Words and attitudes that I had no idea they harbored.
Do you have any idea how dehumanizing that can be? How that can strip one of whatever self esteem they have somehow managed to reconstruct? How shattering that can be to a fragile, cobbled together psyche that isn’t yet very strong in the first place?
This is why it’s so important to speak out.
Tell your story.
Tell your story even if you are not a “perfect victim”.
Tell your story even if you were wearing a fringed skirt with thigh high boots.
Tell your story even if you were in a dark apartment with a bottle of wine.
Tell your story even if you were in a jogging bra and tights.
Tell your story if you are young.
Tell your story if you are old.
Blonde. Brunette. Freckled. Scarred. Deaf. Blind. Wheelchair bound. Angry. Resigned. Fearful. Determined.
Boss. Coworker. Girlfriend. Wife. Husband. Fiance.
Tell your story even if there are no visible scars.
It’s not “nothing”. It happened. And it shouldn’t be forgotten.
It’s important. It makes a difference.
It can help someone else know.
That they are not alone.
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Violence and crude language are not ALWAYS present in abuse situations.
Abusers can be honey tongued smooth talkers too.
Unlike Disney and their sanitization of what were originally some very dark tales (Cinderella’s stepsisters cutting away their body parts, anyone?), stories of abuse NEED to be heard as they are. Censorship of the details takes away the validity of the experience and can hurt the hurting all over again.
Abusers can be sweet and loving and generous and kind. BUT they can ALSO be angry. VERY angry. They can, as I have recently read, convinced the abused that their reactions…their NORMAL, UNDERSTANDABLE reactions…are actually worse than the abuse itself.
Remember,
Abuse is not about violence. It’s not even about dogma, creed, faith, sex or love.
It’s about power.
It’s about control.
It’s about scrambling memories.
And leaving the abused disoriented…and confused.
It’s about taking something away and leaving empty the one that they have just used.
It’s mind bending
And soul crusing
and offensive.
It’s not something polite society admits to doing.
It’s not something I usually post on my wall.
But.
Words?
They repair.
They restore.
They give BACK the power
And help fill what was lost.
They help the survivors look at their monsters square in the face and address them for who they are.
They WERE spoken.
They WERE said.
They ARE real.
They DID happen.
We DO believe.
And that’s why I’m showing this.
That’s why there is no censorship.
That’s why
Offensive as they are
I’m leaving them in.
That’s why I and those around me
are bringing these dark, hidden places
out
here
now
Into the light.