me too, vol 3

Anxiety convinces me a thousand ways from Sunday why I shouldn’t share personal experiences. Especially on heavy subjects. Writing about heavy things makes me feel lighter, but I don’t write to make other people carry my weight. I can write about my past painful experiences now because I understand them. Life finds me today in the healing phase. This phase is much brighter and full of hope and optimism. With, of course, a little existentialism and sarcastic IDGAF vibes.

I write because I have shit to say. The end. When you live half your life numbing the pain away, it’s a new world when you learn to sit with your feelings. I sit with them every day, and question them, and learn from them. I process them, in the form of writing. I commit to feeling everything. I accept all the raw, human emotion that comes with living. Doing the opposite feels like I’m just waiting around to die.

This week I spent a lot of my time reading #MeToo pieces. It’s everywhere. When I read #MeToo pieces, I’m reminded of things. That’s the important part here. I am always reminded of what has happened to me. I read and I think, “Me too.” I remember how I felt. I remember that this stuff happens every single day and it’s not right. Because as much as you can let something go, and move forward, it remains a part of you.

#MeToo reminds me of my father who let my stepbrother sexually, emotionally, and physically abuse me. He knew what was happening.

#MeToo reminds me of how I should have seen my first penis when I was having consensual sex, or a steamy movie sex scene, or HELL, I would have even chose a nice Hustler magazine. Nah – I saw one in the shoe aisle of Walmart when an old man exposed himself to me. He knew what he was doing and who he was doing it to. He should have been arrested. We just left the store.

#MeToo reminds me of the time I passed out from drinking at a friend’s house party. I was 17. I woke up to two guys and another girl leading me to a car, which drove to a hotel room, which ended with me alone in a room with a guy I did not know. You know what happens next. It’s the same sad story we’ve heard a million fucking times. I don’t remember much, but I remember coming to and hearing the two guys having a conversation about what had happened. It was disgusting. They were laughing. They knew what they did.

#MeToo reminds me of how I don’t trust men in the workplace. Imagine being 19 and being told by your married boss in his 50’s that they had sexual fantasies about you. Imagine being so naive and afraid of losing your job that you agreed to meet with them outside of work, in their car, so you could have a conversation where they told you it was your fault they were in love with you. He knew the power his words held.

#MeToo reminds me of how angry I am that this is the world we CHOOSE to live in. We CHOOSE presidents that feel entitled to grab women by the pussy. We CHOOSE to let locker room talk, rape jokes, and unwanted advances slide. We CHOOSE to call women liars. We CHOOSE to treat women as lesser beings. When we CHOOSE this as a society, we are perpetuating a world in which women are taken advantage of.

We always remember the people who have made the choice to sit by and do nothing. We never forget, and no one can make us forget. Today, I have the tools I need to deal with the emotions that arise when I am reminded. But before today? Life was difficult. It didn’t have to be.

I like to be uncomfortable in safe spaces. I am uncomfortable, but it is so so worth it. This is a safe space for me, and I hope for you too. Here’s how I’m supporting myself this week! It’s just a list of #boringselfcare items because I wanted it to be. That’s all I can handle this week.


Love and SUPPORT to you! We are in this together.


2 thoughts on “me too, vol 3

  1. Mom

    My beautiful sweet baby girl. I am deeply sickened by this and wish I could take you in my arms and turn back the clock. I would have gladly sacrificed my own happiness if I knew any of this would have happened to you. I am so saddened and sick to my core and don’t even have any words or even know how to comprehend this right now. I am so sorry and ashamed of how I chose to handle things during that part of my, our lives. I made some very poor choices and it seems you paid the price for them. I am so so so sorry.


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