I thought it was my fault.
When I was 12, a newbie at menstruating, I tossed a bloody maxi pad in the garbage can of our downstairs bathroom. I thought I had rolled it up tightly. Later that day, my mother took me aside and in hushed urgent whispers told me to never-ever throw away a feminine product without wrapping it thoroughly in toilet paper. I had to cover that shit up and hide it. She told me that my father has seen my mess in the garbage can, in the bathroom, and was disgusted. Oh the shame! She was embarrassed. I was embarrassed. It was my fault that my dad had seen my dirty little secret. Lesson learned–when I had my period, keep it under wraps as to not embarrass anyone.
I thought it was my fault.
When I was a freshman in High School, my locker was next to a boy. Not a big deal, except that this particular boy was a pig. He liked to make disgusting gestures and crass remarks on a daily basis, usually in my direction. I was a bundle of nerves going to my locker 5 times a day between classes, only relaxing if I didn’t see him standing there. One day he upped his game, by “de-pantsing” me as I stood getting books from my locker. He literally yanked down my pants in the middle of a crowded high school hallway. As he, and others, were laughing and pointing at me with my pants around my ankles, this is what ran thru my head “OMG! I may literally die of embarrassment. What underwear do I have on? How fat does my butt look? Did I shave my legs today? Why is this happening to me? Are my friends seeing this? I am so embarrassed!!” I didn’t get mad, I got embarrassed. I never reported it to a teacher or told my parents, that never even occurred to me. He was a boy, playing a prank, and somehow I was just as much responsible for it happening.
I thought it was my fault.
Amy Schumer makes a joke that every woman has been “kinda raped”. I’ll give you a moment to think about what that statement means. The joke she makes is spot on because it’s vague, as is our definition of rape. We tend to think of rape as a random attack from a stranger in a dark parking lot as you walk to your car. But it’s so much more than that. It’s taken me 20+ years to admit this: I’ve been raped twice. I never told anyone. But I need to get it out there and off my chest. Not for sympathy–for awareness. Both of my situations happened when I was overly intoxicated and in public. I was out drinking and dancing and having a great time. My friends were all somewhere in the vicinity. I wasn’t kidnapped, attacked (per say), beaten or physically hurt. I was taken advantage of. I was in no state of mind to consent to anything, yet it happened. Twice, within 2 years. And I’ve blamed myself all this time, because I shouldn’t have been drunk. I should have been more cautious. I shouldn’t have let my guard down and had fun. I should have stayed closer to my friends. They should have stayed closer to me. I shouldn’t have smiled with the guy or danced with him. I shouldn’t have dressed so skimpy. So much blame to go around, yet until this past year I put NONE of the blame on the 2 men who did it to me. WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!? I’m now releasing my younger, vulnerable self from this blame and placing it where it belongs. On the scum bags who raped me.
I thought it was my fault.
Ask any woman you know if she’s been sexually harassed at work. I guarantee you she has a story, if not 10 stories. Then ask her if she ever reported it. Ha! She hasn’t has she? That’s because on some level she feels responsible for the harassment and/or knows that reporting it will only cause a big fuss and negatively impact her career. I have at least 10 stories, but the one that really sticks with me is from my early 20’s. I was a young Account Executive in a big Ad Agency. I was trying to make my way, make my career, and do a good job. That’s why I showed up every day. I did not show up to have my boss comment on my outfit. Compliment me. Look me up and down. Leer at me. Ask me about my boyfriend. Sit next to me at meetings. Call me into his office for no reason. Visit me in my office for no reason. Watch me walk away…I hated him. He made the job I otherwise loved, miserable. He made me self-conscious and panicky. The worst story is when we had an all day off-site meeting planned at a colleague’s house. There was a packed agenda and I was excited about the event. That is until my boss started saying comments to me like “can’t wait to spend time with you out of the office” “I hear the house has a pool–bring your bikini. Or don’t, bathing suits are optional”. I was so sick with worry about seeing him at the event that I didn’t go. I missed out on an important meeting in my career because of this man. I told my female supervisor about him, but not in a “I’m reporting this” way, more like a moaning, complaining, way. We both rolled our eyes and talked about how much we despised him. Why didn’t we tell HR? Why, for the love of God, didn’t we directly tell him to stop? Why didn’t I call his wife and tell him she was married to the devil? Because he outranked us, it was daunting, and we had no support to do it.
I thought all of this was my fault, until very recently. Maybe it’s turning 40. Maybe it’s having a daughter. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of our society being touted as advanced and civilized, yet our women are shamed for menstruating, raped and harassed every single day. I pray that women stand up. Speak up. Band together and demand to be treated with dignity and respect.
Because none of this is our fault.
I totally believe in magic. It’s all around us. How else do you explain the universe, everyday miracles, birth, near-death experiences, TIVO? It’s all magic. There are a few very specific instances of magic that have happened in my life. I recognize them by an out-of-body experience that comes over me. A dream like sense that I’m not in control of the situation–but a firm belief that what’s happening is meant to be.
What's KP Thinking? 