#MeToo

I don't remember when the movement started, but I remember clearly wondering what it meant and why so many people were posting about it. Despite the intrigue, one person's post seemed to answer my questions and I ceased all further searching for its "other" potential meanings. I didn't, however, expect there to be such a huge contrast in what it meant, and now means, to most and what it meant to me.

I do not talk about this topic in regard to my own life. I don't like talking about it, I don't want to talk about it, and most times I find myself incapable of discussing it, even if I wanted to. So I'm sorry if I'm vague or avoid saying things in this post but my story is my own. I do not owe it to anyone, however if even some part of my story can help someone make a change, I will tell it - as much as I can anyway.

I've thought a lot about what should be written, how it should be said and how my feelings can be conveyed properly... or even if it should be said at all (which I leaned towards in almost all regard). I talked with my husband about it and with his encouragement, I considered writing this for real. I felt it was the right thing to do. I honestly don't even know where to begin, I type out a sentence and delete it, think about it for a while and find I'm writing without saying anything. I'm procrastinating. Twenty minutes pass, I hear my heart beating in my head and I wonder, yet again, if it's what I should be doing, but if I shouldn't, why do I keep feeling like I should? It's moments like this that I remember why I don't talk about it, there is a wall in front of me and I have no interest in knocking it down even though just standing before it causes me to feel sick. What a contrast from how I began this post... passionate, confident, and ready to write my thoughts.

I suppose the best place to start is, as with most things, "the beginning." The beginning of what caused me to think about it in the first place. Really it comes down to a few things: I'm tired of the "glory" of victim-hood people seem to attempt to wrap themselves up in; I'm tired being disappointed or sad for people who use the encouragement people give in an attempt to comfort them as a stepping stone to justification of their feelings; and I'm so tired of seeing people swallowed up in the misery of their situations of the past.

I can't say I blame them for reacting the way they do, I did the same thing. I was the type of person I am frustrated by, and that's likely why I'm as tired as I am of these situations. It's like watching someone make the same mistakes you did, then telling you that you "don't understand" because you're not in their situation now. It's as though your sympathy, empathy, or love will never be enough because they are too damaged, in some form, to ever accept that sympathy, empathy, or love. The bad in their life is so bad that the good will never outweigh it.

It is EXHAUSTING. I regularly hear, "I want you to support me," but the moment the support is given, it is tossed to the side and stomped on. "You don't know how I feel," "You didn't say what I was dealing with was hard, so you don't care about me," "I don't feel like you're completely dedicated to making me feel like I am justified." It's being told, unless you're the world, you're not enough.

I understand why we do this. It's infuriating, but I understand it. It's the only thing that you can hang onto that gives you some kind of advantage, something you can say that will make someone feel bad for you, you feel it compels people to love you despite your flaws. Perhaps you use it to excuse your flaws. I get it, I was there.

My first... encounter? wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was in high school, he was a "friend" just trying to pull up my skirt so he could "see the shorts I wore underneath", I'd slapped his hands away before running off. I don't remember if it was the next day or just soon thereafter, but next he grabbed my arms and when I tried to fight back, he'd use my arms to hit me. I didn't understand what he wanted, but I told him to stop and it just seemed to excite him more. When I got my arms free, he grabbed my thighs, just above the knees, pulling me off my chair. I missed the edge of the table and was dragged on the floor before he picked me up. I'm not sure if he needed to readjust his grip or if he thought I was done struggling, but he loosened his arms and I ran off.

I'd had enough, I didn't understand why he kept coming after me like that, but it made me extraordinarily uncomfortable. Because he was in my class and I was terrified to confront him, I just stopped talking to him. He didn't understand why. The last encounter I had with him was being in a class where he chose to sit next to me. I could feel his leg pressing against mine. A different teacher noticed I was staying in class instead of going to lunch and she encouraged me to talk to the principal about it, which I did. I also talked to the teacher whose class we were both in and requested I no longer sit near him. I think it's fair to say he took the hint.

This experience gave me a strange kind of reality check. I was much more leery and paid more attention to avoiding specific types of people, I was disgusted every time I said his name, and perhaps the weirdest thing was that I felt... dirty. Because of this feeling, I felt justified in my denial of friendship to some people, I felt justified in rejecting dates, or proposals of "will you be my girlfriend." It was my badge of superiority, I guess you could say. I was allowed to give excuses and feel how I felt because I felt traumatized. It made rejection easier, when I was the one doing the rejection anyway.

In some ways I traumatized myself. I dwelt on what happened, became paranoid, and my fear of men grew exponentially. I kept wondering, what would have happened if I hadn't run away, what would have happened if I would have let things go, just stupid things that only increased the intensity of the fear I felt. When people talked to me about the idea of a relationship, I'd explain my fear and nearly every single time, the guy would say, "Not all guys are like that. I'm not like that." I truly believe I just needed someone to treat me special, someone who would like me, be overly cautious of crossing boundaries, and excuse my oddities.

Despite my paranoia, I was a fool. My desire to be loved made me make excuses that never should have been made. I made excuses about one guy who consistently stood me up, who I later found out still had a girlfriend, and was overall just a really crummy person. But he was someone I thought was so special, I could deal with being stood up and all the other dumb things about him. When he told me he wanted to kiss me, I told him no. I explained why, and instead of listening, he grabbed my face and forcefully kissed me anyway. I was so angry. I was angry at him, I was angry at me, and I was so so angry that this was happening again. My answer didn't matter, so I just silently cried, and he didn't notice as he got out of my car.

For so many of the other relationships I had, I began to be disconnected. I wanted to be loved, but I just felt like a doll being used for the enjoyment of these guys. It's easy to believe that the next guy couldn't possibly treat me so coldly or poorly so I could try again and keep moving, but it was discouraging to date and find interest in so many dumb men. So when I, for the first time ever, felt loved when someone kissed me, I was hooked. It was such a terrible mistake.

As I mentioned I had felt like a doll for years, just a toy, hoping for companionship. Guys only liked me so they could make out with me before tossing me aside and treating me like I was last year's model. I was jaded and bitter. My "badge of superiority" had only accumulated medals in my mind. As my traumatic experiences sunk in, I re-traumatized myself daily. I reminded myself of why I was stupid, why I was justified, why I was entitled to... something (I'm not sure what) and why I was damaged.

There is no doubt in my mind that I was stupid. I was dumb and desperate for what seemed like a fairy tail. All the signs were there, but I wanted to feel that love again, so I overlooked it. Again, and again, and again. It wasn't until it was too late that the true reality check sunk in.

When I think back about what happened, how it happened, and why it happened, I remember almost everything as if I was watching it from above, out of my body. I also remember very vividly the moment the assault happened.

I don't know how much time had passed, I just remember telling him to stop, multiple times, before he finally got up and told me, "I think you need to leave." He didn't look at me, he didn't talk to me, he didn't walk me to the door.

I left his house feeling like a whore. I couldn't look at myself for days. I despised myself and it took me a long long time to be okay with myself. I understood where my part was in the situation, and never wanted that to happen again. I knew I had to change.

I knew I could not sit in misery, letting him run my life, letting any of these people run my life. Awful things happened, yes, but I don't owe anyone anything. They don't have the right to occupy my thoughts, they don't have the right to make me fear, they do not have the right to stop me from what I want in my future. I will not let them run my life.

I threw away my "badge" and all the "medals" I had given myself.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I still do not like talking about what's happened, but that doesn't mean it has a hold on my life. It means that I do not give it the attention it does not deserve. It is a book on the shelf of my life, whose lessons I will take with me and learn from. That is it.

So when I saw the #MeToo movement gaining attention, I did not feel obligated, nor did I feel the need to write "#metoo." I did, however, want to show my support for those who have suffered, because to me, "Me Too" meant something. It meant you, nor I, was alone. It was someone I could reach out to, who would understand that trauma, who wouldn't judge, but would be there with open arms to comfort and love. I didn't have to say anything but those two words, for other women to know they were not alone and that it was going to be okay.

I was thoroughly disappointed to learn that #MeToo was, for many people, a 

way to show others their "badge of superiority." It was a way to point out how "terrible" men are. It became something I could no longer support.

I don't understand it. Why choose to live in misery? Why choose to focus on all the bad every day of your life. Your struggles might be overwhelming, but I encourage you to give up your "badge of superiority" and recognize that each one of us has our own struggles and our own trauma, show the compassion you so crave. Accept that you will never be loved or accepted by everyone, that there are faults in you that people will notice, people will dislike, and people will criticize. Take those things and use them as opportunities to grow.

Don't expect yourself to be perfect. Accept your imperfections but don't idolize them. Even the most perfect person in the world will be hated by someone. Do not let others who have hurt you, or your bad experiences, run your life, they do not deserve your attention. Allow others to love and comfort you, and let that be enough.

You are enough.

It is not easy, but nothing that is worth it is easy.