Me, too

Something strange happened this week. And I never thought I would be writing about it on my blog. Or ever.

This week, a status movement happened on Facebook that I didn’t know would shake me to my core. It was unexpected. And the first status I read started with, “Me, too” and then launched into a description of the incredible amount of healing done since an assault. All of that healing, and still there are nightmares and fears.

And my heart broke.

My heart broke because this story was only the first of the stories I would read. And each one left me mourning.

My heart broke because I didn’t know.

Women and men I’ve known for months, for years, and some for ever (I mean, family members) were posting, “Me, too.” Because they too had suffered some kind of sexual assault.

People that I know. But I didn’t know, couldn’t know, their struggle.

I mourn because we live in such a depraved world. And so many of the people I know and love and have been affected and changed by something so brutal and devastating.

And I said a little thanksgiving prayer to myself, “Thank you, God, for not letting that touch me.”

It’s (not) funny though. Because that same day something brought back a high school memory that I had buried. It wasn’t as traumatic as my friends that shared stories of their young adolescence and adults that should have known better. No, it doesn’t make your heart break and mourn.

But.

But it still wasn’t right. It still wasn’t appropriate. It still wasn’t acceptable.

And sometimes these things mask themselves as “not a big deal.”

But isn’t that the lie that we try to convince ourselves of? It’s not a big deal. But it is.

The still, small, voice whispered to me, “You, too.”

In light of the other stories that are being shared, I’m inclined to not share my own. But what if there’s another girl or boy out there who thinks that it’s “not a big deal?” Because I tell you, it’s not just people that are older than you that will attack you and leave you feeling gross and broken.

Sometimes it’s your peers.

And it may be someone that you trust.

I need to set the stage a little bit, but I think it’s because I feel like I need to defend myself, and isn’t that sad too? In high school I was involved in the music department, and part of that culture involved a lot of hugs. It’s weird to say it out loud, or type it out loud? But it’s true.

So I didn’t think anything of giving this guy a hug, until he wouldn’t let go and bit my neck. The other boy in the room thought it was funny despite my shock. I tried to laugh it off. And even though my fight or flight instinct was to fly, I didn’t leave. I went back to the computer I was working on and tried to write it off. And then he sat next to me and continued to touch me inappropriately until he told me he was going to go practice his trombone, and which room he was going to be in. It was clearly an invitation.

I gave him a few minutes to get down the hall before I went to the bathroom to look at the physical damage done. I have sensitive skin, so shouldn’t have been surprised by the obvious teeth marks on my neck.

I was embarrassed. So embarrassed that I didn’t want to go to class. And my skin started doing the thing it does when I’m flustered—bright red splotches and it felt hot. My hair was short, so I couldn’t even use it to mask my guilt. The guilt I felt for something that was not my fault. Not even remotely.

I almost can’t consider it an assault, but it was unwanted sexual contact. It’s not a big deal when compared to other cases of sexual assault.

But it wasn’t okay.

And this year I’ve encountered sexual harassment in the workplace. Nothing serious. Just enough to get my blood boiling. And to make me stand up for myself. I’ve already talked about it here; so don’t feel like I need to rehash it. It’s gotten better. Which is good.

But it wasn’t okay.

There is something I want to highlight here, a piece of both of these stories that is easy to overlook. In both instances there were people who I was able to talk to.

In high school I had several good friends who stood up for me, who thought it was wrong. One of my best guy friends my senior year was furious. He was so mad I thought he would do something stupid. I was lucky to have these people around me. To support me and convince me that it wasn’t my fault. I was lucky that it wasn’t anything worse.

This year, when I was belittled because of my sex, there were other men there. Other men who were uncomfortable with how overt it was. They made a point of telling me it wasn’t okay. My instinct in these moments of discomfort is to internalize, but they wouldn’t let me swallow this pill. They gave me a chance to speak openly about how frustrated I was with the situation. And I’m very grateful for that. More grateful than they know.

I was lucky. I was lucky to have people around me that cared. I was lucky to have parents that cared. I was lucky.

I guess my point is this: Don’t convince yourself that “it’s not that big of a deal” because your encounter with sexual assault or harassment wasn’t as bad as your neighbor’s. Don’t swallow it up and keep it inside. Don’t let yourself feel guilty about things that are not your fault. Don’t be embarrassed to call on the people around you to support you.