So this thing happened to me one time...
Well, I was wrong. Donald Trump actually became the President of the United States of America. Since I did not foresee any election result that would end with me feeling satisfied, I did not fall apart upon his win. It was more of a surprised resignation. I'd hoped the worst would be over once the election was decided, but alas. That was not to be. Now I turn on the news or facebook to see faces and words twisted in rage and fear, disgust and hubris. And the thing is, there is no good side and bad side. Both sides are spewing the same venom at each other. Still.
But this isn't really what I wanted to say. Fair or not, Trump has brought a lot of controversy with him, especially with his treatment of women. His statements throughout the campaign, the hot mic, and now the backlash that includes protesters supposedly holding up signs advocating violence towards our soon to be FLOTUS are unavoidable. The part of all this that's troubled me the most is the defense of these statements, the accusations being written off as fake without consideration, or the "she was asking for it" mindset. I cannot abide by these things because I know why a woman wouldn't make a report when someone has physically assaulted and threatened her. At least I know why I didn't make a report.
This thing that happened to me is not something that I think about all the time. Honestly, I was completely caught off guard when the memories started hitting me again, and I realized that I had not dealt with everything as completely as I thought I had. I will spare you most of the details, but here's what happened to me when I was 16. In high school, I briefly dated a guy that was very controlling. I was at least able to see the warning signs early enough to break up with him after a few months. Unfortunately, that did not seem to deter him. He became fixated on me. He would call repeatedly at night. He would show up wherever I happened to be. I felt unsafe, but I couldn't have given you a concrete reason as to why I felt that way. Even after he started dating another girl, he still continued to repeatedly call, swear he loved me, and follow me. I made it very clear that I did not want his attention nor did I want him to call. On this one thing, he ignored me.
We were in a class together, and at the end of class one particular day, the teacher stepped out of the room leaving us students alone and waiting for the lunch bell to ring. After he was told by a mutual friend that I might have some proof of what he'd been saying to me, he was enraged. He flew across the room, grabbed me around my upper arm, and dragged me to the other side of the room where he then slung me around so he could put his face right up to mine. I was barely 115 pounds at the time, and he was very strong. His hand wrapped around my upper arm so tightly and completely that I couldn't pull away. I begged him to let me go. I pulled at his fingers to get free. I tried to drop to the ground, but he pulled me up by my arm. He demanded that I give him whatever proof I had. When I told him I didn't have anything, he put his face so close to mine that we almost touched noses, and he said he would kill me if I ever tried to get anything on him again. And in that moment, neither of us had any doubt that he meant it. Then the bell rang, he let me go, and I went to lunch with my friends.
Oh, did you forget that part? Did you forget that all of this happened in a room full of people that watched the entire thing? I don't think anyone heard him threaten to kill me, but they saw and heard every bit of the rest. And no one did a thing. No one said a word. The room was silent throughout the entire experience. Maybe they were shocked. Maybe they didn't know how bad it was. My friends certainly realized when they saw my arm that was swollen and badly bruised within minutes of it happening. By the time I sat down at the lunch table, you could see a very distinct black and blue hand print around my red and swollen upper arm. I'd never known that a bruise could show up so quickly.
A few minutes into lunch, he walked into the cafeteria, saw me, and came over to my table. He looked pleased when he saw me. He smiled with pride. He leaned in to threaten to kill me again, but that time it felt like it was more for dramatic effect. The next day I was told that most of the school knew what happened (small town and a small school of course), and everyone was split on whether or not I deserved it. The day after that, he got me alone in another classroom (seriously, where were all the teachers?!), pinned me up against a wall, and asked to see my arm. He looked at the bruises that were now less swollen but varying shades of blue, black, purple, and yellow, and he looked proud. Finally he said, "I hope the scars on your heart last longer than the bruises on your arm." Then he sauntered off.
It was an awful time for me. I'd never been treated that way in my life. I had already been told that half the school assumed I'd deserved it, and I was scared to make things worse. So I didn't tell any adults at first. The bruising was too much to hide for long, especially since it was still hot and long sleeves would be suspicious in its own way. A teacher saw it first and made me tell them what happened. The incident was never reported officially, possibly because that teacher would have been in trouble for not being in the room when everything happened. Ultimately, I don't know why it wasn't reported. The teacher talked to the ex-boyfriend, and he did back off a little bit after that. He was never really out of my life until I moved away. There were some scary moments, but nothing like what happened that one particular day. The teacher did insist that I tell my parents, but by now I was insistent that nothing be done. Why should anything be done? At that point, I was convinced that I must have done something wrong, and I had no confidence that anyone else would take it seriously. I wasn't sure if it even needed to be taken seriously. After all, what are a few bruises really?
And now. Why does this come back to me now? It was such a long time ago. I wish I had a good answer for why now, but I don't. I do know that it wasn't until two days ago that I finally knew that I had not deserved or earned any of what happened. I guess it took 19 years to realize that I was not responsible for what happened to me. No one deserves to have their life threatened. To be so completely dominated physically that you both know that he is in complete control. To be the violent show for a silent audience. And no one should have hand prints bruised onto their body.
As for our soon-to-be President, I don't know what he's done or not done. I don't know what is bragging, what is miscommunication, and what is true. All I know is that he's brought this topic to the forefront of the news cycle again and again whether he means to or not. And in doing that, I was forced to deal with my own issues. So yes. I'm extra sensitive about the mistreatment of women and children whether it's rape or physical abuse. And no, I don't count a woman's slow resolve to report abuse to be a cause for disbelief. The guy doesn't hit the first time he gets angry. It's a process of convincing her that she's less and making her question herself at every turn. It takes time to overcome that kind of mindset.
This is not a story I've told many people. In fact, I think the only people I've told other than my parents are my husband and my college roommate. It was one of those things that I didn't want to talk about, thought I'd dealt with and moved on from, and was deeply personal. Even now, I've reread this at least 20 times looking for all the ways that I might be blamed. I know this story is incomplete. I've given you a summary of one chapter of a longer story that covers 2 1/2 years. It became a defining moment in my life whether I wanted it to be or not. It changed me as a person. And now I share it with you in case someone else needs to hear that it's really not their fault.
But this isn't really what I wanted to say. Fair or not, Trump has brought a lot of controversy with him, especially with his treatment of women. His statements throughout the campaign, the hot mic, and now the backlash that includes protesters supposedly holding up signs advocating violence towards our soon to be FLOTUS are unavoidable. The part of all this that's troubled me the most is the defense of these statements, the accusations being written off as fake without consideration, or the "she was asking for it" mindset. I cannot abide by these things because I know why a woman wouldn't make a report when someone has physically assaulted and threatened her. At least I know why I didn't make a report.
This thing that happened to me is not something that I think about all the time. Honestly, I was completely caught off guard when the memories started hitting me again, and I realized that I had not dealt with everything as completely as I thought I had. I will spare you most of the details, but here's what happened to me when I was 16. In high school, I briefly dated a guy that was very controlling. I was at least able to see the warning signs early enough to break up with him after a few months. Unfortunately, that did not seem to deter him. He became fixated on me. He would call repeatedly at night. He would show up wherever I happened to be. I felt unsafe, but I couldn't have given you a concrete reason as to why I felt that way. Even after he started dating another girl, he still continued to repeatedly call, swear he loved me, and follow me. I made it very clear that I did not want his attention nor did I want him to call. On this one thing, he ignored me.
We were in a class together, and at the end of class one particular day, the teacher stepped out of the room leaving us students alone and waiting for the lunch bell to ring. After he was told by a mutual friend that I might have some proof of what he'd been saying to me, he was enraged. He flew across the room, grabbed me around my upper arm, and dragged me to the other side of the room where he then slung me around so he could put his face right up to mine. I was barely 115 pounds at the time, and he was very strong. His hand wrapped around my upper arm so tightly and completely that I couldn't pull away. I begged him to let me go. I pulled at his fingers to get free. I tried to drop to the ground, but he pulled me up by my arm. He demanded that I give him whatever proof I had. When I told him I didn't have anything, he put his face so close to mine that we almost touched noses, and he said he would kill me if I ever tried to get anything on him again. And in that moment, neither of us had any doubt that he meant it. Then the bell rang, he let me go, and I went to lunch with my friends.
Oh, did you forget that part? Did you forget that all of this happened in a room full of people that watched the entire thing? I don't think anyone heard him threaten to kill me, but they saw and heard every bit of the rest. And no one did a thing. No one said a word. The room was silent throughout the entire experience. Maybe they were shocked. Maybe they didn't know how bad it was. My friends certainly realized when they saw my arm that was swollen and badly bruised within minutes of it happening. By the time I sat down at the lunch table, you could see a very distinct black and blue hand print around my red and swollen upper arm. I'd never known that a bruise could show up so quickly.
A few minutes into lunch, he walked into the cafeteria, saw me, and came over to my table. He looked pleased when he saw me. He smiled with pride. He leaned in to threaten to kill me again, but that time it felt like it was more for dramatic effect. The next day I was told that most of the school knew what happened (small town and a small school of course), and everyone was split on whether or not I deserved it. The day after that, he got me alone in another classroom (seriously, where were all the teachers?!), pinned me up against a wall, and asked to see my arm. He looked at the bruises that were now less swollen but varying shades of blue, black, purple, and yellow, and he looked proud. Finally he said, "I hope the scars on your heart last longer than the bruises on your arm." Then he sauntered off.
It was an awful time for me. I'd never been treated that way in my life. I had already been told that half the school assumed I'd deserved it, and I was scared to make things worse. So I didn't tell any adults at first. The bruising was too much to hide for long, especially since it was still hot and long sleeves would be suspicious in its own way. A teacher saw it first and made me tell them what happened. The incident was never reported officially, possibly because that teacher would have been in trouble for not being in the room when everything happened. Ultimately, I don't know why it wasn't reported. The teacher talked to the ex-boyfriend, and he did back off a little bit after that. He was never really out of my life until I moved away. There were some scary moments, but nothing like what happened that one particular day. The teacher did insist that I tell my parents, but by now I was insistent that nothing be done. Why should anything be done? At that point, I was convinced that I must have done something wrong, and I had no confidence that anyone else would take it seriously. I wasn't sure if it even needed to be taken seriously. After all, what are a few bruises really?
And now. Why does this come back to me now? It was such a long time ago. I wish I had a good answer for why now, but I don't. I do know that it wasn't until two days ago that I finally knew that I had not deserved or earned any of what happened. I guess it took 19 years to realize that I was not responsible for what happened to me. No one deserves to have their life threatened. To be so completely dominated physically that you both know that he is in complete control. To be the violent show for a silent audience. And no one should have hand prints bruised onto their body.
As for our soon-to-be President, I don't know what he's done or not done. I don't know what is bragging, what is miscommunication, and what is true. All I know is that he's brought this topic to the forefront of the news cycle again and again whether he means to or not. And in doing that, I was forced to deal with my own issues. So yes. I'm extra sensitive about the mistreatment of women and children whether it's rape or physical abuse. And no, I don't count a woman's slow resolve to report abuse to be a cause for disbelief. The guy doesn't hit the first time he gets angry. It's a process of convincing her that she's less and making her question herself at every turn. It takes time to overcome that kind of mindset.
This is not a story I've told many people. In fact, I think the only people I've told other than my parents are my husband and my college roommate. It was one of those things that I didn't want to talk about, thought I'd dealt with and moved on from, and was deeply personal. Even now, I've reread this at least 20 times looking for all the ways that I might be blamed. I know this story is incomplete. I've given you a summary of one chapter of a longer story that covers 2 1/2 years. It became a defining moment in my life whether I wanted it to be or not. It changed me as a person. And now I share it with you in case someone else needs to hear that it's really not their fault.
<3
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