Hurt, in Fear or Worse

Trigger warning: This article contains references to gender-based violence, including sexual violence. Note: It does not contain graphic content.

“ I didn’t know that everyone was hurting like I was hurting. I had no idea.”

— Mary J. Blige

In 2017, like other brave survivors, I posted #Metoo. I didn’t know why at the time, but I felt disconnected from it. Now, I think it’s because I couldn’t process the pain that it is all of us.

I’ve recently found myself immersed in women of colour’s stories and the latest news articles that urgently display the plague of gender-based violence against women. It has been a jolt, an awakening and a connection to the horrid truth. As women, we are all hurt, living in fear or worse.

Aretha

 I watched Aretha Franklin’s story on the National Geographic series “Genuis”, starring the brilliant Cynthia Erivo as adult Aretha. I didn’t know the Queen of Soul was impregnated at age 13 by someone (rumoured to be her father) whilst on the Gospel Circuit in the South of the U.S. My first assault happened when I was about the same age. I could see myself in that girl.  I didn’t get pregnant, and it was thirty years before I told anyone what happened. The shame keeps so many girls silent.

Tarana & Oprah

 I listened to an interview with Tarana Burke on Oprah’s Super Soul Sessions. Tarana began using the phrase “Me Too” in 2006 to raise awareness of women and girls who had been abused. Tarana is a survivor, and she also helps restore the lives of many women and young girls who have survived. When Oprah reads passages from Tarana’s new book, “Unbound”, she relates her lived trauma. I felt like I was sitting at a kitchen table with my girlfriends, chiming in with “yep” and “Mmm-hmm” as I connected to their shared and familiar pain.

 When they spoke about carrying the burden of responsibility of predatory men’s actions, it took me swiftly into the 1970s; rooms with plastic-covered furniture. I recalled myself as a very little girl being told, “Don’t go in that room; that’s where the menfolk are.” The menfolk were trusted adults, mostly family members, yet it was my responsibility not to tempt them. 

I know that this was from the trauma and fears the women in the family endured over generations. I also must acknowledge it dealt critical hits to my self-worth. I now know they were trying to protect me based on how they knew life to be. It took nearly my entire life to recognise this.

Mary

In the beautifully produced documentary, Mary J. Blige’s, My Life”., Mary reveals she was molested as a child and later suffered abuse at the hand of a famous boyfriend. When she speaks of taking care of “Little Mary”, I can see that she has walked a path many of us walk. For me, it was years of shame holding me in the dark corners; I had to walk the long way round to understand that I didn’t have to carry that burden. Like Mary, I held that burden most of my life. 

Lorena

I watched the documentary about Lorena (Bobbitt) Bellinger, the woman who, in 1993, took an eight-inch knife from her kitchen, cut off her husband’s penis and threw it out the car window. Lorena was found not guilty due to temporary insanity brought on by the trauma of being abused. Under Virginia, U.S. law, she was ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation and to be detained in a facility for some time. Meanwhile, Lorena’s husband, John Wayne, capitalised on his “brand” after his member was surgically re-attached, making porn and doing special appearances, profiting from trauma. 

At the time, Lorena’s case and the Nicole Brown Simpson murder trial stimulated conversations on domestic violence and violence against women.  Sadly, these conversations didn’t seem to address the root cause of intimate partner violence.

Sabina, Sarah and many, many more

The murders of Sabina Nessa, Sarah Everard and so many other women in the UK this year were horrific additions to the heady stew of my awakening. Thinking of how these poor young women were preyed upon shook me to my very core. 

I recently walked by myself to pick up something from a friend who lives 5 minutes away. My husband kept asking me, “Will you be OK?” I dismissively said,” Of course, it’s only five minutes up the road. I’ll be fine.” I was annoyed he was asking me. While I made it to my friend’s house just fine, It was dusk when I started walking back home. I contemplated walking through the small wood on the way, and I had another harsh realisation. Sabina and Sarah probably thought the same as I did, “It’s only 5 minutes away. I’ll be fine.” They weren’t. I avoided the woods, walking uphill as fast as I could. I was terrified. I kept thinking about Sarah and Sabina. I was devastated at the thought of how terrified they were when they realised they weren’t going to make that short walk safely.

Feeling unsafe is profoundly frightening and oppressive.

 I look to these women’s stories to understand the healing process and cancel the message that we exist to be controlled, abused, silenced and discarded. Some of us will come through the other side of trauma to live fully in our whole being, even through the pain. I know that not everyone can speak on their pain. I’m grateful for those who can. They also represent those of us who cannot.

 It can be overwhelming when we constantly receive messages that we, as women, don’t matter and ask for trouble by simply existing. I’m agitated, angry and scared. Feeling unsafe is profoundly frightening and oppressive. I don’t understand why we have to fight for gender-based violence to be considered a hate crime.

I can’t bear the thought of future generations of women who are either hurt, living in fear or worse. I believe we can diminish intimate partner violence in our homes by empowering and enabling women to come forward through legal mechanisms that hear us and through diligent policies in action. Empowerment and protection are not mutually exclusive. The government should send strong messages by holding attackers accountable with swift, decisive justice.