Or, as a nameless friend just said, "The Bitch who Gagged V-Day"
The Thing About Valentine’s Day…
I’ve received a lot of feedback about my announcement that I “canceled” Valentines Day. In a nutshell, here are the thoughts and events that led to that decision.
Hallmark is a Whore. Legally.
I am once again compelled to take notice that the idea of loving others is taken to absurdly commercial heights, and that the notion of love and appreciation of others is obfuscated by a whole lot of unwarranted angst, politicking, strategizing, and misinterpretation. I don’t think that this is what Cupid intended.
Is it “Je t’aime,” or “Je t’aime bien”?
In France, ‘Je t’aime’ means “I love you.” Je t’aime bien’ translates “I love you well”, and is that culture’s sentiment for “I really, really, really, really like you a lot.” In my current love formula, I am not sure how one treats both sides of that equation. Something needs to be added or subtracted from one side or the other. My notion was to delay the drama and pressure of Valentine’s Day, until we’ve figured out how to modify the equation to each other's satisfaction.
I’d rather have the whole year instead of one day.
Much the same as how I feel about Christmas, I’d rather be doing a better job of loving consistently, daily. At the onset of Valentines’ Day, I’d like my lover to be able to say, “Nothing so special about Valentines’ Day, since I am loved and appreciated this way every day in life.”
Essentially, I guess I'm more interested in Cupid having careful aim than feeling compelled to hit the broad side of the barn.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
It Gets Better, And Interesting
I really had no idea what the last post on this blog was going to do to my in-box. I received over three-hundred emails from people who were moved by what I’d written. Survivors, those struggling through hurt. I laughed, I cried. I was humbled beyond belief. Despite the enormity of the prospect, I felt compelled to respond. Respond, initially, to all but five emails. I just couldn’t get over the notion that each of those voices—whether that of overcomer, or that of the hurting, deserved acknowledgement for what they shared.
I am proud to have made the electronic acquaintance of so many truly strong individuals who have triumphed through unimaginable abuse. I am inspired by the quiet strength, courage, and grace of so many people in this community. I encourage those of you who can find your voice, to tell others that they are not alone. Your stories have purpose, they have the power to heal, to help others overcome.
I have been moved by the heart-rending stories of people still struggling with the unrelinquished hurt, fear, and betrayal. I encourage those of you still hurting to take just one small brave step and begin connecting with someone who will hear your pain and help you find your way. It makes no matter whether that person is a professional, a neighbor, a stranger. It DOES get better.
What has kept me from posting a follow-up for over a month now, has been the other five emails. Four of them have had the audacity to assert that victims of sexual assault—including that which happens to the very young—bear some measure of responsibility in the act. To those individuals, let me be so bold as to speak on behalf of a multitude of people when I say this:
Any act that ends with someone saying, “And if you tell your mom this happened…” is pretty much not a consensual act. Any act that a child cries “No” to repeatedly, even when punched for doing so, is not a consensual act. Any act that leaves a child growing up to feel that he or she is not worthy of another person’s pure and genuine affections, is not a consensual act. Every adult bears the responsibility to not inappropriately touch a child… no matter how your twisted, messed up perspective might view that child’s behavior.
These are the most constructive things I can think to say to the four individuals who suggested that the molestation of a child is not the perpetrator’s fault. I have many other things I’d like to say, but will reserve judgment and take the higher road.
The final email I have wrestled with since the moment I opened it. Almost a month ago.
I received an email from someone who molested me when I was eleven years old. The email was succinct, remorseful, and requested the opportunity to meet with me to apologize. I have thought over the past four weeks as to how—and whether—to respond. It’s not that I haven’t forgiven what happened. I have. A long time ago. And without the fear and discomfort I imagine would come from such a face-to-face encounter. Thirty years is a lot of time to put between me and some very painful experiences. Thirty years is almost the amount of time it has taken me to get over it. I have not really been able to convince myself that opening old wounds is really productive in this instance.
Today, one of my Facebook friends posted on his wall: “Listening may be the most loving thing you do today.” I don’t know why, today of all days, this hit me so hard. Or why I connected it to this email I’ve been pondering.
Today, I emailed this man and suggested that I am willing to entertain meeting him, with some safeguards and conditions. Why? Curiosity? Closure? I guess I’ve been mulling that over for all these weeks. Today, I figured out the answer:
For love; of self, of God, of others. Listening seems a small price to pay for the privilege and opportunity that are contained in those gifts.
I am proud to have made the electronic acquaintance of so many truly strong individuals who have triumphed through unimaginable abuse. I am inspired by the quiet strength, courage, and grace of so many people in this community. I encourage those of you who can find your voice, to tell others that they are not alone. Your stories have purpose, they have the power to heal, to help others overcome.
I have been moved by the heart-rending stories of people still struggling with the unrelinquished hurt, fear, and betrayal. I encourage those of you still hurting to take just one small brave step and begin connecting with someone who will hear your pain and help you find your way. It makes no matter whether that person is a professional, a neighbor, a stranger. It DOES get better.
What has kept me from posting a follow-up for over a month now, has been the other five emails. Four of them have had the audacity to assert that victims of sexual assault—including that which happens to the very young—bear some measure of responsibility in the act. To those individuals, let me be so bold as to speak on behalf of a multitude of people when I say this:
Any act that ends with someone saying, “And if you tell your mom this happened…” is pretty much not a consensual act. Any act that a child cries “No” to repeatedly, even when punched for doing so, is not a consensual act. Any act that leaves a child growing up to feel that he or she is not worthy of another person’s pure and genuine affections, is not a consensual act. Every adult bears the responsibility to not inappropriately touch a child… no matter how your twisted, messed up perspective might view that child’s behavior.
These are the most constructive things I can think to say to the four individuals who suggested that the molestation of a child is not the perpetrator’s fault. I have many other things I’d like to say, but will reserve judgment and take the higher road.
The final email I have wrestled with since the moment I opened it. Almost a month ago.
I received an email from someone who molested me when I was eleven years old. The email was succinct, remorseful, and requested the opportunity to meet with me to apologize. I have thought over the past four weeks as to how—and whether—to respond. It’s not that I haven’t forgiven what happened. I have. A long time ago. And without the fear and discomfort I imagine would come from such a face-to-face encounter. Thirty years is a lot of time to put between me and some very painful experiences. Thirty years is almost the amount of time it has taken me to get over it. I have not really been able to convince myself that opening old wounds is really productive in this instance.
Today, one of my Facebook friends posted on his wall: “Listening may be the most loving thing you do today.” I don’t know why, today of all days, this hit me so hard. Or why I connected it to this email I’ve been pondering.
Today, I emailed this man and suggested that I am willing to entertain meeting him, with some safeguards and conditions. Why? Curiosity? Closure? I guess I’ve been mulling that over for all these weeks. Today, I figured out the answer:
For love; of self, of God, of others. Listening seems a small price to pay for the privilege and opportunity that are contained in those gifts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
