In 2009 when I started this blog, it was under the pretense of having a space to say whatever the heck I wanted. I quickly (though probably not quickly enough) learned the reality: there is no place where we can say whatever we want, at least without being prepared to accept the consequences. Speech, no matter how free it is, is never fully divorced from its own impact.
So, I learned. I narrowed my subject matter and lived by a certain blogging commandment: thou shall only tell thine own stories. Only stories that belonged to me. As a consequence, the stories I tell on this blog have become a thermometer for my life. How am I feeling and how am I doing became what can I say about how I’m feeling or how I’m doing?
Lately, it feels a little like I’ve lost my place in my own story. A little like I’ve lost a part of my voice. The next part of this post would probably be where I tell you why I feel that way, and thus we circle back to the original problem: I either don’t know or I can’t say.
I spent a better part of yesterday afternoon reading some about the sexual abuse and manipulation scandals hitting the YouTube community. It hit somewhere near home to read some of the accounts of the victims, and more, the reaction to these accounts. One of the accused posted a public apology that admitted his disgusting view of consent and most of the replies to that post where in support of HIM, with no regard to those he deeply hurt.
I in no way want to compare my situation now (which is very okay in a mindlessly going with the flow kind of way) to the situation of these girls who have come forward as victims of sexual abuse, please understand. While I have an inkling what they are going through (it seems so long ago, now), I also know that reactions to abuse are about as unique as the victims themselves. When you hear these types of stories, I think it’s a bit natural (and a bit selfish) to hang your head for a moment, breathe, and thank God for the good things in your life. And thank Him for the bad ones too, because they are manageable, and real problems though they are, you are okay and you are surviving and you are healthy and you are loved.
That said, something stuck with me after I’d read account after account of sexual manipulation: most of the posts started with these women saying they never intended to speak up. They didn’t speak up for many years, in some cases, but decided to come forward for any number of reasons: because someone else did and it gave them courage; because something the perpetrator said publicly went against their own experience; because some people were willing to brush the accusations aside, without ever having heard their piece of the story; because they found their voice.
I’m fascinated by the way life frames our narrative– not how life inspires our narrative, but how life also gives context to when we tell our stories, how we tell them, if we tell them and who we tell them to. During the course of this blog, I’ve lost the thread of my story a handful of times, some I can remember off the top of my head: when a friend discovered the blog and gave an immense preference to the stories Roxanne was telling; when Magpie belittled this blog and my emotions; when I was mired in grief after the death of both my paternal grandparents and the news that an act of violence had left my baby sister pregnant; when after all that, life settled.
There is nothing wrong with being quiet for a season. Sometimes, it’s even necessary. And yet there is a hope in saying, “I didn’t intend to say this,” and continuing. There is a power in grabbing onto the stories that belong to you and sharing them.
So much so for the brave women stepping forward and using their experiences to not only expose a person, but a set of harmful ideas so deeply ingrained in our culture: that a woman is ever “asking for it;” that a no means anything other than a no; that a person in any position of power (in this case as a creator to a fan) is excused from this shameful behavior; that those in a community have no obligation when someone like this is exposed; that we should ever, ever blame a victim for finding their voice and saying what is theirs to say.
A little, little bit for me because I didn’t intend to say this, but… I’ve been struggling some lately, just with trying to figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it. I’m struggling because I’ve lost the view of my future and what I want it to look like. I’m struggling because I also know that I have so many things so good, and I get frustrated with myself for focusing on the negative.
I have a feeling that I’m also just exhausted. In 24 days I will be flying to California to see some of my favorite people in the world. I probably won’t rest AT ALL then, but after that, I’m going straight to the Dominican Republic for a week long vacation with my extended family.
I hope to sleep, a lot.
I also hope that once you find the courage to say things previously left unsaid, it’s a marker for change.