I am a feminist. I do not inwardly cringe when I say that. I do not worry about what anyone thinks of the word. It means I fight for equality for ALL. I am also a daughter, a sister with a big brother, married to a man, raising two boys and two girls, a true and deep friend to men and women in my life. But I do love women. I have always loved women- deeply and wholly. The women in my life poured love, and I have only ever understood how to speak in liquid form. And my liquid of late is metal-tanged rage in the back of my throat. As a self-proclaimed “lover of all of life’s delicious details” I am painfully aware not all details are delicious- some are cold and violent truth prisoners, shrieking out from the worst kind of jail. I sent an email, in my tiny corner of the world, to my women friends, asking 5 questions regarding their experiences, if any, with sexual assault and sexual harassment and how they speak to the men in their lives about it. The flood gates opened. The storm is here, and we are the storm. Stay close, my loves. We will need each other. Here is one, submitted anonymously and published only with her explicit permission……and She Believes She Has Something To Say.
I believe she does, too.
In liquid love, Cecily
******************************************************
She Believes She Has Something To Say
-Anonymous-
I grew up in Potomac, Maryland.
I attended an all-girls, Catholic high school and graduated in 1989; my older sisters graduated various years before me.
I was raised Republican.
I still align myself with that party but consider myself a Democrat and an Independent-depending on the issue.
I never missed a party in high school. Things haven’t changed much.
Yes, I like beer, too. I am more of a vodka person now but drank my fair share, underage, with my sisters. My older two sisters were grandfathered into the 18-year-old drinking age.
Georgetown (D.C.) was our second playground, and house parties ruled the land.
Things happened.
A lot of things happened.
Ask any of the hundreds of women who graduated from these all-girls schools during that time. They are gathering and talking about it now.
Potomac is small. Everyone knows everyone. It is a privileged town, and we were proud of that fact then. I know and love differently now.
Many centuries of DC secrets are held within these families.
Secrecy was the 7th person at our dinner table and amongst friends.
Except, everyone talked.
But never about what happened to them.
I know almost every name and family surrounding Kavanaugh, but I don’t know Kavanaugh personally.
To live in Potomac and to be in a private high school meant we were of the elite- and we knew it. Money, wealth, power, politics, generations of privilege were threaded deeply into our veins and wove us a sweater to wear proudly. The larger the mansion, the more expensive the car, the grander the Country Club affiliation- this was all meant to be a life worth living. But again, with it came the secrets.
I am a survivor of sexual assault.
I am proud to still be standing. Not many people know this fact about me, even though most of my life is lived as an open book.
My freshman year of college, thirty minutes into a fraternity party while I was drinking a beer, something was slipped into my drink.
I blacked out in a bedroom.
I don’t remember the date, just that it was the fall of freshman year.
I don’t remember the frat house specifically, but I could tell you room by room what it looked like.
I know 3 girlfriends who were with me that night.
I do know that I woke up at dawn the next morning, naked, on a top bunk, not knowing where I was.
I knew sexual intercourse had taken place.
I know his first name. Larry. I don’t know his last name. He slipped it into my drink.
He was the only one in the room before I blacked out.
It was a cold, steel, heavy, black garage door shutting over my eyes.
I don’t know if he was the only one that night, and I will never know. And that haunts me, every single day, like a tormented ghost in my body.
I told my close friends, but I didn’t report it.
I thought it was my fault.
I drank too much.
No one will believe me.
I did drink a lot.
I still flirt.
It MUST be my fault.
Years and years of therapy, I unearthed a flash memory of Larry on top of me. I have released a small percentage of the guilt, but the trauma of it all still lies in my bed.
Call it PTSD, I don’t know. My supportive, patient and feminist husband of 25 years knows not to sneak up on me in bed nor be romantic without me fully aware he is trying.
If Larry had been nominated for the highest court of law – I would be compelled to write an anonymous letter. In fact, I think I will write one now just in case.
Larry should never, ever be in control of deciding the law for any human being.
EVER.
He violated me sexually without my consent.
PERIOD.
He should be sitting on a concrete jail bed and not on the Supreme Court.
My sister signed the 65 Women Letter supporting Kavanaugh.
I know most of the names on that letter and others written.
I don’t support her.
I have two daughters and a son. I know I am raising them right.
To be respectful.
To not put your hands on someone outside of a football game.
EVER.
I worry that all 3 of them could be a victim of sexual assault or any assault for that matter.
I hope their voices are heard.
I pray our voices are heard.
Republican
Democrat
Girl
Boy
Black
White
Majority
Minority
Holding back
Agendas
He Said
She Said
Elections
Ignorance
Attention
Right
Wrong
TRUTH.
“Many people, especially ignorant people, want to punish you for speaking the truth, for being correct, for being you. Never apologize for being correct, or for being years ahead of your time. If you’re right and you know it, speak your mind. Speak your mind. Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is still the truth.” – Mahatma Ghandi
