I am sure you are all aware and feel yourself being in the middle of the quickly shifting paradigms in our human sexuality and collective society. About the roles man and women have played so far in society, and how they are changing profoundly right now. Thru the new born clarity, coming from the collective clearing of the first chakra in December 15, many have already started to change their sexual behavior and understand what type of influence their former actions had on their life. And than just recently I shared the article called “Does it really matter if God is male or female“, where mainly the discussion was raised, what kind of damaging impact organized religion and social traditions had on the roe of the divine feminine in our world today. In this impressively honest report by Emma Lindsay, the author shares with us her experience of sexual assault and how long it took her to realize, that that is what actually happened. Why you might ask – because for women in our society it has become a state of “normality” to be harassed, depressed or insulted on a sexual level. And that is a fact that truly should make us think, as it can never be the base of a healthy world and a Golden Age of Humanity for us. As the author states in her piece – every woman has her own story – unfortunately there are not a lot of women, who’s story is without a nuance of sexual violence!!
Love and Healthy Relationships!!!
This is an excerpt of what she shared with us in her full article:
I don’t know how I expected a rape victim to act, but I didn’t expect her to be so funny. Or to be punk, in this kinda sexy bleached blonde but kind of too lazy to really care sort of way. Or to be so up front. “I may be a lesbian because of what happened to me, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter at this point.” I guess, maybe in some way, I didn’t expect her to be so over it. Part of me, unconsciously, believed people who had been raped were irrecoverably broken, and she wasn’t. Just my belief that once a woman has been raped, she has been destroyed. People aren’t destroyed through being raped though. They suffer immensely, but they are just as much themselves after the rape as before. I realized how I think of women who have been raped contrasts greatly with how I think of men who have experienced non sexual violence.
One of my male friends was standing outside a club when he was hit from behind. He fell down, and two guys came up and kicked the shit out of him before running away. I think that event changed him in some ways. Yet, when men get beat up, I don’t ever entertain the impression that some part of them may have been destroyed. (I actually think there may be an opposite problem, namely men not getting emotional support because we don’t take their trauma seriously. If a man’s behavior changes after an attack, we don’t use this as evidence to support an unconscious belief that he is broken. If you told someone that a man had learned jiu jitsu after being attacked, I think the vibe would be “well, that’s pretty reasonable.” If a bisexual woman decided to date only women after being raped, the vibe would be “oh, she’s broken.”
This belief in the “brokenness” of those who have experienced sexual trauma is highly damaging. None of us want to be broken. I don’t want to be broken. And, at least for me personally, this belief in the uniquely destructive power of sexual trauma prevented me from honestly confronting some of my more difficult sexual experiences.A few years ago, I was out getting drunk with a bunch of male friends, and one of them offered to let me crash at his place. He was someone I trusted, someone I’d been friends with for years. When we got back to his place, suddenly he was all over me, and he’d managed to get his fingers into my vagina before I was able to physically restrain him. I remember confusion, and then shock at realizing his fingers were inside of me. And, I remember how he wilted when I stopped him. He shrank with shame, and I felt so guilty. I spent the night, but I couldn’t sleep, and slipped out at 6am after giving him a kiss on the head. Then, I brushed it off. I had years of therapy after that, and never brought it up because I didn’t think it was significant. Yet, there were a few differences. I didn’t like being touched anymore. I stopped dating men, and then stopped dating anyone. I lost all sexual desire, and have been single now for about a year and a half.
I also started meditating. “Crying” has been a big part of my meditation practice. Just, nameless, faceless crying with no discernible reason. I sat a meditation retreat for 7 days, and the first 5 days were spent crying. It was just like — this nameless sadness that seemed to have no bottom ran out, and where it had been there was nothing. Shortly after my retreat, I was reading a Savage Love where a woman talked about a male friend of hers trying to finger her when he was drunk. Dan Savage told her she’d been the victim of sexual assault or attempted sexual assault. And, when I read that, I was like “how can she have been sexually assaulted? That’s exactly like what happened to me, but I wasn’t…” So, I looked up sexual assault. Apparently if someone touches your vagina against your will, that’s sexual assault.
I pondered over that. I read about what happened emotionally to people who had been sexually assaulted, and a lot of it fit with my experience. The blocking it out. The justifying. The guilt, the aversion to touch, and hyposexual desire. They were all common responses from people who had been sexually assaulted. And, when I read about that, I felt relief. These mysterious things that I had been feeling had a source. Without that understanding, I think admitting to yourself that you have experienced sexual violence is harder, because you also have to think of yourself as “broken.”Still, between the ages of about 12–14 already, I had been bombarded with so much sexual harassment that I had normalized the feeling of it. I knew I didn’t like it, but it didn’t feel strange. It felt familiar. In retrospect, I think I may have had an especially bad run because I am a bisexual woman. Bisexual women experience a disproportionately high amount of sexual violence compared to straight and lesbian women, and that innately makes sense to me. I was repeatedly singled out for sexual attention because I was bisexual and, as the only out bisexual woman in the grade, I was a single target for the many boys who were fascinated by female bisexuality. The idea that, if someone knew I didn’t want to do something sexual that they shouldn’t do it, was completely alien to me, and yet made total sense.
I always believed that because I was able to defend myself physically, I would be able to defend myself sexually, but that turned out not to be true. The night I was assaulted, after pulling his fingers out of my vagina, I saw how miserable my (I don’t even know what to call him? assaulter? friend?) my assaulter-friend looked, and I felt guilty. I was ashamed that I had caused him pain by denying him access to my body. I felt like there was something wrong with me for not wanting sex with him. I can see in different circumstances, another woman might have had sex with him out of guilt and the whole thing would have been deemed “consensual.” But, it happened so quickly, and I didn’t have to fight that hard to make it stop, that even now I find myself questioning was it actually assault?
What’s so sad about what I see is that it’s so normal. I don’t see myself as a victim in an otherwise safe society, I see myself as a completely normal and unremarkable member of the female gender. I see women who have experienced more violence than me, and women who have experienced less violence than me, but I don’t see women who don’t experience violence. The fact that some women have experienced more, worse sexual violence only means that they need more help not that I need less help or that my emotional response to a traumatic event is invalid. As I tell my female friends about my experience, basically all of them remember experiences when they felt similarly and just absorbed it. When I told my ex girlfriend (a lesbian who has only had sex with a man once) she was confused, and asked me why I hadn’t told her all this while we were dating. I said “it didn’t occur to me, it just didn’t seem unusual.” Because it’s not unusual.
But, the fact that it’s not unusual doesn’t mean it’s not wrong.
This last one is, for me, the crux of the pain I have felt over the years. I have been expected to care for the feelings of men, who don’t care for my feelings. More than any explicit action, this societal expectation for me to provide nutrition to the very people who resent me has poisoned me. It requires my complete effacement, for me to deny the value of my own experience. It has required a betrayal of the most personal kind, and to recover from it necessitates re-learning one of the most basic human instincts.
My own suffering matters.
If you enjoy my posts and desire to sign up for the daily newsletter, you find a button on the right bar of my page. Please also like New Beginnings Guatemala on Facebook, and keep up the good work spreading the word ;-)! Feel INVITED to share this post also on your website or social media, just keep the links and credit active PLEASE! THANKS!