Me, Too: Extended

Me Too

I saw the Facebook statuses—my newsfeed was full of brave women coming forward, openly talking about personal experiences with sexual harassment… #metoo, and then some. And it made me—me the “healing out loud” girl—uncomfortable. What in the fuck? I couldn’t believe that this patriarchy-conditioned part of me that I thought was dead was suddenly awake for a feeding. In my upbringing, I was trained to hear “sexual harassment” and immediately follow the words with “always the woman’s fault.” That means I have blamed myself for countless horrifying interactions. I didn’t claim victim; I have seen myself as the perp. The 2016 election started to break down those old ideas I had; I started to see misogyny and sexual abuse more clearly and honestly, but I still sat in my self-made jail with a head full of regret and shame for all of the sexual harassment I thought I caused myself. But ALL of these women were writing #metoo with personal stories included, armed with the keys to my handcuffs, ready to show me the escape route if I wanted to be free. I did want to be free. I had been standing atop the cliff, peering over the edge for hours thinking, jump jump jump, it will feel good. And in a sudden burst of willingness, I went for it:

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