Dating with a Past

Nearly a year ago my husband and I agreed that it was over. Whatever we were fighting for was no longer worth it. We’d became different people who were no longer compatible, and we were no longer looking back at the happy aspects of the past 21 years, but all the things we still couldn’t get past, no matter how hard we feigned it.

Once I knew I was over him, I did what most people do, and I joined dating sites. Multiple. Most useless. I was upfront about my situation – emotionally separated from my spouse, but due to COVID and financial constraints we were still cohabitating – separate rooms, separate lives. I addressed having a kid in college and that being a parent is the most important thing in my life. I got the typical youngsters who want to sleep with an older woman and the single dads who wanted to still expand their families. Neither interested me. I’m too old and too tired to deal with young guys living out a fetish, and over wanting children.

The first person I took notice of was 33, an age that I was uncomfortable with, but he genuinely seemed to understand my situation. Never married and was indifferent to having children. We started texting and video messaging and finally met at a park. Had great time and continued our flirtation. Because I don’t want to bring baggage into any new relationship, my breakup was off limits to talk about, but he did call one evening after a huge fight with my ex and I said that I wasn’t the best company, said why, and said I’d call tomorrow when I was in a better place. He convinced me it was okay to lean on him, and so I did. For about 10 minutes I allowed myself to be vulnerable to another human. I never talked badly about my ex, just the emotional challenges I was under. The next morning he’d sent me a text saying that he was no longer interested, that I talked too much about my ex. I didn’t let it bother me too much; “he’s just a kid anyway.”

A couple of months later I went on a couple of dinner dates with another younger guy, but closer to my age at 37. Again, never married and no kids. To be honest, the chemistry wasn’t there, but we tried to force it and it failed miserably. Over one dinner he asked me about why I’d moved so much, and I told him due to my ex’s job and getting my kid into the best school we could. He responded with, “I’m not interested in hearing about your ex or kid.” I left.

Because of this, I’ve been incredibly trigger shy at meeting other men. I have an abundance of other topics to talk about, but when we’re talking about why I am who I am, it is shaped by my life experience of being a mother and a wife. I can leave it at the door of our date as much as possible, but it’s still part of who I am, especially being a mom.

Again, two months later I met someone through a dating app – 44, never married and no kids. He had an actual bio and information in it that drew me to him. We started talking and we’ve had a couple of overnights, but instead of being self-conscious about what I’m going to wear and does it flatter my figure, I am battling with what amount of my history am I “allowed” to talk about. I should note here that he’s not given me reason to have this anxiety, but it has been built in by intimidating forces that refuse to validate one’s complete history. We know that it’s rude to continuously talk about your ex on a date, but at what point is it acceptable to say what went wrong and what you’re looking for. And I am a mother, I cannot and will not always leave that part of me at home. Yet, I struggle with balance and I find myself rambling uncontrollably about anything that will not lead to mentioning I’m separated with an adult kid…and I often fail when it comes to the kid portion. Many of my experiences were created with them, so for me it feels natural “oh yeah, my kid showed me how to play this game,” and then I instantly feel sick to my stomach because there’s no rule book on if they should even be mentioned.

What I can say is that I am learning two very important things about myself during this: Who I am and what I want.

I am a mother. A soon-to-be divorcee. But I’m also a goofy, educated, opinionated, happy person who values open conversation between two people and their life experiences. I’m learning that with the right person that I am affectionate and I that I crave it from them. I am someone that has a lot to offer the right person.

As for what I want, I’m ready to admit that I have dealbreakers, something I never truly thought about when I was younger. My must haves are emotional intelligence, curiosity, the ability to listen to understand, someone who can validate me even when they disagree with me, and someone who can communicate what they want. Mostly, someone who is accepting and interested in the whole me – the mom, the divorcee, all of it.

The Argument Against Girl Boss

My husband and I decided to spend a weekend afternoon strolling a quaint shopping district in our city. It’s a small street lined with mom-and-pop boutiques that offer high-end home furnishings and vintage clothing mixed with a few neighborhood bars and hipster eateries. After having a refreshing beverage by the river, we decided to make our way back to our car which was parked outside of a women’s clothing shop. Proudly displayed in its window was a simple white t-shirt with the words “Girl Boss” emblazed across the front. I instantly cringed. I’ve raged against that phrase for some time, but on this occasion my husband decided to ask why I’d be opposed to something meant to empower women. Simply put, because it doesn’t.

I cannot remember the first time I became acquainted with the phrase, but I do remember shrugging it off – there would be no way that this sexist phrase would engrain itself into our modern feminist movement. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I started seeing friends, those who are true bosses, fully embrace this attempt at placation. I quickly grew as frustrated with them as I did the moniker. When I had a chance to air my grievances face-to-face, I would with good results, but I never attempted to have this conversation online for obvious reasons. Social media has become a deluge of idiocy where people only comprehend enough just to write their next irate post. What was the point?

But I cannot let this go. This is an important conversation that needs to be had. Why is “Girl Boss” a thing?

Speaking to solely to those feminists who’ve embraced this appellation, would you allow yourself to be referred to “girl” anything else? No. Never. The idea of being designated into another category where we are “separate but equal” from men is abhorrent. Why is this any different? We’d never allow ourselves to be thought of us as “Girl Educators” or “Girl Politicians.” The fact is, this phrase is another way of lessening what we are. Educators. Leaders. CEOs. Future Presidents. Bosses.

Approximately ten years ago, I was laid off from a job that I loathed. I was a call center manager for a small nonprofit, and while the work we did is important, the Founder/CEO was an utter muttonhead. He’d castrated me from any power and made it impossible for me to implement any sort of rules or expectations. After my release I was inconsolable. Even though every time I walked into my office I was physically ill from the daily barrage of being put down because I was a superior leader compared to the founder, I took it as a personal slight. It didn’t help that this happened during the 2008 economic downturn and regaining significant employment was nearly impossible. What was I to do? I did like many in my position at that time, I became my own boss.

It took some time, but after leaving my former employer I created my own photography business. I started covering concerts and eventually moved into wedding photography. I was good at my job and had a great word-of-mouth client base that kept me occupied and most importantly, in the black. I built this business from scratch and busted my ass to gain recognition for my work. I was proud of my Five Star ratings on all major wedding directories; I’d truly put the blood, sweat and tears into making this a thriving and growing business. No one ever looked at me and thought, “oh, she’s doing well for a girl wedding photographer,” nor should they have. Without any qualifiers I was becoming successful. Looking back now, had anyone tried to tell me I was a “girl boss” there would have been words. No dammit, I wasn’t a girl boss, I was THE BOSS. I’d made all the same decisions to elevate my company that any boss, male or female, would have done. I invested the same time, energy and equity that the male photographers had, and I was on their level, so why do they get to be “boss” and I get to be “girl boss”? That doesn’t work for me and it shouldn’t for you.

We women are routinely regulated into our own industries. We have the WNBA, WPGA, Best Actress awards and so on. We are told through sports and entertainment that we must be in different groups because we cannot compete with men. If anyone watched the 2018 television awards season, one thing was crystal clear – women ruled. We saw the rise of women-led television programming taking the spotlight. Shows like The Handmaid’s Tale and Big Little Lies reigned supreme. Nicole Kidman, Ann Dowd, and the great Elizabeth Moss were told they best of the best in their respected categories of other women performers, but they were never offered the luxury of being just the best. Their dramas earned the recognition of beating out male-led stalwarts, but our brilliantly talented actresses are still not shown enough respect to let them go head-to-head with the likes of DeNiro and McGregor. If anyone truly believes that Moss would have lost to Ewan McGregor, please sit down.

And this is the crux of the issue. We will never be considered equal if we keep allowing ourselves to be placed into subgenres. We are the leads in our own stories. We are June, not Offred. We are BOSSES! If you own a Girl Boss shirt, I implore you to keep it, but make a major modification. Get rid of the term “girl”; hell, we’re WOMEN anyway. Use a sharpie, duct tape, whatever you have, and proudly proclaim that you are the mother-effing-boss! In a world where there are no “boy bosses,” please, for the love of all the that is feminist, don’t allow yourself to be anything less than what you are. You are the boss. Do you hear me, THE BOSS. Own it. Be empowered by it and never settle for anything less.

 

 

 

The White Vacuum of Support

Originally published August 16, 2017 for personal blog.

We are now living in the aftermath of a neo-Nazi killing a woman on American soil in 2017. Like many, I thought this was the war of my grandfathers. My grandfather, the late James Harmon Sutton, earned a Purple Heart fighting this war. It was supposed to be over. Yet here we are, with the crimes of the Third Reich being recreated in Charlottesville, Virginia with the promise to continue across our nation.

We need a call-to-arms for people who look like me. It is time for white America to remove the blinders and understand that the burden of current events does not lie solely on the shoulders of the black and brown communities.

In times of racial strife, we often look to our leaders of color. We tell our friends that we fight with them, however if we are being honest, we listen to their words, nod our heads, and are comforted that we need not have to fight the war with them. White America, the time come for us to stop waiting for a modern MLK, but become the future RFK.

At this time of national crisis, where is the white leadership? While we stand on the sidelines tweeting our anger, our black and brown brothers and sisters are putting themselves on the frontlines of this escalating war. We should not only be standing beside them, but we should be willing to the slings and arrows.

It is because we’ve looked away for far too long that we are here. We have allowed blatant and institutional racism to breed in the dark corners of our nation. We’ve stood nearly mute as we’ve witnessed countless black men and women lie slain in the streets in the name of so-called self defence. We allowed a narcissistic, white supremacist sympathizer to take office.

In writing this, I know a number of my white brothers and sister have taken to the streets in solidarity with groups like Black Lives Matter and I you have my unyielding gratitude. You have looked evil in the eyes and said “not in my country.” You have spilled your blood and witnessed the murder of a woman by American terrorism. Heather Heyer. Say her name.

This is not directed towards you. This is a message to those who think there’s nothing more they can do. The ones who uses their privilege to ignore the atrocities occurring before them. But most importantly, to our white political leaders. Where are you?

Why do white politicians always defer to their black and Latino members to elevate the nation through these times? Former President Barack Obama delivered multiple speeches about race and we all stood and clapped. Claire McCaskill, where were yours? Dick Durbin? Mr. Schumer – Ms. Pelosi? Giving a two minute interview to friendly stations no longer is enough. You must quit preaching to the choir and become a profile in courage who is willing to have the tough conversations. Stop worrying about reelection, what good is it if we’re fighting a second Civil War. A tweet is no longer enough; it never was. It’s time to step up and lead. Quit hiding behind your colleagues of color; fight alongside of them. Fight for them.

It’s time to bring back the rallies. It’s time to bring back the fireside chats. It’s time to stand up and say “Not on my watch!” Hate thrives on our silence. It feeds on our fear. Do not give it the space to grow.

An Open Letter to the Women of America Who Still Support Donald Trump

Originally published for Paste Magazine on October 21, 2016.

Dear lady Trump voters,

Let’s talk. I get that you’re pissed. You hate Hillary, you hate Obama, and think this country has become far too secular. You and I will never agree on policy, and that’s okay. So let’s talk about common decency instead.

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.” – Matthew 7:12

Whether religious or not, this is the code we all strive to live by. We have an unspoken societal contract to treat others as we would like to be treated. We hold doors open because we appreciate it when others do it for us. We teach our children to say please and thank you because we understand basic manners are essential. Every day, the vast majority of us show kindness in either the words we say or the actions we take, because that’s how humanity behaves. We even look down on other cultures sometimes, believing they should live by American values, because America has become the moral authority of the world.

So what happens when morality and policy don’t converge? When a politician comes along and espouses ideas that you agree with, but is morally bankrupt? Well, we stand at a crossroads. We must begin to prioritize our love of country with our love of mankind.

One of Donald Trump’s greatest appeals is that he “tells it like it is.” He’s a straight talker that says what he means and means what he says. When he states that he’s going to build a wall and Mexico is going to pay for it, it’s bought hook, line, and sinker. You back his charges of Hillary’s alleged corruption without needing any more proof than Trump’s word. His accusations of Bill Clinton’s sexual deviance from twenty plus years ago is gospel, despite Clinton having never been convicted. However, when it comes to Trump confessing to sexual assault on tape, he was just “being a man.” That’s how men talk. Despite always meaning what he says, he didn’t mean this.

We are at a place now where Trump’s language disparaging women has become commonplace. We know about “fat pig,” “blood coming out of her eyes,” Heid Klum no longer a ten, and the endless sexual comments about his own daughter. He’s written about his philandering during the Vietnam War, and it has become common, undisputed knowledge that he cheated on his first wife, Ivana, with his second wife Marla Maples. When asked by Howard Stern if he treated women with respect, he said, “I can’t say that either.”

The common line to excuse this behavior is that he wasn’t considering running for President yet—that he was a private citizen. This is wrong in so many ways. In 1987, he toyed with running for President when promoting The Art of the Deal. Again in 2000, he bounced around the idea of running on the Reform Party ticket. And yes, he was a private citizen, but he was also a celebrity. The same kind of celebrity as Colin Kaepernick, who incurred your wrath when he wouldn’t stand for the national anthem. The same kind of celebrity as the Dixie Chicks, whose CDs were burned by Republicans when they disparaged George W. Bush. And on a completely bizarre level, there was a Republican meltdown on Twitter when Bradley Cooper, who played GOP hero Chris Kyle, was spotted at the 2016 DNC. If every other celebrity is expected to live up to code, then so should Trump.

Trump is running to be the president of the United States of America. Not only the most powerful job in the nation, and arguably the world, but also the most visible. His words do matter. Not just what he says about ISIS and the tax code, but how he speaks of the citizenry he wants to represent. Yes, represent.

When I see Trump, I don’t see a man that represents all of America. I don’t see a man who even represents 50 percent of America. Again, this is not about policy, but simply because of his refusal to treat over half of the population with respect.

“I’m automatically attracted to beautiful. I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. I just kiss, I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything — grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.”

Reread that quote and then think of the men in your life. Do they say this? If your husband or your son said this, would you let it stand? What about your faith leader? If he stood at the pulpit and said these words, would you continue to follow his lead? If a young man who was dating your daughter said this in front of you, would you let it slide? Of course not. If you said yes, you’re lying to yourself. Had Obama said that, the GOP would have begun impeachment proceedings immediately.

So let’s just admit it—you are excusing this horrendous and criminal behavior because you hate Hillary. That’s fine, I’m no fan either, but I do know this situation is far bigger than the two candidates. Everything Trump espouses as he devalues any woman that dare challenge him—or smears every woman that has come forward to confirm Trump did to them what he openly admitted to a sleazy television host—resonates with both the girls and boys in the country. He’s teaching girls that they’re worthless unless he deems them beautiful. His multiple affairs and wives shows that he finds women to be expendable. His vile rhetoric against his accusers tells every sexual violence survivor that she is not to be believed. He also teaches boys these same values. That it’s okay to cheat, to degrade, and to “grab them by the pussy.”

Again, look at your children, or think of the children you plan to have: Is this the example you want set for them? I believe that you and I are alike here—we want better. We deserve better. They deserve better.

I cannot tell you who to vote for, but I can tell you that you cannot claim the moral high ground if you vote for Trump. The party of family values, who puts God before country, is putting their hate of a woman over personal and national integrity. If we’re voting, then we share a sense of duty to that country. When you walk into that voting booth, think about what you’d accept as conduct for dating your daughter. Think about the character you want to see displayed in your pastor. If Trump cannot be hired as a Sunday school teacher, then he damn well shouldn’t be president of the United States.

 

Tim Kaine is a Solid VP Choice

Originally published for Paste Magazine on July 25, 2016.

Like many progressives I’ve had my fingers crossed for a vice presidential selection who reflects my liberal views – an Elizabeth Warren or Sherrod Brown. A progressive populist who’s unafraid to take on Wall Street and fight for Main Street. If not them, I wanted someone exciting like my current senator, Cory Booker. Booker, the politician who rescued a woman from a burning building, shoveled snow for an elderly constituent, and rescued a dog from the frigid New Jersey winters. It doesn’t get much sexier than that. But, instead of a progressive stalwart or an unmasked super hero, Hillary chose my former Governor, Tim Kaine.

Before my move to New Jersey, I spent eight years living in Richmond, Virginia. During my time there, Kaine served as my Lt. Governor and governor. I cannot make him a sexy pick for you. I just don’t believe it’s possible. But what I can do, as a liberal, is assure you that he’s not as conservative or anti-choice as progressives fear he is.

In his days before public office, Kaine paid his civil rights dues by working seventeen years as a fair housing attorney working with clients discriminated against based on race and disability. In 1998, Kaine took on Nationwide Mutual Insurance Co., claiming they had been redlining African-American neighborhoods. Kaine won the lawsuit to the tune of a $100 million verdict.

In 1998, Kaine became Richmond’s first white mayor in over a decade. Chosen by a majority-black City Council, Kaine reopened schools, reduced the homicide rate by 55% and despite criticism, spent $6,000 on buses for Richmonders who wanted to attend the anti-gun violence rally, Million Mom March in Washington DC.

As person of Catholic faith, Tim Kaine is staunchly opposed to the death penalty. While serving as the governor of Virginia, a state that comes in second only to Texas in executions, Kaine vetoed legislation that would have expanded a list of crimes that fell under punishable by death. He has also served as a pro-bono attorney to death row inmates.

While serving as governor of Virginia, Kaine showed he’s an ally to the LGBT community. He campaigned against the state’s constitutional amendment defining a marriage between a man and a woman and issued an executive order prohibiting LGBT discrimination in the work place. Currently, he’s in the senate working with other members to assure that school children are able to use the bathroom that aligns with the gender they identify as.

The League of Conservation Voters have given the senator a 91% lifetime approval rating. In Virginia he invested in Open Space to aid in the preservation of the Chesapeake Bay. He was an early opponent of the Keystone XL pipeline and believes that environmental protection goes hand in hand with innovation. Kaine backs new technologies and embraces innovation in alternative energies to both create jobs and end fossil fuel dependence.

For those not from Virginia, I can assure you the Second Amendment is as popular there as Sunday brunch in Brooklyn. But, after the Virginia Tech shooting, Kaine responded by issuing an executive order closing the gun show loophole and made it harder for the mentally deranged from obtaining firearms. Kaine also supports an assault weapons ban, universal background checks and bans on high-capacity magazines. When it comes to the NRA, which is headquartered in his home state, the senator boasts an F rating.

Now let’s talk about women. Before we get to his stance on abortion, let’s start with some simple basics. Kaine:

1) Supports Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.

2) Supports equal pay for equal work.

3) Supports increased access to health care.

4) Supports increased funding and services for victims of domestic violence.

5) Introduced the Teach Safe Relationships Act of 2015, mandating education on preventing sexual assault in secondary schools.

6) Supports increased federal funding for quality and affordable child care.

7) Is endorsed by The Feminist Majority and Planned Parenthood.

8) Believes in the radical idea that women should be trusted with their own reproductive decisions.

Yes, Tim Kaine, supports a woman’s right to choose. I know much has been made of his personal opposition to abortion, but he respects women and law enough to understand that it’s their choice, not that of our government. Kaine is an unusual politician in this regard – he believes that his personal morals do not trump national law, something we’ve been trying to express to religious conservatives for decades. In 2012, his gubernatorial successor, Bob McDonnell signed a controversial bill into law that required women seeking an abortion to receive a transvaginal ultrasound. Kaine repeatedly railed against it, calling it “bad for Virginia’s women.” And due to his own personal objections to abortion, Kaine has been an outspoken advocate in increased accessibility to contraceptives.

I admit it, I am biased towards Senator Kaine. I found him to be a hard worker, a good leader, and most importantly, a good man. He’s a solid democrat in a purple state. He’s a humble man of character and integrity that advanced a progressive agenda in a southern state. No, he’s no social media master and he’ll probably never level the soundbite heard around the world, but as someone who’s never lost an election, he is a winner and hails from Virginia. We need Virginia. We need Tim Kaine.

To Most, Brock Turner’s Sentence is a Bad Joke. To a Rape Survivor Like Me, It’s a Tragedy

Originally published for Paste Magazine on June 9, 2016

If one of every five women has been the victim of sexual assault, look around to the women you know—the odds are that at least one of them, and likely many more, have been sexually victimized. If we all know someone who has been through this trauma, or if we have experienced it ourselves, then why are we so hesitant to talk about it? Why do we cower from the subject because it makes us uncomfortable?

Maybe because we don’t want to hear the hard truths about how we treat the women who have survived.

The country is now intimately familiar with the Stanford case, where Brock Turner—a wealthy, young, white student—was convicted on three felony counts of sexual assault. Turner was caught by two Swedish grad students on bicycles as he was raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. The two Good Samaritans chased down Turner, held him until the police arrived, and tended to the unconscious woman. But instead of receiving a 6 year sentence that the prosecutor asked for, Turner was sentenced to six months (three with good behavior) because the judge believed that “a prison sentence will have a severe impact” on Brock’s life and athletic career. The judge went on to say that he believed that this person, guilty of rape, was not a threat to others.

It gets worse. Brock Turner’s father wrote a letter saying that he felt the punishment was unfair for only “twenty minutes of action.” He blames the incident on their drinking and that Brock has “never been violent,” including the night of the rape. And to add more insult to injury, he states that his son is committed to educating other college students of the dangers of drinking and promiscuity.

Part of me wants to rage about all of this. Scream. Cry. Break things. But he’s not worth it. He’s not worth the energy it takes to write this. The Internet is doing a fantastic job of branding this rapist as the monster that he is. Brock Turner may only serve the summer, but his face and name is everywhere with the label “Convicted Rapist” attached to it. Thank you for that.

However there are still those who claim “boys will be boys,” or “they were both drunk, let it be.” These are not defenses. These are excuses used to minimize the damage the rapist has caused. To minimize the woman’s experience. The hurt it has caused her. Her family. Her friends. We can no longer allow victim-blaming to be the norm. We need to have hard talks. Listen to the women. Hear their stories. Understand how their life will never be the same. I know it makes people uncomfortable, but honestly, their discomfort pales to the nightmare the victims live.

In the fall of 2013, I was working as a wedding photographer at a swanky hotel in a popular New Jersey beach town. The bride and groom were amazing. I spent time photographing the groom at a beach house they rented across from the hotel. His family and groomsmen were all present and were wonderful towards me. I felt comfortable around the group and never had any inclination that something bad could happen.

I photographed all of the day’s proceedings, and stayed for the reception. I’d had a glass of wine with the bride before the wedding and I had another about an hour into the reception. Everything was going great. The guests were fun and happy and more than willing to work with me as I documented the couple’s big day. Soon, the wedding was winding down. I’d been chatting with a man about my age named Matt. He was good-looking, and he served as a Naval Officer. I’m not sure how, but we began talking about politics and laughed about how we were exactly aligned. Was I flirting? Maybe. But it doesn’t matter.

As I was packing to go, I realized the couple had not made their final payment. Matt said to come with him, there was going to be an after-party at the beach house and the couple had said they were coming. I agreed and he walked me over to the house as we continued to chat about politics. On the way there, I mentioned I felt light-headed and he said it was probably from the heat. The next thing I knew, I was waking up fully dressed and completely disheveled in my own bed. There was a foggy memory of driving home, but I was sure it was a dream. I asked my husband if I’d told him anything, and he said I’d came in at 4 AM with my clothes hanging off of me, refusing to talk to him. That morning he accused me of being unfaithful, but as far as I knew, I hadn’t been. I was angry. Then, he accused me of driving home intoxicated. I rebuffed the allegation; I’m the one who takes away the keys of those who’ve had too much. I would never, NEVER drive drunk.

After a long fight and many tears, I climbed into the shower and noticed I had bruises and scrapes covering my arms and back. I also realized that something didn’t feel right “down there.” I got out and examined my body. Countless cuts and bruises and even bruising between my thighs. I panicked. What happened? What did I do? I cried uncontrollably.

The next day my husband went out of town on business and I went to work. The ladies in my office noticed I was acting different and became concerned. I told them what I remembered and the marks I noticed and finally it came out “I think I was raped.” Saying it aloud scared me. It made it real.

Over the next couple of days, I had flashes. Sitting on a bed putting on clothes. Sitting on his lap. Kissing him. On the beach falling backwards into a large beach rock and performing oral sex. This couldn’t be me. I’m married. I’m professional. I would never do anything to jeopardize my business. All of this frightened me and I refused to believe it was anything more than nightmares and my mind running wild on me.

My husband had returned, but I was still hesitant to tell him anything—I only kept affirming that I hadn’t cheated on him. I did mention the dreams I was having and that I had sand in my shoes when I never went on the beach. Because this correlated with one of my flashes, I finally called my doctor.

My doctor was amazing. Again, I was able to say “I was raped,” but followed by, “I think.” When I explained to her what had happened, she hugged me and said, “Yes honey, you were and it’s not your fault.” I cried in her arms and she stroked my hair telling me she was going to take care of me. I was embarrassed to behave like this in front of my doctor, but there was a comfort in finally getting it out to someone who could help. She ran all of the tests and when the results came in, I was clear of STDs. However, I’d waited too long for the tests to pick up any drug I may have been slipped, but she was confident that I’d been given MDMA because of the dream-like memory flashes, and how I’d lost all inhibitions.

This revelation prompted me to tell my husband, and together we decided that I needed to be in intense counseling. I found a psychiatrist who dealt with trauma and they got me in right away. The diagnosis was PTSD and severe depression. My sessions were grueling. This is where I screamed. I cried. I became completely unhinged. My husband joined us because my doctor wanted him to understand that he was also a victim and we needed to learn how to talk to each other about it.

I was medicated…a lot. I was on a number of anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and anti-psychotics. Nothing seemed to work. Nightmares every night. I’d wake up screaming, knowing he was there. I couldn’t go back to the town where it happened—I still have a hard time doing this. I avoided any place there was alcohol. I withdrew from society. Failed at work. Raged at home. I had no control, because he’d taken it from me.

Early on, I’d expressed that I wasn’t going to pursue charges because I didn’t have the strength to do it. I also didn’t want my 15-year-old son to have to live through it. I didn’t want the events that happened to me to scar the couple’s wedding day. I was scared and I found anything to use as an excuse. My psychiatrist knew a detective in the town where the rape occurred. He offered to contact her to see if she thought I had a case. The verdict was awful. Since I’d been seen by his friends behaving in a promiscuous nature towards my perpetrator, I would have to deal with several witnesses against me. She also believed that since he was a Naval Officer, it would go through the court martial process and she could almost guarantee that nothing would happen to him. I was better off just forgetting about it. He also informed me that she’d peppered their conversation with “how was she dressed,” “had she been drinking,” “did she ever come on to him,” and so on. Basically, victim-blaming. Even my doctor was appalled.

Months passed by with me completely withdrawn. I’d quit photography and was missing work at my day job. I didn’t sleep, which only added to my aggravation. I did go on a vacation with girlfriends that I’d planned a year prior. A music festival booze cruise, so to speak. I spent most of my time hiding in my cabin. Any time I guy approached me, as innocent as it was, I’d run to the nearest bathroom and puke. I was nowhere close to being ready for this sort of social setting. My poor friends; I’d left them in the dark about what I was going through. They just saw a shell of the woman they knew and had no way of helping her.

Fast forward to today. I’m still on an anti-anxiety medication, I have moments of panic, I’ve put on weight, and I have a hard time dealing with triggers. What are my triggers? Tall blonde men, excessive drinking, my husband being affectionate towards me, seeing sexual violence on TV, and so much more. All of these things leave me crying at any given moment. Not just crying, but curled into a ball on the floor in absolute hysterics. I lay in bed and cry because I’d gone two weeks without thinking about it and for some reason, now all I can see is his face when I close my eyes.

I’m not the only one who has felt the effects of this heinous crime. My husband has learned to tiptoe around me on certain topics. He’s (wonderfully) dealt with my lack of interest in sex. He knows that every time we go to our favorite little beach town, I could go crazy at any moment. He’s seen the anger, the fury that I’ve released without control. He’s held my hand through it all. Then there’s my son. He’s a smart kid and put the pieces together. I’ve tried to be composed around him, but when your world is crashing down around you it’s hard to keep up the facade. He’s seen me angry and he’s seen me cry. He’s heard me threaten that if he ever treated a woman like this, he’d have to answer to me. He always responds so beautifully. Something like “Mom, I could never do that. You’ve always taught me to respect women. I love you mom, it’s not your fault.” My son is my savior.

It’s taken a long time for me to want to speak out about this. I’m fearful of being the “rape girl.” I don’t want to be seen as the person who can only talk or write about rape, but as my husband said to me tonight, I have firsthand knowledge of its horrors. Myself and a twenty-three year old woman from Stanford share a membership card to a society that no one wants to be part of. It bonds us together, just as it does with other women who’ve endured what we have. Her story touched something in me. It gave me the courage to speak out. She was brave enough to speak eloquently to her story, and I knew I needed to match her courage the best I could.

I cannot stress enough that Brock Turner’s “sentence” is a joke. If it wasn’t such a tragedy, it would be laughable. But this is the reality for survivors of sexual violence, and sadly, most rapists go free. It has to change. We have to quit focusing on the woman. There is nothing a woman can do to ever deserve being raped. Not being drunk. Not if she was flirtatious. Not her sexual history. Not her clothes. None of this matters and we must quit acting like it does. Instead we must start calling rapists what they are: A danger to society. A predator. This isn’t about a boy getting “action,” but about him stripping all dignity, confidence, sense of worth, and sense of safety away from her. She is the one left devastated, and he is the one who caused this.

I didn’t write this for pity. I’m sure there will be some who read my story and say it wasn’t rape, or I had it coming. I’m learning how to deal with these people, but it’s a struggle. But there are those who have the capacity to understand. The capacity to do the right thing. The capacity to understand that it is NEVER the woman’s fault. These are the people I am trying to reach. Hear my voice and know there are many more that echo it.

Dear Hillary: I’m a Sexual Assault Survivor, and I Can’t Bring Myself to Vote For You

Originally published for Paste Magazine on May 10, 2016

Dear Secretary Clinton,

First, I must congratulate you on your campaign. It’s now only a matter of time until you will be named the official party nominee, and, most likely, our first female president. You have fought vigorously for this moment, and have more than earned the reward. You are, in fact, the only candidate I could see myself supporting in this election. But I can’t vote for you—not yet—and I wanted to write you today in the hope that you might better understand who I am, and why many women like me feel the same way.

I am registered Democrat. An every-election voter. A mother. A wife. An atheist. A student. A photographer. I, like all of us, am a culmination of so many things. Yet the two that define me most are “feminist” and “survivor.” These identities, for me, cannot be separated. They are intertwined in a complicated yet empowering way. I am a survivor of child molestation by a family member, and later, I became an adult survivor of rape—twice. I was date raped in 1997, and in 2013 I was drugged and raped while working as a photographer at a wedding. He was a naval officer, and I’m sure you can imagine the difficult decision I faced when contemplating whether I should press charges. Ultimately, I didn’t. I sometimes hate myself for it, but I know I wouldn’t have survived the court-martial process and the assault on my character.

On November 22nd, you tweeted, “Every survivor of sexual assault deserves to be heard, believed, and supported.” You are so exactly right. According to a Stanford study, only about two percent of claims are false. Even so, we are dismissed, ridiculed, threatened, smeared, and made to feel that we are to blame. I don’t speak much of the date rape incident, but I am vocal about 2013. I, like many others, am often asked questions like, “what were you wearing?” and “how much did you have to drink?” These moments hurt, and it’s only the start of the long, painful, and embarrassing road ahead of us.

Your November tweet was moving, to say the least. However, I must ask why you continuously contributed to the problems we face. This may seem unfair, but I implore you to hear me out. Honestly, I do not blame you for your husband’s bad deeds, and I do not blame you for standing by him when his affairs with Monica Lewisnky and Paula Jones came to light during his impeachment trial. We love who we love, and you were a victim of his behavior. However, I do take issue with how you have yet to “believe and support” the multiple women who have alleged sexual misconduct and rape against Mr. Clinton.

Had this only been one accusation, I suppose you could say, “I know him too well.” I’d have understood. But we know there wasn’t just one allegation. There have been a string of accusations, and your handling of each one has shown a distinct lack of “belief and support.”

Juanita Broaddrick accused your husband of violent rape in a hotel room in 1978. Paula Jones was awarded an $850,000 settlement after accusing Mr. Clinton of sexual harassment. Kathleen Willey claims she was sexually assaulted during his first term as president. Then there’s the Monica Lewinsky affair, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

All of these women have something more in common than suffering abuse at the hands of your husband. That commonality is you, Secretary Clinton. Broaddrick wrote that you threatened her at a campaign event only weeks after the incident. When asked about this recently on the campaign trail, you called a survivor of rape “very rude.” Your instances of dismissive and/or aggressive behavior to these women became a pattern. Paula Jones was dismissed as trailer park trash by James Carville, one of your top strategists. Willey said of you, “she chooses to go after the women that he hooks up with, to ruin them again and again…”

There’s no better example of that than Monica Lewinsky, who was disgustingly slut-shamed on the internet after the affair was revealed. You called her a “narcissistic looney toon” and refused to entertain the idea that maybe your husband had wielded power in an abusive way over a confused 24-year-old. Then you had the audacity to accuse herof not allowing Mr. Clinton to break it off. Ms. Lewinsky was harassed at the time, and continues to be harassed today. As she speaks out on this issue of cyber-bullying, she is flooded with hate speech from your supporters. Yet you remain silent. I understand that this woman has caused you pain—so has Bill, but you now defend him and idly sit by as this woman is endlessly tormented. Where is your compassion? Where is your sisterhood to women?

I understand that it’s easy to call these accusations a “vast right wing conspiracy,” or attribute the accusations to women looking for fame. That’s the easy way out. I’m sure you believe the Bill Cosby accusers, and if Cosby can be the monster he is, why can’t the same be true of Mr. Clinton? He is not above reproach, and again, I would remind you that 98 percent of claims are legitimate.

This….this is why I cannot vote for you. The survivor in me says “no, she’s not your ally,” and the feminist in me agrees. You are the most influential woman in America, perhaps in the world. Why won’t you live up to your words? Show us that we are not forgotten. Show us that the most powerful woman has our back, and that we deserve to have a voice. Believe in us, and believe them. They spoke out. They were the brave ones; be brave with us.

I end this in saying that I don’t consider you beyond redemption. I want to vote for you—I want to like you. I truly believe, politically speaking, there has never been any one person more qualified for the office. You may not see this as the one issue that should negate all those positives, but to some survivors, that’s exactly what it is.

There are days when the only thing that keeps me going is the understanding and support of the ladies in my life. These gestures are vital for us as we move from “victim” to “survivor.” So, please help us. Renounce the smear campaigns of the past, and tell your husband and the rest of us that you hear and believe his accusers. The moment that happens, you will have my unwavering support. Until then, I abstain from this election. Please know that I don’t mean that as a threat, but only to show how deeply this critical issue affects me. I know you’d like my support, Madam Secretary, but first I will need yours.