Aquilina and Aly
Aly Raisman was strength personified today. 160 women had the guts to stand up and say #metoo and it is actually breathtaking. Not in the sense of beautiful or majestic (though in a way it may be), but in that I literally cannot breathe when I am watching it. These women were not just coming out on social media or to their closest circles, but to the world. Judge Rosemarie Aquilina’s statement during the sentencing of Larry Nassar today marks such a shift in the viewpoint of how to treat victims, that I am not sure I have fully processed it yet. Her absolute empathy for the women, juxtaposed to her harsh and vengeful tone in sentencing is anything but neutral. I have seen a lioness defend her cubs.
And oddly, it makes me angry. And sad.
Not for Larry Nassar. I am not holy enough to deny that I am absolutely giddy at the thought of his future prison life. No, her sentence is absolutely spot on. And I am thrilled for the generation of little girls who are witnessing this display of bravery and power but their elder idols. No. I am angry and sad for me. And for my sisters, that we did not have a Judge Aquilina. Where was my lioness? Where was the lioness for all the sexual abuse victims that have gone before? How many decades of silence, of victim shaming, of settlements and gag orders, of he said/she said, and of shame and injustice have my sisters and my foremothers had to endure to get here? Just this once? With no guarantee the next sexual abuse case will have this very special judge?
Yes, I am relieved that this monster got what he deserved, but the feelings that come up for me are not pleasant ones. And as I was scrolling though my day today, I can promise you that I have seen at least 100 women in my feed posting about the trial and the sentence. Posting #metoo. Posting in support of these women.
But they do not know these gymnasts. These gymnasts will never read their posts. What I realized was that, in a way, these posts are a kind of screaming. My sisters are wailing for themselves. Yelling for the judge that never brought them justice. Shouting to be heard the way that Aly, Jordyn, and McKayla were heard. And I know that by writing this, I too, am screaming.
What I am just starting to understand is that most of us have truly never been heard. Not in a way that really that puts others directly in our shoes. Not at the level that #JudgeAquilina allowed these women to be heard this week. We might tweet, or talk to our therapists, or process with our spouses… and that is if we are so privileged to have healed enough to even be able to talk about it at all. We are just now on the cusp of being heard collectively, but not yet individually. And most of the time I feel I am coping though a sort of “silent screaming” that I can barely allow myself to be conscious of. I am feeling and navigating emotions that are so loud and oppressive its like I will burst, and hoping that with a benign social media post or cryptic comment that someone will hear my silent screams underneath. And after seeing the number of posts that I have seen the past few days, I am starting to wonder if I am not alone in this?
Right now and for quite some time, sexual abuse has been in our face. Weinstein, Duggar, and Nassar, etc – and when their stories hit the mainstream media I know it can be cathartic for those of us who are survivors… but what is not always said is that it can also be gut-wrenching. It is a polarity that is very difficult to explain. What I know for sure, is that while the conversation should and must continue, we have to come up with a better way to take care of ourselves in the process. Us. The average Jane. Every headline, video and facebook post is a potential trigger. And we are still going about normal, everyday life without making any room to process any of it. And while these celebrities and athletes are being heard… we have to figure out better ways to make regular women heard too. Having a handful of activists on the Golden Globes will not cut it. We are in an avalanche of a shared truth…and I am concerned about us all digging out.
In my scrolling today, I saw a picture of the black Labrador therapy dog that was stationed in the courthouse for all of the gymnasts to cuddle for emotional support when they finished their testimony. And I thought to myself, “Wow. When it comes to my own history of child sexual abuse, has there ever been anyone that acknowledged that I might need that kind of nurturing?” “Has there ever even been a time when I even loved MYSELF enough to think that I warranted that level of care?” The answer was never.
If I’m not the only one, scream with me.