there are secrets mothers keep from their children hoping to protect them. there is dirty laundry in families that is so filthy that the thought of airing it sends one into a depressive, self-destructive cyclone. there are dead people who have done terrible terrible things to a girl who is now a woman who has kept it to herself and done her best to keep her daughter out of a similar situation.
my mom came clean with me today. she confessed her childhood molestation in all its dramatic disgust, the physical, emotional and spiritual ramifications of which hanging on with cold, tired fingers. this is the story i always suspected; this is the story i tried to make a space for by reading aloud to her from Cunt (by Inga Muscio) about learning of her own mother's childhood rape. my mom exhibited all the signs of someone who had experienced severe sexual trauma, and i, steeping myself in radical feminism, had developed a keen eye for recognizing it. and of course i had encountered more than a few friends and lovers who were all sorts of fucked up from their sexual abuse.
i knew this story was there and i am so honored for my mother's honesty today. as she told me her experience, and the secrets she has held, all the pieces fell into place around us. my empowerment. me telling my cousin who tried to kiss me in the laundry room when i was eight that i would kick his ass and tell his mom and my mom if he did anything like that again. a meek woman raising an outspoken, take-no-shit grrl in a plastic suburban house. my mom's loneliness and my sexual freedom. her depression and my serious lack thereof. her unfaltering, super safe, unconditional love and me taking it for granted.
my mother raised me, channeling her pain to become my joy. creating the perfectly empowered woman who would do whatever the fuck she wanted and always be a bit wary of men and their sexuality. mmmmmm it breaks my heart to think of how she suffered, but it warms it so much to think of how hard she worked to let that cycle (her mother was likely molested as well) end in her lifetime. fuck. my mother's strength has always been a source of inspiration to me, but tonight i am struck nearly wordless by that sort of 'a-ha' awareness, that blunt thud of NO FUCKING WONDER.
love the kids. a lot. believe 'em. tell them the truth. and definitely, DEFINITELY, empower the fuck out of them. in a world like this, no matter WHAT the media tells you, there is no such thing as an over-empowered girl.
my mom came clean with me today. she confessed her childhood molestation in all its dramatic disgust, the physical, emotional and spiritual ramifications of which hanging on with cold, tired fingers. this is the story i always suspected; this is the story i tried to make a space for by reading aloud to her from Cunt (by Inga Muscio) about learning of her own mother's childhood rape. my mom exhibited all the signs of someone who had experienced severe sexual trauma, and i, steeping myself in radical feminism, had developed a keen eye for recognizing it. and of course i had encountered more than a few friends and lovers who were all sorts of fucked up from their sexual abuse.
i knew this story was there and i am so honored for my mother's honesty today. as she told me her experience, and the secrets she has held, all the pieces fell into place around us. my empowerment. me telling my cousin who tried to kiss me in the laundry room when i was eight that i would kick his ass and tell his mom and my mom if he did anything like that again. a meek woman raising an outspoken, take-no-shit grrl in a plastic suburban house. my mom's loneliness and my sexual freedom. her depression and my serious lack thereof. her unfaltering, super safe, unconditional love and me taking it for granted.
my mother raised me, channeling her pain to become my joy. creating the perfectly empowered woman who would do whatever the fuck she wanted and always be a bit wary of men and their sexuality. mmmmmm it breaks my heart to think of how she suffered, but it warms it so much to think of how hard she worked to let that cycle (her mother was likely molested as well) end in her lifetime. fuck. my mother's strength has always been a source of inspiration to me, but tonight i am struck nearly wordless by that sort of 'a-ha' awareness, that blunt thud of NO FUCKING WONDER.
love the kids. a lot. believe 'em. tell them the truth. and definitely, DEFINITELY, empower the fuck out of them. in a world like this, no matter WHAT the media tells you, there is no such thing as an over-empowered girl.
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Love to you both xxxx