- being correct
- being incorrect
- being confident
- being shy
- wearing a dress/skirt
- wearing short shorts
- wearing skinny jeans
- agreeing with them
- agreeing with their friend
- dyeing my hair
- wearing bright makeup
- wearing dark makeup
- wearing girly makeup
- wearing edgy makeup
- not wearing makeup
- asking questions
- asking for help
- being confused
- playing an instrument (esp. in a setting/genre/instrumentation they play in as well)
- saying I’m not interested
- saying I have a boyfriend
- saying no
- introducing myself
- asking for advice
- asking a question
- confiding in them
- shaking their hand
- hugging them
- hugging literally any man
- sitting with literally any man (at shows, hangs, etc)
- not drinking
- knowing anything about alcohol despite not drinking
- being bi
- being on the ace spectrum
- looking nice
- looking professional
- brushing them off
- trying to leave the conversation
- arguing with them
- asserting myself
- trying to leave
Thanks for reading! This blog is part of my writing for Sexual Assault Awareness Month 2020. If you like what you read (or got something out of it, or feel fulfilled/validated/educated), tune back in every Saturday at 8pm MST(/PDT). For more, join me on Patreon, or follow me on Instagram @ordinarilymeg.
As I’ve mentioned before, I am unable to even potentially seek justice for my first sexual assault. My statute of limitations expired roughly a decade ago; I don’t have an exact date or time (or even an exact year, really—just a decent guess); I can give you only the barest of details about my attackers; the business in which I was assaulted closed long ago, so there’s no one who could even look for any tapes that might have existed (and even then, it’s pretty hard to track down a functioning VCR these days). I will never see a day in court to face down those particular demons.
But even if I could have that day in court, I don’t know that I’d take it, largely because I don’t know what I’d possibly gain from being there. Did my assault irrevocably alter my life? Of course. Can I put a dollar sign on that value when my assault is one of my first five concrete memories? Not so easily. And for me, searching my memories to make that determination would necessitate more emotional effort (and therapy) than would probably be wise for me at this point in time. I’m two decades out, and unless these men were definitively positioned in a place of power that could enable them to assault again, I’d probably want to keep living my life instead of upending it for an uncertain outcome.
Continue reading “Guilty/Not Guilty and the Catch-22 of Seeking Justice for Sexual Violence”
[CW: sexual assault]
I wonder, from time to time, about the men who assaulted me.
They were boys back then (teenagers, really—old enough that they should know better but young enough that they could’ve done what they did on a dare)—but they’re certainly men now. And even though most days I am beyond glad I do not know their names, occasionally I’ll wish that I did. Not to rain hell down on their beings (though I’ll admit I wished it on them from time to time during my own teenage years); no, just to check up on them. Facebook-stalk them. Find out what they’re up to these days.
Because, by my best estimate, they were sixteen. (Give or take.)
Continue reading “the men who assaulted me”
I’ve spent much of the week wondering what to write to close out this spree of blogs for Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I thought about writing about how doxxing and internet threats can endanger women’s lives. I thought about writing about the fight/flight/freeze mechanism (which will definitely come up later, I promise). I thought about making a list of ways in which my assault consistently changes my life and worldview. All of these would make great posts, but as we round out the month, I think it’s important to talk about things going on in the greater public consciousness that we should all be aware of. Some of these things involve policies that directly affect survivors’ wellbeing, and others are high-profile events that have produced significant negative side effects. In putting them all in one place (though there are undoubtedly too many others to name in a reasonable amount of column space), I hope you can start to see how policy and society at large work to limit women in ways that can have permanent, potentially fatal consequences for women. Continue reading “Stay Informed, Help Your Friends: A Survivor’s (Super-Abridged) Guide to Things You Should Know”
Earlier this week, I observed to my partner that a lot of my female friends are excited and aggressively supportive of the work I’m doing, both musically and in these posts, but I don’t get nearly the same feedback from my male friends. (Let’s also take a moment to remember: I am a brass player and a composer and occasionally I think about the word “jazz.” Most of my friends are men.) He considered this for a moment, then replied, “I think most of your guyfriends are too scared they’re the people you’re talking about.”
What a freaking moment, right?
That said, it’s a good point. I don’t have a great grasp on where my peers and colleagues think they fall on my spectrum of Nonthreatening Human to Violent Human Who Should Not Be Approached At This Time. And that’s not a question I should be asking them, because it’s not something they’re obligated to tell me. But I wanted to take a moment this week and offer up a series of points that might help the people who worry they’re maybe in the Mildly Threatening Human category (also: this scale does not actually exist) and who might want to become someone women with assaults in their past are comfortable trusting. Working toward being a better person is a great endeavor! I will support you from a distance that feels comfortable for me! If you’re just getting started with that journey, though (or if you’re on that journey or think you’re done with that journey, because we’re never done with that), here’s a few things I think might help: Continue reading “Don’t Shout (And Other Suggestions for Allies-In-Training)”
For this second weekend of Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I wanted to highlight some of the behaviors that women are exposed to that can create a slippery slope down to assault and rape. They’re the things people do to us that make us feel unsafe, even though there’s very little we can do about them (if we even realize what’s happening at the time). Societal standards have told us that it’s important to give people what they want, sometimes at the expense of our own wellbeing. I considered writing more clinically about this, like last week’s piece about mandated reporting, but in the end, I decided it might make more sense just to show you.
So, below are four examples of things that happened to me that made me more wary of the people walking through my world. (If I were going to rewrite He Probably Just Likes You, I might consider drawing from some of these stories. However, that piece is perfect the way it is.) I’ve done my best to highlight why they made me deeply uncomfortable or afraid or slightly traumatized or whatever the case may be, but talking about grooming and other insidious behaviors can be very difficult for me, especially with these memories I don’t spend as much time rooting around in normally. If you have questions, please drop me a line and I’ll be happy to clarify anything. Continue reading “The Men in the Gray Area”
This is a very difficult post. (And this is only the first week of Sexual Assault Awareness Month, so buckle up, because in all likelihood it’s all downhill from here.)
I’ve been working within the confines of the collegiate system for six years. My future career path probably includes teaching, likely at community colleges and/or four-year universities. My creative work intersects nearly constantly with sexual assault. I hear a lot of stories. And in the near-ish future, I’ll probably be a mandated reporter.
Let’s get something straight here: I know some stories need to stay quiet. I’m well aware of the toll an assault or rape or even just gendered harassment can take on folks. I know that for a lot of people, the idea of reporting to Title IX goes hand in hand with expected retaliation. I’m one of those people. And whenever I can, I’ll be committed to making sure my friends and fellow victims/survivors/casualties can communicate freely with me about their own experiences, questions, and uncertainties. I’ll make sure you know in advance when I’m unable to keep stories brought to me by certain groups, especially any college students I may teach in the future, confidential. I’ll find workarounds so I’m still available to give advice and support to folks who need it.
On the one hand, Title IX is (for the most part) a great idea. We should absolutely be combatting gender inequality, whether it’s discrimination or harassment or violence of any nature, in colleges and universities. However, I’ve found that the links between mandated reporters and the folks who field Title IX complaints can be stretched too thin. When lower-intensity solutions might be more apt—for instance, when mouthy, young, subtly-sexist undergraduate men in male-dominated programs could perhaps be told by their faculty that their behavior needs to change before they seriously hurt someone—complaints get lost, washed away, and never followed up on.
The crux of all these issues? I think mandated reporters don’t feel like they have power to change their institutional/studio culture for the better without the guidance of Title IX, and I know students aren’t informed about what the system will do for (and to) them if they report. Continue reading “A Counterintuitive Guide to Mandated Title IX Reporting”