Good evening my lovelies,
Tonight I’ve been flicking through my social media accounts cheering on every strong woman I’ve seen with #metoo as their status. Some have written stories about their experience whilst others have left nothing more than these two incredibly powerful words.
What exactly is the me too movement?
I never actually thought I’d end up writing about a topic like this on here as its my happy space that I get to keep protected from horrible memories.
But fuck it, me too.
Sometimes as a blogger I feel like the realest person in the world, showing pictures of every aspect of my life and telling you as many funny anecdotes as I can cram into one blog post. Other times I feel like a bit of a fraud.
Because let’s be honest, I’m going to post this picture:
Over this one where my demonic alter ego demanded her time in the spotlight:
I’d allow this one a chance in the sun:
Whereas this one is the black sheep of the family that wouldn’t have been allowed out:
Blogging can be as real as the air we breathe, but here’s the truth. We get to edit and subedit so much of what we’re willing to show you of ourselves that you’ll never really get to know whats going on with us.
For example, I wouldn’t tell you about the panic attacks that I have. I wouldn’t tell you about my anxiety, the people that I haven’t had in my life recently and don’t really know what to do about it; and I wouldn’t tell you about those times I was both sexually harassed and sexually assaulted.
I was drunk at a party one time when it happened so I must have been asking for it right? A girl doesn’t just go to a house party and get drunk unless she wants to wake up to someone doing whatever they want to her. I was begging to have to go to the police who had to take me to a gynaecologist for 4/5 people to prod away at me in order to tell me what had actually happened to me.
Could it have been what I was wearing with my long sleeved top and my full length skirt? It absolutely must have been what I was wearing…
What about when I was 16/17 and working in a supermarket on the weekends? When I was in the kitchen with one of the older men who asked me to hug him. I didn’t want to but thought he was a sweet old thing who couldn’t hurt a fly so thought I better hug him.
During this hug he pulled me tight, stroked down my back all the way to my bum which he squeezed on the way to grabbing my vagina.
This is sexual assault. But women are made to believe that it isn’t. I was too terrified to pull away and I was too terrified to tell anyone. I looked like this by the way:
I was asking for it, right?
What about when I was a kid and abused?
Was I asking for that?
Was I dressed inappropriately?
Was I too drunk?
Was I out too late?
Bullshit – When are we actually going to wake up and realise that both sexual assault and sexual harassment get stronger every time you explain them away and victim blame? If your colleague got stabbed when they popped out to get milk at a late hour you’re not gonna be like ‘ah Dave, he was asking for it because he was dressed in wimpy looking clothes and out late’, are you?!
No. Because thats fucking stupid.
And you know what else is fucking stupid? Making a victim feel they asked to be harassed or assaulted. Get outta here Donald Trump!
To every person, not just woman who has ever been sexually harassed or assaulted I implore you to get mad!
- Be mad that you can’t walk down the street without being told to “smile love”.
- Be mad that your boss at a bar you work in refuses to learn your name and refers to you solely as ‘tits’.
- Be mad that you have been made to feel unsafe in your own skin.
- Be mad that you have to laugh your harassment off an an accepted part of society.
- Be mad that there are some people who still just won’t get it and will continue to victim blame.
Use your anger and talk about it. This is the first time I’ve ever felt even partially on the way to an end to daily harassment.