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I had a boyfriend once.  Before I met my soon to be ex-husband.  He entered me the way my husband did.  As if I was his vessel.  his vessel.

I should clarify a bit.  My husband assumed that I was enjoying myself, but I didn’t pretend that much… and he obviously wasn’t paying that much attention.  My pleasure was never his concern.  He asked how it felt, but in reality, I don’t feel as if he waited for an answer.  My boyfriend did the same.  I guess by the time I was married, I was used to it.

I was used to men wanting me and taking it, except for a few.  But why didn’t I wait for those men?  I think I could have.  They were in my life but focused on other things.  I was in some kind of hurry to create the fairytale.

I know now that the fairytale is … that romance is… is built.  It’s not falsely created and connections with people are nurtured.  I’ve always been able to nurture friendships, but with romance, I was in some kind of race, hungry for an affection I thought I’d never actually have but that did exist.  But not in the premature way we imagine in a fairytale.

But I digress here (as I often do)…


I had a landlord once – he brushed his fingers along the outside of my dress and puckered his lips.  I used to imagine we had sex, not because I wanted to be with him, but because I wanted to take control of the narrative.  If I seduced him in my mind, the reality of his violation would go away.

But it didn’t.

Will our bodies ever be our own?  We carry life and give life, but will what we desire matter.

I  have purposely never given racial information on this blog, because as a woman, this story of being violated and abused defies race.  It happens to women and is based on our anatomy, first.  Our breasts are both a desire and a threat to the men who lust after them, potentially jealous of the babies who use them for nourishment.

Carmen Maria Machado’s “The Husband Stitch” describes a situation where we experience a woman who loves her husband deeply, but I found myself distrustful of him from the beginning because there was something of her he just could not leave alone…. the green ribbon tied around her neck.  It was hers… not his, but in the end, his curiosity took over.  Not to mention the extra stitch her doctor gave her after she gave birth… to make it nice and tight… so “everyone would be happy”.

…I repeat…

Will our bodies ever be our own?  We carry life and give life, but will what we desire matter.

It’s been about a week now and women are sharing their stories of sexual assault following the allegations against Producer, Harvey Weinstein…like Bill Cosby, women are coming out the woodwork.  This isn’t new… it’s been going on for years… and years and years… sexual harassment of any sort is sexual harassment. It seems to affect every woman (Except Mayim Bialik 🙄) , no matter their race or socio-economic status.

Men want what they want.  They take it.  They don’t ask.  They feel entitled, and as a woman in the middle of a rollercoaster, I don’t have the answer.  I’m doing my best everyday to just make decisions that will affect the rest of my life, while focusing on the present.  I never knew I’d be in this position, which is the bittersweet taste life leaves in your mouth.

So to all my sisters… #metoo…. none of us are alone, but as we begin to build the community, what is next…?