“Karen” worked her way through college from Berkeley Jr. to a Master’s in Applied. Comm. She specialized in Alternative Dispute Resolution, including community and victor/offender mediation. She’s a “mediator at heart.”
She’s lived on both coasts and currently lives in the Southwest with her three pets – two dogs and a cat – who adopted her.
by “Karen”
With excitement I saw the #metoo thread materializing as I was on Twitter allowing me to join in and jump in I did – with my #metoo!
After 57 years of life, real dam-breaking movement. The truth burst forth from women with years of silent pain.
Now I felt left out somehow. I wasn’t in the movie or news industry. I wasn’t in the #metoo boat like pissed-off Uma Thurman, who used a readily available platfrom to speak out.
Yes, I understand that this beginning changes everything forevermore for the better for women.
I had a lot of #metoo’s. They were awake and desiring their time in the light. The other #metoo’s were clamoring for expression!
#metooincest I was just 5, maybe 6 when I woke up with my head on my step dad’s chest. You see my mom would sit on the floor, in front of the bed before the TV, on her cushion to keep her sitting upright and awake during shows. It didn’t really help. She fell asleep during tv or reading, and many other times for health reasons.
When I woke up I felt something smooth and soft in my tiny hand. Thumb, I wondered? No! Wrong! In that instant trust was destroyed. Gone. I remember the feeling.
That was just the beginning of 6-7 years of incest – forced kissing, exposure of genitals in my bedroom doorway while drunk, listening in on me, abuse in the car, on vacations, leering eyes, putting a pornographic pic. in my 7th-grade purse. I even showed a boy in my homeroom, he said, that’s sick, man. Domestic violence was in my home too.
I never felt safe; I never was safe. Once, as a young teen, I swore if he ever came into my room again, I’d kill him. I had something next to my bed to hit him with. I never used it.
I was belittled, not allowed to be correct. My natural exuberance was squashed. I was told very mean, shattering lies about myself and put down. I was defensive and angry.
My step dad hated me. But he married my mom to get to me. The divorce papers from his first wife drew a vivid picture of a very sick man.
Playrooms are dangerous for girls alone with boys. I was in grade school. We were in the big pines on the corner of the yard, you show me yours, ill show you mine. Not sure we did any showing.
It might have been that day or another when we went into my friend’s Eric’s play room. Eric, John and me.
John took a pin and held it up to my eye and said, you do this or I’ll poke out your eye. I was terrified he’d do it. He was serious sounding! I was in shock by this assault!
Eric and John then explored my privates. I don’t really remember what they made me do. I think they put their penis in my mouth. It’s hard to remember that exactly. Thank God, their penises weren’t mature. We were little kids! Where the heck did they get those ideas from? Of course I didn’t tell my mom or Fred.
Who as a girl teenager in the 70’s didn’t get car horns honked at them and whistles all the time? Personally, I just gave them all the finger. I wasn’t having any of that.
After abuse all my childhood, I was not staying in NJ when I hit 18, and 2 months after that magic date, I flew 3000 miles to SF, with my two best friends to start a new life.
A relative picked us up at SFO in a limousine and laid out a bunch of lines of cocaine. Trouble.
Hello, cocaine addiction. After a year or so of stable good work with great promise actually, I moved to another company. I don’t even remember why now.
My relative’s friend asked if I’d like to work with her. She worked in Oakland in a house where men came for favors. I thought o.k. Why not.
What women says yes? A woman who doesn’t know her value or how to manage her own life, having never been taught.
A woman who was taught as a child, that she was only valuable for pleasing others.
I wasn’t stopped by my relative. He was just as lost as I.
Money. Lots of money. Thousands of dollars in cash a week, up my nose with friends, wine, dining out; but not bills, clothes, a nice place of my own. Not even a savings account.
I didn’t know how to take care of myself. I was never taught to love or honor my thoughts, feelings, or body. We had enough money growing up, but it was not freely used for our necessities without grumbling from Fred.
I didn’t know much; but I knew how to survive.
I know other #metoo’s are out there, and I hope my speaking up gives some hope to people to know they are not alone.
Next time I’d like to tell a story about how I started taking care of myself internally and in work situations. There is hope, I promise.