I have a love-hate relationship with the #metoo movement. Primarily, it’s one of love. I love that the world is hearing the voices of women speaking out against abuse. Not only is the world hearing, it’s listening. For untold, unknown years, the voices of women have been ignored, questioned, unbelieved. This culture was so pervasive, even women were less likely to believe their fellow women. No wonder interactions between women were categorized as combative or competitive, our sanctity of sisterhood was conditioned away.
But onto the hate. I hate that the #metoo movement has forced me to come face-to-face with the extensive abuses of my past. The traumas left unresolved and buried under time and oppression. I considered myself to be a strong and resilient woman. I did not let my past effect my present. I raised up my chin and just kept moving forward, secretly hoping to put distance between my perception of self and my reality shame and guilt. Of course, that never really happened. My life, my reactions, my perception of the world was dimmed by that darkness.
I sought help. I enrolled in an intensive out-patient program to heal. Mostly it taught techniques I had already self-learned over the years through immersion in spiritual practice, philosophy, ancient wisdom, and an amazing support system of women and men. I continued with the program, but it did little for me. I graduated. I have continued counseling and medication regiments. I will continue. I am being more open and honest and vulnerable with people while firming up my boundaries in all areas of life. I re-enrolled in school, took up botany courses, and re-dedicated myself to dance. Yet, I am making more time for family, friends, and myself.
I am grateful to the movement for my own self-healing. I am grateful for being forced to become a better human being for myself but especially for others. Exposure is painful. Cleaning out a festered wound is painful, but necessary for the tissues to heal.