My friend, Erica Chick, is an amazingly talented photographer, and now film maker (insert girly squeal) who has been working on a very powerful project...Invisible~ The Red Dress Project.
...but you look so good is the title of her documentary (about said project), which will be showing at the Shawna Shea Film Festival November 10-12.
Invisible~ The Red Dress Project brings awareness to our “hidden” traumas, our darkness, our shadow and how we have brought light to these.
When discussing my role in the project I sent Erica a list of traumas and told her to pick one. The last one on the list, the one I was hesitant to share, is of course the one she picked and thus began an incredible journey to healing.
You see the one she picked made me feel so exposed and vulnerable, but I know enough to know that that means it’s the one I was meant to share. It’s the one that will have the greatest impact not just on others, but on mySelf as well.
When I was 15 I met a boy. With surging hormones and a deep overwhelming desire to find my place and fit in (I’ve never fit in…only now I don’t want to!) I made the decision to give mySelf to him.
Unfortunately, my first sexual experience was like the majority and was not at all special. In fact, it ended up being quite traumatic as the night wore on and into the next day and came close to requiring medical attention, but I will spare you the details.
More importantly was what transpired over the weeks and months that followed.
About a week after I lost my virginity the boy became very verbally and physically abusive. I was confused and at first thought there was something wrong with me. The boy was what most considered to be “dorky” (back before dorky was cool) and I actually took quite a bit of grief for dating him.
Given the fact that no one could understand my attraction to him and I was teased about it there was NO WAY I was about to tell anyone that he was beating me up. That he was belittling my weight and my appearance.
Truth be told, like so many young girls out there, I was only with him because he was the first guy that really gave me the attention I so desperately craved. I only had sex with him because everyone around me was having sex so why not. (Cringe.)
Eventually his verbal and physical abuse escalated and I was raped by him in my own home. Repeatedly.
Prior to dating him I had already experienced sexual assault by a stranger. A man followed me home late one night after work. I worked at a local pizza place directly across the street from the lot that I lived in with my family.
Once we were in the dark alley leading to my house he made himself known. He pinned me against the building and before I knew it the icy cold barrel of a gun was up my skirt pressing hard against my thigh.
I can’t even let mySelf think what might have happened if not for someone stumbling upon us and scaring him off.
During this same timeframe I had a man, probably around my parents age, follow me home from the bus a few times. Then he started leaving notes tucked in between the doors of my house. I remember how my father lost it when I showed him the notes. To think that a grown man was looking at his 14-15 year old daughter like that sickened him. We reported him to the police and never saw him again.
I grew up watching how my father treated my mother. He adored her. They held hands and kissed all the time. He was always respectful to not only my mother, but every woman around.
But somehow my experiences with these other males shaped how I viewed men in the world and sadly, how I viewed mySelf and my worth.
My experiences with sexual assault and verbal and physical abuse have entered every relationship I have ever been in.
My experiences have led to every man being a suspect.
It is only now, at the age of 40, and with several healthy male friendships in my life, that I’ve been able to truly understand that not all men are sex driven.
I recently had a powerful experience. I went to the airport to pick up a friend and her flight was very delayed. There was no good coffee to be had in that terminal so I decided to go back to my car and watch the sun set over Boston from the top of the parking garage.
Suddenly I realized how dark it was getting and decided to make my way back into the airport because the one thing I knew was that I did not want to be in a parking garage in Boston in the dark.
As I headed into the building there was a man a few feet in front of me. I intentionally slowed my pace to create a safe distance between us. This is a habit I formed years ago. As my previous statements have shown, I needed to be street smart very early on.
Once inside the building he entered the elevator. I continued to slow down, but as luck would have it he saw me and held the door.
My heartrate picked up and I took a deep breath as I entered the elevator. Instantly I thought, lucky him. He has no idea what it’s like to view every man on the street as a possible threat. To purposely miss getting into elevators with men so that you don’t have to worry about sexual assault.
“What floor?”
“4th please. Thank you.”
He pressed the button for the 4th floor and proceeded to look down at his feet. Which is where he continued to look until we reached the 4th floor, where he held the door for me as I got off and then we parted.
In that moment that he looked down at his feet I thought, I have no idea what it feels like to hold an elevator door for a woman and know that she sees me as a threat.
Obviously whether he knew that or not I’ll never know.
I’ll also never know what it’s like to be a perceived threat because of my gender.
My father is the most supportive person in my life and of course he wants to be a part of everything I do. I had already told him about the photo shoot and the purpose of the project, but I hadn’t shared with him which trauma was being highlighted. The festival is his birthday weekend. I had to make a decision. I could either not tell him and spare him the heartache of ever knowing what happened to his little girl or I could not make the decision for him that he couldn’t handle it and tell him. I could allow that to be part of my healing process. So that is what I chose to do.
Last month, over a rare lunch out alone with my dad, I shared with him that I had been raped. It was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had. The pain and tears in his eyes about near ripped my heart out. The gift in all of this is that now he will stand with me in solidarity as my photos are revealed as I get to see them for the first time along with everyone else and as strangers listen to my words about my story on film.
If I can help just one young woman understand that having sex with someone does not then give them the right to take whatever they want when they want it then me sharing my story is more than worth it. If I can help one woman understand that yes, that is rape, then I have succeeded in my goal in sharing this part of mySelf.
One day my daughter will know my story for the same reasons.
The majority of sexual assault occurs at the hands of someone we know and trust.
The statistics are startling.
1 in every 10 women is raped by their intimate partner.
1 in every 5 women is raped.
1 in every 2 women is sexually assaulted.
63% of these crimes are never reported.
Why? Because of shame. Because of fear. Because we somehow think we are to blame and/or that no one will believe us.
I recently watched a speech that Michelle Obama gave in New Hampshire. She spoke about the fact that we have a presidential candidate who has bragged about sexually assaulting women. She spoke about how decent men do not speak this way about women.
“To dismiss this as everyday locker room talk is an insult to decent men everywhere.” ~Michelle Obama
I immediately thought of my daddy. The most decent guy I know. I thought of the hurt in his eyes as he learned that his daughter had been raped at the hands of someone she knew. He knew.
We should NEVER EVER dismiss anything to do with sexual assault. Ever.
Just ask my Daddy.