Why I’m Done Being a Good Girl.

As tears streamed down my face with the realization of what was happening to me, coupled with the additional pain of not being with my child, I still said nothing.

I wrote these bold yet painful words a week ago in the safety of my own private space, then I sat with them for a week.  Even though my message is about speaking up I sat paralyzed when it came time to make it public. The fear of judgement and the anxiety of telling my story put me right back in the darkness of my own deafening silence.

In light of the Michigan State settlement of $500 million to the alleged victims of the doctor that sexually violated hundreds of women, and today, reading about the sexual abuse accusations of the USC gynecologist, my words began pouring out like the narrative equivalent of projectile vomiting.

I was raised with society’s definition of being a good girl. Behave, be polite, don’t draw attention to yourself, and by all means, respect authority. I was raised to speak when spoken to, to do well in school, to follow the rules. Today I’m f*cking tired of being the good girl, of having been the good girl and to carry these burdens with me every day. Those rules don’t apply to me anymore and they shouldn’t. Not to me, not to anyone, not once the lines have been crossed.

I’m tired of being complacent and ultimately part of the problem. I never used my voice, I never stood up for myself and in turn others were likely abused or also felt the need to stay politely quiet in the corner.

I didn’t speak up when I was repeatedly molested at five years old.

I didn’t speak up when, years later, a family member was molested a few feet away from me.

I didn’t speak up when I went to the gynecologist in pain, having him using a dry speculum for my exam, telling me it was normal to feel that kind of pain upon insertion.

I didn’t speak up when I was drugged and raped at a party in my early twenties.

I didn’t speak up when I was admitted to a mental health facility for post-partum depression after the doctor spent way too much time examining breasts. Those breasts that were severely engorged from the immediate cessation of breast feeding to be treated. Even upon my explanation, he had to come back for another round of fondling. As tears streamed down my face with the realization of what was happening to me, coupled with the additional pain of not being with my child, I still said nothing.

I once had an ablation and laparoscopy for some health issues. When I said I wanted to have a tubal at the same time, which was a commonly grouped procedure, my doctor replied to my request with “why, if your husband has had a vasectomy, would you want your tubes tied, are you planning on cheating on him?” What I wanted to say was “What if I’m raped?” “What if he’s no longer in my life due to divorce or death?” “Why does my decision have anything to do with anyone else?!” But I said nothing.

I was never taught how to stand up for myself, under the guise of being a good girl, and I am sure the generations of woman that came before me were never taught either. Sure, as we move from one generation to another we begin to change, we grow, we begin to stand up for ourselves in small and sometimes, even big ways. What is bigger than saying a woman’s body belongs to no one else but her? How can we expect to be whole spiritually and mentally when we can’t be the only claimants to our own physical body?

We do what we need to do to get through. Many of us weren’t given the tools to handle these situations. Maybe we don’t believe anyone will listen or do anything to help us.

I often hear from those close to me whom I’ve shared my story with, how strong I am, but honestly, that characterization makes me want to f*cking scream! There’s no honor in being quiet, it’s not bravery. There’s no strength in remaining silent. I will not feel real strength until other people, young and old can begin to speak up about molestation, rape or other forms of sexual abuse.

According to RAINN.org every 98 seconds an American is sexually assaulted and every 8 minutes that victim is a child. Meanwhile, only 6 out of every 1,000 perpetrators will end up in prison.  Judging from the women I’ve spoken with these statistics are severely under reported because none of us ever said anything, we aren’t even counted.

It’s not too late for any of us to speak up because those that really need to hear, the other girls and women, who will be violated, do need to hear it. To speak with regret and grace about ourselves will empower others.

I’m tired of losing myself for the sake of respect for other’s that don’t deserve it. I’m tired of being polite so that others aren’t uncomfortable. I’m tired of being triggered daily through the latest sex scandal in the news and on Facebook. I’m exhausted from shedding the tears, sobbing some days, over the poison percolating inside me. I’m tired of taking the pain out on myself and hoping that by doing so I can release it. I’m tired of not speaking up.

This isn’t about the perpetrators, this is about us, those who continue daily trying to keep it together, who persevere through the darkness and are learning, however slow that may be, to refuse to keep our damn mouths shut!

We are women, we are not animals, we are not possessions, we are powerful, individual human beings! We have every right to protect ourselves and to speak up. F*ck the rules we had no part in making.

And for those like me, still terrified to speak up, whether for fear of retaliation, disapproval, hate or rejection, remember, there is no indecency in speaking about the indecent acts forced upon us, even if that is all we can do right now.

Better loud than too late.

Author: Jennifer Morrow

Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash

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