I write because it’s healing. It’s cathartic, a release and better than valium. Yesterday I wrote about the thoughts, feelings and fears that were rattling around in my head in regards to Donald Trump’s words and actions that were recently leaked from a hot mic in 2005. I posted it on Facebook instead of here on the blog but I’ll share it here too.
“I’ve been “grabbed by the p%$#@” (hideous term for an equally hideous action). Not by Donald Trump, at least I don’t think it was him, I don’t know who it was for sure and probably never will. It was in a crowded elevator on a cruise ship, everyone was up against everyone. I felt someone grab my crotch and not let go the entire elevator ride. The person’s bony fingers gripped and dug into my public bone so hard it left me shocked, frozen, terrified and utterly stuck. I looked straight ahead with laser focus, unable to make eye contact with anyone. Embarrassed and ashamed, the blood rushed to my face. It was the summer between junior high and high school. I was 14 years old. Young, but old enough to register in my mind that this was about power, fear and perhaps some warped sense of ownership.
Mark and I watched the presidential debate last night and then went to sleep. Standing in the kitchen this morning, after Kindergarten drop off and before the gym, that incident all came flooding back to me at once. I stood there with a blank look on my face as I told my husband I had very literally been “grabbed by the p%$#@,” just like Donald Trump is on video bragging about having done. What a weird thing to realize.
A popular statistic reports that 1 in 4 women in the US will have been sexually assaulted by the time she reaches adulthood. Some argue this statistic but I don’t doubt it a bit. This isn’t about politics. It’s just my story. I’m sharing it because it’s the only one I have and because it’s relevant right now; unfortunately. God help this nation. All of it. And soon.”
And like that it’s over. Something that happened 22 years ago, that I’ve apparently been carrying around with me because it sure triggered strong feelings, can be laid to rest. It’s dealt with in my heart and in my mind, simply by writing and sharing it.
Are you getting what I’m laying down here? Writing is magic, free therapy and drugs. Life is hard and scary and getting more so every day it seems. We need your pretty words in our lives. Please make something beautiful with your words and then share them with us. We need your stories in our lives. Your stories and my stories, they’re the only ones we have. So write them. Share them. They aren’t “nothing,” they aren’t “no big deal,” you won’t “run out of things to say.” Spend some time reflecting on your story and then write about it. “It’s that easy, and that hard.”