A Thriving Monologue

*Trigger Warning: sexual abuse, PTSD, flashback description*

I was cozy there, in my dark little spot of service backstage. I could still see the bright lights from the slit in the curtain. I could hear applause. I could help keep it on track, calm nerves, run for food. straighten tight’s seams and hair pieces.

But those days have passed.

It’s time to figure out how I fit in the Theater world I love so much. This weekend I stepped into those bright lights.

It was an Audition Call for the Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler. I’d heard about the play and a preconceived idea. Purity Culture and Evangelicalism didn’t talk about Vagina’s. That was Feminism. If it wasn't Feminism, then it was glorifying Victimhood.

Anyway, I knew what a Vagina was. I learned about it in elementary school. They had a special after school assembly for Mothers and Daughters in Fourth Grade. We watched a movie and they gave me a book to read.

But Summer shifted my life paradigm.

This fall, I had a monster flashback after watching Daniel Sloss’ X comedy special on HBO. I loved the it and thought I was fine...

Until the next morning.

After a night filled with terror dreams, I woke up to what was happening. I checked through my list of questions before I give into the Simmering Flashback:

I had a person close to help me.

I realized the flashback’s agenda.

AND

For the first time I could hear a resolution to the trauma.

So, I let it go.

The Daniel Sloss Special triggered small common threads from every negative experience I had over my lifetime. Tied them all together and plugged them in. As if I was standing in a media room with 20 televisions turned on and each volume was at 11.

The focus of this cacophony: My Vagina never belonged to me.

Each channel played a different owner:

The person who discovered it when I was 6.

Every person who told me belonged to God.

Whomever touched it through Junior High to College.

Authorities telling me It belonged to a marriage.

Meanwhile, I could hear this scene from the Netflix show Sex Education, in faint background muzak, “It’s my Vagina.”

Those words gently repeated over and over. As I relaxed, focused on my breath, the smell of the sheets, the birds outside, the tears running down my face. That concert of trauma began to quiet while a chorus of women’s voices grew, 

“It’s my Vagina.”

I waited until all I could hear was those gentle words. 

Anxiety released my muscles. I was held for a while. I talked about what happened. I felt so light. Each of those memories didn’t hurt anymore. My skin didn’t feel uncomfortable. For the first time I felt at ease within myself, from my head all the way to my toes.

Each day since then, the reflection in the mirror becomes kinder. I almost see what others see, I think. I can sleep, most nights, peacefully.

When I saw the Audition Call for the show. I wondered what else I could learn about myself. What it meant to just be a woman. A Human Being opposed to a Human Doing.

 I was given three parts. I sat quietly in rehearsals and just listened. Absorbed words from women I will never meet spoken by women I just met. No judgment or bias. Free from all assumption. None of those women knew my story, nor did I have to explain it.

All I had to do was be in the room.

I felt warm and nurtured, a healing balm added to what started so many months ago. My body really belongs to me. I am more than my Vagina, yet at the same time, my Vagina is what makes me a woman.

I walked away from the three shows filled with gratitude. The history, the story, the process is a continuing life work. Not only have I been a victim. I have moved through the process of Healing, to Surviving, and into Thriving.

Obscured Dignity

The air was crisp as sleep melted away.  Within the cathedral ceiling of that momentary bedroom, leaves of towering sycamores began to yellow.  Sunlight sprinkled warmth on her face as a sapphire sky peeped through.  The grass was not too wet.  That was nice.  Sleeping was mostly comfortable and warm in the makeshift bed.  She was grateful for the blankets.

Standing, sleep stretched from muscles as the smells of fall air filled her lungs. She savored the warm morning.  Winter brushed the air with crispness. She bent down to carefully fold her bedding and place it into the shopping cart. The park was quiet.  Savoring the solitude and beauty, thankful no one was around to disturb her. 

She tightened the sage bathrobe around her frame. It hung off her like a child playing dress up. Strolling around the shopping cart overflowing with earthly possessions, she assessed its arrangement. As she placed the bundle of blankets in, she lifted out a carry-on rolling suitcase.  Grabbing the shopping cart with her left hand, she dragged the bag in her right towards a building central to the park.  A musical cacophony of bird song accompanied her saunter into the public bathroom.

She paused at the door, with a determined push, the basket leapt into the lavatory. A dull clang traveled across the park as the basket met with a metal trash can inside.  Head held high, she strolled into the bathroom with the bag trailing behind her.

About 15 minutes later she emerged. Her outfit for the day was comfortable denim shorts, an aqua blue T-shirt and a denim vest- which looked like it had been a jacket in a previous life.  She placed the carry-on bag in the front of the basket.  Walking around the portable home, tender arrangements to her belongings were the final preparation for the day’s travels.

Standing for a moment smoothing her bangs and hair, she sighed.  With a look around she evaluated the temperature.  The air brushed her skin with its chill.  The olive green robe was draped over the top of the basket.  Picking it up and jauntily wrapping it around her shoulders, she slid her arms in, grabbed the lapels of her dapper garment and straightened it.

Fluffing her bangs while she walked around the basket; inspecting it for the last time. Satisfied she stood at its helm and gave it a shove.  It rolled as she sashayed to the side of it. Resting a hand on the old friend's side, they began the day’s journey. They disappeared from the park, the robe’s sash gliding behind her like a royal train.  A private moment of dignity in the simplest form had been hers. 

Homelessness is often something we look away from. We, the Fortunate Housed often judge harshly the poor and Unhoused. We talk about the Blight, the Problem, the Inconvenience, the...etc. 

Jesus said to remember the Poor.

But for the Grace of God, would be I.

One week in 2010. a homeschool week filled with shuttling kids to homeschooling activities. Girly and I sat at in park while the boys attended classes. While she worked on her school I observed a fellow human sister beginning her day.

Shh, They're Listening

Originally posted on November 13, 2013
I must admit, I was out of line.

I didn't ask. I didn't know even though everyone in town seemed to. I purposed to not know. My business was to be her friend, not what events brought her to this place. This sweet friend couldn't believe that I didn't already know. She sat and told me the whole story including her own part.

Then, I opened my mouth. What came out was not the flowers and sunshine usually spoken to this poster child of redemption. I loved her deeply. Her shame needed to drop from her shoulders. Forgiveness needed to be extended to the one who betrayed her. I restated her part. The guilt was equal; it need not define them both for the rest of their lives.

She did not take it well.

Months later the words came back to me twisted and judgmental. My heart ached. Our friendship was mangled. I attempted to reconcile and it seemed we had, but…

Years later, in one of the darkest seasons of my life and newly back in town, I reached out. While I was living away, she developed a friendship with a person very close to me. I was informed that her loyalty was with her.

Last night BoyZ was telling me about a conversation with this woman’s daughter. BoyZ and the daughter cross paths their freshman year in high school. Now seniors, they are best friends. The daughter was telling BoyZ how she hasn’t dated yet because of her Mother’s requirements: christian, etc.

Of course BoyZ is my son…

“Why don’t you just date me? That would really piss of your Mom.”

“Why would that piss of my Mom?” She asked in shock.

“Because-for some reason that I don’t understand-your Mom hates my Mom.”  BoyZ is never one to mince words. 

Don’t know where he gets that.

“OH!” A light bulb of understanding lit over her head. “I know what happened. Your Mom was probably just being herself and did something and my Mom is really judgmental. SO she just judged your Mom. And that’s it.”

Damn IT!  When we think we are doing the “right” things, those little buggars are watching

AND listening.

Walk with Dogs- Virtuous Sleep

I am reluctant to fall asleep at night. Cultural Christianity teaches Proverbs 31 as a Godly Woman litmus test.  According to King Lemuel’s Mother, a wife of noble character never sleeps. As a result, we women show up to church or Bible Study with perfect hair, make-up flawless, wearing fashionable yet modest clothes. A smile on our face and a twinkle in our eye we project flawless contentment.

We. Are. All. Liars.

Photo taken by loneangel

The Virtuous Woman starts out the day with the best of intentions. Shegets up while it is still dark for a Quiet Time of scripture and prayer. Family stirs and breakfast is cooked with a smile as ordered in Proverbs 31:15. She begins checking off the Virtuous Woman boxes.

The business of the day: house, work, kids, husband’s needs, community. The sun sets with the dawn of reality.  Over a sink full of dinner dishes, she pants with exhaustion.

Toys and clutter fill the living room. Laundry covers the bed, overwhelmed she musters her last bit of strength. In a sweet siren voice she sounds the call for bedtime.  

Kids’ shenanigans are the final strike. Pushed beyond her limit, her image of perfection slips away and she turns into a drill sergeant harpy. 

There is no fun in Mudville.

With the kids are tucked in she turns on her overdrive. The day is not over until she falls asleep. There is still time to complete the missed household chores while husband sleeps. When he wakes up, he will be amazed. She will hear the praises of her husband just like Proverbs 31 says. Dinner dishes neatly placed in the dishwasher. A whirlwind pick up in the living room. Fueled by a feeling of victory she walks through the bedroom door to attack the laundry monster. 

Photo taken by Alvimann

Husband is laying in repose upon the laundry. The dulcet sounds of a show waft from the laptop.

Does she wake him? Does she ask him for help?

No.

A deep sense of failure, with a chaser of shame, sets in as each piece of laundry is brought into submission, Husband’s comfy bed shifts. He awakens. Unaware of her Virtuous Woman burden, he turns off the computer.

“That can be finished tomorrow. Come to bed.” He moves to push the rest of the laundry onto the floor.

That wife looks into the eyes of her lover.

A Virtuous Woman demand rings in her ears:  “She sees that her business affairs go well;her lamp stays lit at night.”

Her defeated reply, “You go ahead. I’ll be there as soon as I finish this.”

Proverbs 31 has been twisted into a burden of legalism. Within this Cultural Christianity application there is no room for grace, love or laughter. God does give us tasks to keep us occupied; but they are never to become a litmus test of worth. Ecclesiastes tells us that we are to eat, drink and enjoy the good that results from those tasks; it is a gift from God. Part of that good is rest and sleep. The Psalmist says that unless God is our center focus, we get up early and put off going to bed in vain, for God “provides for his beloved, even when they sleep.”  

Photo taken by hotblack

When I trust in divine rest, my soul is renewed. I am no longer weary; God clothes me with strength and dignity. I am able to be patient in the face of a determined child. My arms are strengthened for the day's tasks. I have energy to serve my won family along with attending Divine Appointments that interrupt my plans. I am able to laugh at the days to come.