Tag: #AliceLundy

RAPED, THEN BETRAYED

Alice Lundy5 Comments

How many times can a woman feel betrayed after her rape?

Every time someone questions how it happened “so easily.”

There’s nothing easy about being physically pinned down by someone stronger than you, having your body entered by someone you did not invite while your arms are held above you and your legs and body are positioned by his power.

How many times can a woman feel betrayed after her rape?

Every time someone suggests she should’ve reacted differently.

We respect grief and people’s right to do it their own way. But, with rape or sexual violation, we only give validity if a woman immediately goes to the police and says, “I’ve been raped.”

Is there no understanding of the internal schism in a woman’s psychology when she’s been violated physically, sexually, and emotionally? Over 70 percent of rapes are committed by someone the victim knows: schism.

How many times can a woman feel betrayed after her rape?

Every time a woman is doubted for how she got into the situation and how she handled the aftermath betrays the fact that she was raped—a violent physical act whereby the aggressor completely controls the victim.

Yes, she’s a victim—even if she wasn’t threatened with a knife or gun.

When I was young, I used to joke, “If I ever get raped, they’ll find him because he’ll be the guy with his dick cut off.”

And there it is. I thought what many still think: 1) I’d never let it happen to me. 2) If it did, I’d destroy him. I’d react to violence with violence.

But, I’m not a violent person. I’m strong. I’m smart and I can be damn persuasive. Still, at age 23, I was raped by my boss. My boss raped me.

He didn’t have a knife or a gun and I didn’t say no; He didn’t ask.

He threw me down physically. He physically overpowered me. He didn’t persuade me to have sex with him or scare me into it. He took my body with his body. It’s an act of power and violence. Yet, he didn’t punch me, slap me or cut me. He attacked me with physical force.

How many times can a woman feel betrayed after her rape?

A woman is betrayed again every time a so-called evolved man who believes in a woman’s right to choose chooses to believe that somehow she chose this. Or let it happen. Or reacted poorly after the fact.

We’re so bent on not having a victim mentality in our country maybe we’ve forgotten women who are raped are victims—not forever, but in the moment.

Shame on you for shaming her, not believing her, and betraying her belief that you trust her and she can trust you with her truth.

How many times can a woman feel betrayed after her rape?

Maybe that’s why rape is the most underreported crime, why victims of incest and even sexual harassment don’t tell. It’s easier not to.

Who wants to be betrayed all over again? And again. And again.

 

 

 

Playing Brave

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If I only find pain, I’ll sit with her as if she’s a lost child. I’ll let her tell me stories of her ill treatment and bad lot. I’ll listen to her fears and ask her about all she’s already conquered.

I’ll watch as she remembers the battles before, the brokenness and how brave she became even though it started as pretend.

I’ll see the light in her eyes—that quick glimmer she can’t help but feel, too. I’ll ask her to play brave and imagine light where there’s only darkness.

I’ll take her hand in mine and we’ll begin again.

Makes Me Love My Big Sis

Alice Lundy1 Comment

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The sound of my sister’s laughter. The way her eyes light up when she looks at her boyfriend. Her forthrightness, generosity, and boundaries. Her fears and awkwardness. The way she tells stories. How she must talk. The way she leans in and listens. Her love of animals and intolerance of violence. The best of my mom. The successful career she built like climbing stairs. The things that tried to break her. How she became better. How much she believes even though she’s not a believer. Her skepticism alongside openness. The best of my dad, too. Smarter than one imagines and blue eyes that invite a second look. Her practicality, maturity, wit, and wisdom. Her need to control. How she’s learning to let go. Her giddiness. Her newfound beauty and how her short hair becomes her. The memory of the girl she used to be and the life she used to live. The web of people in her life. Her consideration of others. How she says, “I’m sorry” too much, pays too often, and puts herself aside for others’ happiness. Her heart. The sound of her voice. How she calls my dog “Wiggle-butt.” How she’s always in my space when I’m trying to push the world away; she doesn’t let me. Her unconditional love for me, her sons, her deceased husband, and her new man, and wow—how she juggles. Her loyalty. Her rose-colored glasses, especially when she’s looking at me.

 

 

Every Step (in Grief) Counts.

Alice Lundy2 Comments

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On the road to metamorphosis, every step counts. Those books you read on grief count. The prayers you prayed, walks you took, tears you shed, hugs you embraced, the contemplation, questioning, wishing the truth away, wasting days watching Law & Order or submerging yourself in Facebook—all part of the process.

It all counts. The phone calls you took and the ones you resisted. The words and prayers you let seep into your heart. The warmth you felt on that one sunny afternoon for one minute—a special step forward.

You can’t see it now. You feel stuck, frustrated, so done with not being done with this! I get it.

You’re not alone. You’re a work in progress. Part of your divine destiny is learning to process grief. You’ll always be learning and taking steps forward.

Some will seem miniscule. Moving your beloved’s picture from your bedside stand to your dresser will feel like divorcing the yesterday you love. You will crumble.

What was once little will become huge. What was once important will become meaningless.

Plans taken by the tornado of life don’t make one eager to plan more. You will.

You’ll make many plans in your head and carry out few—for now.

The good news is you’re still here. Even that may feel like another bad hand.

Question that. Find answers worthy. Or don’t. Just stay. Stay for the next act, next character, the next scene of your life.

Keep turning the page. You don’t have to learn the meaning of every word or sign, unless that helps.

Just know: every step counts. Play the music and dance when you can, even with tears. Let the laughter sneak out. When you need to, break glasses, throw eggs, or punch pillows.

Or, better yet, hold your anger and sadness like babies. Just hold them. That sitting with your feelings is a championship, albeit counterintuitive, move out of the depths.

Remember: it all counts. You can’t lose points or do it wrong. You won’t be punished for any of your moves.

Except getting drunk and falling on your face. You’ll pay for that.

But seriously, you’re growing and changing—like adolescence, pregnancy or menopause.

You’re giving birth to a new chapter in life. An old chapter is being ripped away. There will be pain.

You may be in the worst of it. On the road to metamorphosis, everything baby crawl counts. Just don’t count yourself out.

 

A Gal Smiling in the Glass in the Morning

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When you immerse yourself into a world that’s not your own and try to fit into places you don’t belong (because you so want to belong). When you find yourself defending yourself, your attitudes and ideas to people who portray themselves as friends. When your true self seems a misfit in your daily life, realize the value of relocation, beginning again, a fresh start.

What age would it be appropriate to make life changes? Twenty-eight and you find yourself two decades late? Well, my dear, what would happen if you decided not to give a damn about all the damn consequences you’ve been so worried about?

Outsiders aren’t the deciders of your fate. Who is? You know when you meet the maker of this mess called your life you’ll kick her ass, right?

A better idea might be to take her by the hand and say, Baby, I’m sorry we got lost. What would you like to do now?

Listen to all her fears because that’s what she’ll tell you first. She longs so bad to be heard and nobody’s been listening. LISTEN. Let her cry. Wipe her tears. Help her up. Say, Come on, baby, we can do this.

Pull out your magic wand that glitters with gumption and go for it. Dive into a new world. Swim into your desires. Sing off key and bad.

You don’t have to kick anyone’s ass—certainly not your own.

Just turn away from yesterday. Set a route for tomorrow. Kiss them all goodbye.

Say hello to a gal smiling in the glass in the morning. Let her be you.