When your survival is being threatened daily by your abuser you learn to keep secrets. You learn to not make any fuss though your life is in jeopardy. The Harvey Weinstein scandals and the #Metoo outpouring is releasing that kind of long-held survival threat and accompanying fear.
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| The Cost Of The Quiet |
Stories and stories, untold, are pouring out; mine, no less than yours.
There has been such an enormous cost to the quiet. And, yet on my end, as no doubt for many others, the liberation is here. But freedom does not come easily.
In the past month I have kept relatively quiet. I had little to say, at least publicly.
So much was incubating inside of me, as I heard and watched account after account of #MeToo stories come alive in the daily media and on the internet, I could not speak, except to those closest to me. I had almost no words; only memories, emotions and insights, born of dots, long overlooked, connecting.
Today, however, the lid is off, the bottle uncorked for the genie in me to fly free though I am not yet adept at flight.
I think, as I often do, I may write my way through the holidays. I believe I am beginning now.
Perhaps it is the Winter Solstice that is bringing this out of me now. The Winter Solstice has special significance for me, as my only son was born on the Winter Solstice; a child of an Jewish-Christian interfaith mixed marriage he was, also, born on the first night of Chanukah and came home from the hospital on Christmas Eve with a bright moon shining although not quite full.
He is my star child though by him, too, I am being punished for whistle blowing the family abuse secrets; sexual and otherwise.
This year, that punishing seems to be more vivid to my conscious mind, yet held in greater peace than, possibly, ever before.
Much, much, much more to come from Anastasia The Storyteller
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