She stayed because she was five-years old and she had a five-year old little girl body and a five-year old little girl voice and she thought five-year old little girl thoughts and felt five-year old little girl feelings. She stayed because she was the sort of little girl who could make art in her mind when he came to her at night and she could make bright yellow wings and she could fly high above him. She was the sort of child who could do things like that.
And when she was a seven-year old little girl she stayed because she had a seven-year old little girl body and she thought seven-year old little girl thoughts and her seven-year old voice grew silent but her art stayed loud and she wrote stories in her closet about girls who lost their wings but found bright yellow places to hide.
And when she was a ten-year old girl, a teacher gave her a book about Joan of Arc and the girl began to write about girls with swords and shields who didn’t hide and who chopped heads off every evil thing.
And when she was a sixteen-year old girl, her English teacher gave her an assignment. “Write what you know,” she said, and the girl wrote a story about an ashamed tired numb-bodied girl and she wrote the story in third person so no one would know for sure it was her, and she handed the story to her English teacher. Her English teacher wrote in the margins of her story that she wanted to bring the ashamed tired numb-bodied girl home for tea and blankets and that what the man in the story did to the girl was a Crime and to keep writing, keep writing, keep writing.
And when the girl got home from school she read the teacher’s notes over and over again, and when he came into her room that night she stood up straight heart shaking faces too close and she said “Don’t. Touch. Me. Ever. Again.” And it didn’t matter that he threw her away like nobody’s dirt. It didn’t matter because
she became an I.
I left because I found my voice.
0 thoughts on “writing is freedom: my response to recent conversation about abuse and why people stay.”
She/I…made me cry. So brave. So talented. So beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you, Carol.
I’m so sorry that that happened to you. So wrong. I have a friend who has been going through a dark night of the soul lately with this issue. I am her poetry scribe, as she can’t physically write by herself, and this is something she is writing about. Secrecy perpetuates the problem; it is good that they talk about “inappropriate touch” in school now. What a blessing that teacher was for you.
Alison, yes, gratitude to that teacher always. Healing thoughts to your friend. And yes, secrecy perpetuates the wrong…protects the perpetrator—adds shame to the survivor.
Beautifully written, and powerful. Thank you.
Thank you.
It just takes one person to understand and care! Your writing about abuse is poetic. You are brave as a lion.
Thank you so much.
This is so powerful and brave. I am in tears and in awe.
Thank you.
This explains why you were the teacher who so carefully and lovingly connected with your students. Really wonderful essay! Thank you.
Oh, Anne, thank you so much.
Brave, powerful and beautiful. Thank you for sharing your heart.
Thank you, Kristy.
Your beautiful bravery moved me to tears. So thankful that there are people like that teacher in the world and so very glad you found your voice. may it help others find theirs.
The girl’ s wings became words
Yes. So true. Thank you.
I am proud of you.
Of your skill, talent and compassion for this little girl.
I am glad, first, that someone gave her a hand. A book. A kindness.
And proud that you have now taken her hand to walk with her out of shame and darkness.
Your words and your voice will give voice to others.
You gave me my voice.
And I am telling my truth.
I would like to share with you what I read in Portland. Aloud and without crying. Because of the safety and strength that has always surrounded me in our group.
I told my story.
That which has been embedded for a painful lifetime.
There is so much shame in our DNA – shit we live with forever – potential altered, we are broken after abuse.
Until we tell our truth.
Until we write what we know.
Sending much love to you and continued courage.
Holly, thank you. I’d be honored to read your story. here’s to truth holding things together.
This is beautiful, powerful, and courageous. Thank you so much for letting the world hear your important gift: your voice!
Thank you, Sue. You are one of the most courageous writers I know. Your writing changed me. Your courage helped me find mine.
The tears in my eyes blurred your words, though what are words but lifelines, lifebuoys, life jackets, life. You found the words and the immense strength to claim life, you became an I, not everyone can do this, and as I listen to my own heart beating in this room and feel the tears seeping I grab the lifeline of your words and feel stronger. Thank you for being alive and in the world.
Yes, words as lifelines, lifebuoys, life jackets. And friends as lifelines— like you. xoxoxo thank you.
Wow. This is so beautifully simply written and says so much more than these few paragraphs. You are amazing, and strong, and so incredibly brave.
Thank you, Kimberly.
This is so simple and so gorgeous! What a gift to all of us that she found her voice. May she continue to inspire…
Thank you, Seattle K8!
Anna, I love you so much for writing this. I may try to do my own again now.
Thank you, Deborah. Yes! try again. Because freedom.
Yes.
Grace and wisdom and courage lived … and then shared with the same grace and wisdom and courage … I think many will find some healing and love and acceptance in your story. Blessings to all – and to you for sharing.
Thank you, Marilyn.
Your words are the soul of what WordPress and blogging is all about. The truth – in words that inform, teach, and move a reader. It’s cumulative, yet very personal: your story, a story for all of us. Thank you so much, Anna.
I so appreciate your words, Cheryl. I’m a bit surprised how much I like the intimate space of the blog.
Yes: those that follow you do so because of what you write, not how you look or who you are. It’s intimate and anonymous, in the same way the author shares herself in every book she writes. Also I find it creates the best kind of responsibility to the truth of your words. I obsess over every single sentence when I write a blog post – in contrast to the throw away, instantly forgotten FB posts, which to me are more like a conversation over a glass of wine. The good feeling of kinship remains, and an afterglow of connectedness, but not the intimacy of writer and reader.
Brave. Hope. Courage. Thank you, Anna. You are loved by all.
Anna, How brave of you to share your pain so others won’t feel so alone. You are an inspiration and an amazing woman.
Thank you, Buzzy.
Yup. Yup. And yup. Your teacher was awesome. I can tell by your writing that you are too. <3
Thank you, Melodie.
So beautifully said!
Thank you, Toni.