Hands off my Ass
That’s me on the far right at 14 years old
I woke up to a realization this morning. A fog had finally just blown away and I could clearly see what had been obstructed from my own view for all my adult life.
When I was a teenager my step dad would always smack my butt as I walked by him. He’d laugh. So would my mom and step brothers. This was all in fun, obviously, so I took it in stride. And tried to just walk near the walls instead of near him.
I don’t remember details of how I felt at the time and over the years I forgot entirely about it. The ways we have to protect ourselves can be very thorough.
I remember the other things he did. Coming in to make out with me one time when I was 15. How he would wander down the hall to hang out near my door and “talk to me” when I was getting dressed to leave for church 3 times a week.
I think now maybe the slaps on the butt were just too far down the list of sexual abuses happening back then to warrant dealing with at the time. There were bigger issues happening with several adult men in the church and my life. So these seemingly small pats on the butt ended up under a heap of exploitations that would need to be confronted later.
I do remember now that many years ago when step dads smacking me on the butt popped into my head I thought maybe I was just overreacting. This morning though the light bulb clicked on to shine its light onto the long darkened abuse. Since it’s time to call it what it is.
As an adult, not surprisingly, I have always hated it when guys smacked my ass. I have told plenty of them “Don’t ever do that again”. Most guys can’t seem to take this on and usually keep it up while I remind them it’s not ok with me.
Because it’s not enjoyable. It isn’t a turn on. It scares me. What it does do to me; signals your power over me. In an instant.
Read that last part again.
What becomes clear in that instant is that you can hit me and I have no control over it. And I never know when it’s coming. I am essentially powerless even if just for a few moments. And as this puzzle piece fell into place today it became abundantly clear that this small abuse isn’t actually small at all.
In fact it’s pretty big.
These acts stole from me several extremely important needs.
The need to feel safe just walking through my own (childhood) home.
The need to not be sexualized as a daughter by an adult father figure.
The need to be protected by my mother.
The need to enjoy my body and its sexuality as an adult in freedom and safety.
I share this because I believe when we tell our truths we give someone else permission to speak up for themselves. And to let you know that you aren’t alone. The #metoo movement brought so much of this type of abuse to the forefront of our society but we still have a long way to go in healing and changing. The first step for many women is even just remembering that these things happened. And then allowing ourselves to realize they were actually “abuse”. That any unwanted hands on you is abuse.
For any men that made it this far. Thank you. And consider a ‘slow your roll’ approach to your hands on women. Maybe ask first. Just a thought.
You, male reader may never be able to grasp the reality of walking through your life feeling unsafe, constantly on guard, in a state of fight and flight.
Women are tired
And angry
And we have every right to be
Listen to us
See us
Protect us
Keep us safe
We are going to need you more than ever over the next four years
And really forever
To please
Keep your hands off my ass
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