A Snippet from my Suburban Birds Zine

It's only a week to go until my exhibition and zine launch!

I am simultaneously excited and terrified.

And busy.  There is always more to do.

Consequently, I did not post a blog yesterday.  So decided instead, to post a snippet from my zine for your perusal.  Enjoy!  The zine will be released next Saturday (25th of November) and you can purchase it from me for $15.  OR ask your local library if they'd like to buy a copy.  It's registered with an ISBN so totally easy for them to buy.

 Me in the pink - a country kid                

Nostalgia and Sense of Self               

 

This project was born of nostalgia.  Growing up on farms one of my favourite things to do was to lie in the paddocks' long grass and wait.  Eventually, the curious cattle would move so close I could peer right up into their wet noses and grass stained grins.  I would lie prone as long as my little body could hold the suspense, then leap up chortling at the terror I unleashed in the eyes of my horrified friends.  I climbed low branched trees and perched, with pen and paper, to write poems and short fictions while watching the birds above and the sheep below.              

For a time, at a very deep level of my consciousness this aspect of my person seemed lost.  Moving to the suburbs to start a family reinforced this sense of loss.  I never expected to raise children in the suburbs.  I never expected this because I could not imagine anything more amazing than growing up in the isolated country as I did.  And I naively assumed that either I would never have children, or that somehow having children would herald a return to rural life.

So I never expected to be a suburban housewife.  Most of the previous ten years of my life near the city I lived a frenetic life: day jobs, art projects, nights filled with gigs, openings and book launches.  

   Me featured in Black Magazine -
     Crazy knitting housewife lady

But somehow I simultaneously predicted this future.  I parodied housewifery through my work at design school.  I printed scenes of my family scrap-booking.  I knitted mundane objects – like life-size lamp-posts to poke fun at the every day.  My work investigated the meditative qualities of repetition, and its relationship to the female experience.  Life in the suburbs always struck me as so banal, so boring.  And in my view of my self – an art student who made ridiculous unmarketable objects - I was neither of those things.

But there I was, another suburban housewife.  Two children in under two years, pushing a Mountain Buggy with one hand, while pulling a reluctant toddler along with the other.  It felt simultaneously unreal and like the natural trajectory of my life.  I both missed my former life, and felt grateful for the excuse (children) to no longer live it.

But the longer I stayed away from my the book launches and exhibition openings the more invisible I began to feel.  I felt an enormous sense of loss, not just in the divide between myself and my childless friends, but in my sense of self.  I have always been a creative - but becoming a Mum sapped me of creative energy.  Before pregnancy I always planned on my kids having the most amazing knitted clothing and toys.  Pregnancy stole my brain; I locked the workplace toilet key in the toilet four times, I couldn't write my own patterns any more.

 Motherhood: Completely changed my world

And once my first child was born I couldn't write poetry either.  Holding this small thing my partner and I had made and were wholly responsible for made poetry seem pretty redundant.  How could anything matter as much as this small person?  How could I ever write anything as meaningful as her existence?  I attempted writing many times and deleted every line.  It all felt so dishonest.

Whilst genuinely enjoying the journey of motherhood, this inability to create fed my anxiety.

In times of difficulty in managing my mental health I have regularly returned to gratitude.  Regular contemplation of the things you are grateful for is a researched, proven and simple method to manage depression.  And it's a method that has always worked for me.  On one of my many excursions into getting well I realised how regularly what I was most grateful for, was the birds.

 

A rosella would flit briefly into the macrocarpa tree overhanging our driveway.  A sparrow would turn its head just so and throw me a cheeky look.  A blackbird would perch on the neighbours rooftop and its sing its little heart out just to mark the coming dusk.

In discovering how much of a salve birds were to my mental state, I began to wonder why.  Why did these little brown sparrows have the capacity to impact my life so profoundly?

Photograph from Day 6

I realised it was because I felt akin to the sparrows.  As a housewife, I felt like I had become invisible.  I was there, I existed, I went places and I did things, but because of my feelings of what it meant to be 'just a housewife' I did not really exist.  The sparrows were the same.  They were everywhere, they are brown and dull.  But looking closely you come to see them as individuals.  Like us, they live their lives in patterns, but moment to moment they can be dazzling and funny and beautiful.  Capturing a bird in a moment of joy is a window into a glorious life.

Seeing this in the birds, truly seeing it, day after day began to give my life more relevance.  Not only mine, but the lives of my peers.

In writing off my suburban parenthood as invisible, I had written off the value of my friends and family who were also parents.  This was not a conscious thing.  I am a feminist.  I strongly value women's work and experience, particularly that of parents.  But my belief in the value of the varied experiences of women was meaningless if I couldn't apply it to myself.

The birds brought back the little girl laid out in the paddock.  They built the bridge back through time to the suspense before the joy of simple things.  They showed me I had the capacity to completely engage with nature where-ever I was.  Because it was part of who I was.  They helped me value my experience, and the experiences of other suburban Mums. 

Discovering the birds reconnected me to my creative self.

 Fantail - drawing from earlier this week

On Having Amazing Mum Friends

I have some amazing Mum friends.

I have Mum friends that keep their houses tidy.

I have Mum friends that also have successful careers.

I have Mum friends that run marathons.

I have Mum friends with amazing hair.

I have Mum friends that are work and write amazing plays.

I have Mum friends who still create and exhibit art in galleries 

I have Mum friends that write award nominated books. 

                Andra, I think you're amazing

I have Mum friends that have no family close by.

 

I have Single Mum friends.

And while I love my family and life, it is a daily struggle not to compare myself with my many  successful Mum friends.

 

I am not sure if this is a thing that Mums from creative backgrounds struggle with more intently than regular Mums.  But I think not.  I think most Mums probably compare themselves in some ways with others.  And while I'm sure this has always been the case (how does Mrs Jones get her nappies so white?), I also think the advent of social media has exacerbated the ways in which we compare ourselves.

How do they get their nappies so white?  Maybe sunshine?

Because now we have an insight into our Mum friends kids lunchboxes, holidays, meal plans, work-life balance and how fine they're looking post baby-belly.

And it's tough.

At the moment my house is a shambles.  The rubbish bins need to be emptied.  The fridge and freezers need to be cleaned out.  The bathroom needs a general scrub and the kids rooms are both atrocious.  I did clean my bedroom this week - the state it was in was starting to impact on my sleep.  I am embarrassed to have my Mum over and fearful that - post recent surgery - she will tidy up while Abby and I nap (she did, by the way).

The house looks like shit but look! I drew this bird.

There are a multitude of reasons for this mess.  The main one being that I am working on my Suburban Birds project to get it set for the zine to launch in a few weeks.  And Abby's started waking more overnight and starts her day at 5am.  And I have been quite unwell this week and struggling to do anything.  And I have pre-schoolers who, bless their wee souls, leave a path of destruction in their wake.  So I tend to focus on the necessary cleaning (pee, poo, washing, dishes) and leave the rest.

But somehow in a few weeks, the parts of the house that will be seen will be clean enough, my zine will be complete* and my exhibition will be hung.  And even though this is the first time I've exhibited work since I've had kids, or written anything that's been (self)published, and even though my Christmas shopping is still not done, the garden has gone to pot and the floor in the kitchen still needs replacing I am sure I will have some Mum friends that will think 'How does she manage this when she's a Mum?'

Ahhh, my beautiful jelly.                 

What you can't see here is that it didn't set properly.

We need to remember that people clean up before we visit them.  That the biscuits they've given us aren't necessarily the first batch, and that some people have childcare available.  We need to remember that what we're seeing and comparing ourselves with is only what is presented to us - it's just a tiny snippet of someone else's life.  And on social media these snippets are edited and selected to put our best face forward.

When we compare ourselves to others we are often missing most of the picture.  We usually don't know how much people earn, their family circumstances, their expectations, their experience.  We don't know how much support people have, how healthy they are, if they have cleaners or nannies or family support.  We may know some of these things - particularly of our close friends - but it's unlikely we have the full picture most of the time.

It has taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I simply need more sleep to be functional than some people I know**.  Consequently, I have less productive hours in the day to work with.  Rather than feeling guilty or comparing myself to people with different circumstances, I should focus on what I am doing with the hours I have.  And to remember there are people who need more sleep that have even less time than me.

Check out this photo of a pigeon!  
Don't look in my kitchen...

And because I am embarrassed by the shambolic aspects of my life I, like many others, only post the images that project the image of myself, or my family, that I want people to see.  We have to realise that while we're busy coveting some aspect of another amazing Mums life, someone is likely coveting yours.

We are all amazing Mums*** in some form or another.  Rather than coveting those other amazing Mums we should revel in the amazing things we have, the amazing things we do and the amazing people we are.  Because within the context of our own lives - these snippeted highlights - even if they may seem small in the context of the larger world - are still extraordinary.


* It will not be perfect, but it will exist as a physical object in the world.

** I am pretty sure this is from when I had undiagnosed Glandular Fever in my early 20's as this seems to be when it started.  My immunity is awesome - I am seldom sick - so long as I get enough rest.  It's not a crazy amount - just 7 to 8 hours of quality sleep - but difficult to achieve with kids and intermittent insomnia.  I note this sleep thing because I know some people I know feel like 4 to 5 hours is ample.  And I kinda envy them.

*** You may not be someone's Mum exactly, but I'm sure you will Mum someone (colleagues, parents, guinea pigs).  And even if you don't - pretty sure this thing probably applies to most people.  Aside from those who think they are better than everyone.
 

On The Problem With Thursdays

Does anyone else get anxious about downtime?

Every Thursday my Mother and Father in law take the kids.
For.  The.  Whole.  Day.

How lucky am I as a mostly stay at home Mum of two pre-schoolers?  In case you don't know the answer to that - so friggin lucky?

The kids chillin' with Poppa - works for me!     

   

The problem is that before the kids have even left the house on Thursday, I start freaking out.  Because it is the only day of the week I can do things around the house that are tricky to do with small children.

In our house this means anything that I need to concentrate to do.  Because two preschoolers = being interrupted every few minutes.

And I'm supposed to also use this time to help manage my mental health by doing things like:

• Resting
• Basic self care (shower/bath)
• Socialising
• Medical appointments
• Other self care (bird watching/going to a movie/walking/just chilling)

I did take myself to go see Flatliners the first Thursday I had with no kids.  Loved it

And it's just plain easier to do some of the household chores without kids like:

• Grocery shopping
• Large amounts of clothes/bedding washing
• Concentrated* gardening (or dangerous gardening like lopping tree branches)
• Concentrated food prep (complex meal or things like jam or sweets)
• Vacuuming more than one room at a time
• General tidying

And at the moment I am trying to do numerous things which require a level of concentration to do including (but not limited to):

• Writing blog posts
• Sanding and re-painting the hallway
• Working on my art projects for an upcoming exhibition
• Packing half of the house (our floors are getting replaced at unknown date in future and we must move everything out of half of the house with 48 hours notice.  So I'm opting to pack all unnecessary things now to avoid future stress and hassle).

 So what has been happening fairly often since I got my Thursdays back (In laws were away in Africa for 7 weeks and was working Thursdays before that) is that I actually have a panic attack on Thursday mornings.  I am so overwhelmed by having this precious gift of alone time, and feel terrified that I will somehow squander it.  And then it'll be another week until I have this time again.

A regular Thursday list             

        

One of my coping strategies - just generally for life - is that every morning I write a list of what I'd
like to get done.  Over time I have learned I need to include things like resting and socialising to ensure I don't forget to just chill out for a bit, or feel guilty for going 'off list' if I do so.  What has been happening on Thursdays is that the list of what I would like to get done is often so extensive that I know I have to be on task all day to get it done.  Like, even if 'seeing a movie' is on the list there is a scheduled time for it, and I cannot deviate from that or I won't get the rest of the list of 'proper jobs' done.

Every Thursday morning feels like I'm prepping to run a marathon.

There are a number of practical solutions that would remedy this.  One would be doing more things in the evenings.  The only problem with this is that my brain is a day-time brain, and functions less well at night (particularly when I'm lacking in sleep, which is often the case).  So while I can do something things at night (and do) like photo editing and stream-of-conscious style writing, I can't do stuff that requires brain like editing or drawing.  The other solution would be to palm this work off onto the weekends.  Unfortunately, I work on Sundays and Saturdays is the only day of the week we get to spend together as a family, so it is difficult to justify using that precious window of time for things other than that.

But this Thursday I did something different.

On Wednesday night I was well aware that I had a day of potential freak out ahead.  After a big talk with Murray about general stuff (which was very helpful) I had a moment of clarity.  There are many genuine reasons for me to feel anxious at the moment.  But the biggest thing causing me issues is fear around my upcoming exhibition.

Having not had work on public display for a long time, it's natural I'm anxious about exhibiting.  It's also the first time I will have shown work alone outside of an educational setting.  I am used to the teamwork of an exhibition, the camaraderie, having people to critique your work and how you choose to show it.  This time it's all on me.  And even though this is not exactly a 'professional' exhibition, and have just opened it up to friends and whanau, it still feels like a big deal.  Because it's the culmination of a year of exploration.

I realised I had fallen back into the trap of trying to make things 'perfect'.  That when things were not working out according to my plan, rather than making a plan B I was just stuck.  And things were often not going to plan as I had kids now, and less time and brain, and should have been creating plans B through Z to manage this.  Instead, my anxiety would trigger because I felt stuck and that time was slipping away.  Consequently, I was getting little done which amplified this feeling. 

Magical list of wiseness.  What a difference a day makes, huh?

So on Wednesday night I wrote an extensive list of what I wanted to get done for the exhibition - including finishing the hallway, and the zine.  Then honestly ticked whether each item was 'necessary' or 'optional'.  This cut my list of what actually needed to be done down massively.  I then planned out the next three weeks with what actually needed to get done to be on track to having a finished show.

Yesterday I woke up, and felt a little anxious.  But I had a list.  I had a list which I knew was completely possible to achieve within the timeframe and incorporated in rest and downtime.  And I knew that I would not be behind schedule if I completed this list as in, I still had ample time to complete the rest of the tasks for this week.

And I had a great day.  I stuck to my list.  I fulfilled my tasks.  I was chilled out enough that I could actually nap - something I haven't been able to do during my 'rest' day Thursdays for about a month now due to chronic anxiety and/or time constraints.  And I managed to work whilst watching crappy wondrous TV - just like I used to do back at art school - one of my favorite work methodologies.  And I was happy with the work I got done.  In fact, I only have one more 'job' left to do this week to keep on track for the exhibition.

I drew something I like!

 

And while focusing on the exhibition meant not focusing on my blog, or the housework or a fancy dinner - the sky did not fall on my head.  And in reality I still actually vacuumed part of the house, cleaned the oven, washed the dishes and did two loads of washing and packed another box for when the floor gets done - so it wasn't like the house was ignored.

And also it provided some fodder for this cheat blog...

* As opposed to haphazard gardening - which I do irregularly with the kids (they're happy, and small bits get done - so I'm happy)

Me Too Part Two

Last weeks post had the highest initial hit rate of anything I've posted to date.  I think this is thanks to the zeitgeist of the #metoo campaign, however this doesn't lessen the personal relevance of this topic.  Today I'm focusing on addressing questions that came up - both from others and from myself - from the last post.

The first thing I want to restate is that my intention with blogging is not to shock.  I write to help people feel less alone in their experiences.  I mean this generally - not just in terms of last weeks topic.  It took going to rehab to come to this realisation myself and it completely changed my life.  Because no matter what you've experienced in life, someone else will have experienced it too.

Maybe not down to the infinitesimal details - but the crux will be the same.  For me, realising I was not alone helped me feel stronger - like thousands of strangers were standing behind me and propping me up.  When I write, I hope to impart this feeling to others.  Yes, reading something on the internet is a dilution of living with people like yourself (as I did in rehab) - but the gist is the same.  You are not alone.  Someone else understands what you are going through no matter how strange or awful it is.
I promise you this.

* * *

The next thing I want to say is that I know my post did shock some people.  I'm glad as it means that some people have not had the experiences I have.  When I look back at my life objectively it is not an exaggeration to say I was an easy target for this kind of abuse.

• I came from an unstable nuclear family
• My parents came from unstable families
• I had an upbringing focused on the differences in the roles of men and women
• I grew up in an era where it was commonplace to leave kids to their own devices
• I was a fast developer

Coming from an unstable family meant that it was difficult for me to feel I could rely on my parents.  And moving frequently meant it was difficult to build stable relationships with adults outside of my family.  I felt independent from a very young age - I think this was a combination of situation and personality.  As a means of maintaining my independent position, I rarely took my problems to my parents.  They had other stuff going on and I genuinely believed I was better at managing them myself.

In defense of my parents, they both grew up in unstable homes too.  I will say no more than that as it's their story to tell, but it is an objective truth.  Both of my parents wanted to be better parents than they felt their parents had been.  And for the most part they were good parents.  We were by no means neglected and we were definitely loved.  But I think they lacked the skills - having not had it themselves - to really emotionally connect with us.  As a child I never felt close to either of my parents.  And living among the instability of their relationship further distanced me from them.

Haphazard religion provided an odd focus on some old fashioned ideas regarding gender roles.  Growing up on farms, I learned that a woman could do anything provided she came home and cooked and cleaned afterward.  And good women kept their hair long.  A dominant scary father and submissive, shy mother were my gender role models.  And whilst from a young age I rallied to be defined differently, it was difficult to fight my conditioning.

And it was the 80's.  I think people may have forgotten how normal it was to just let kids play by themselves back then.  In this respect my childhood was no different than that of my peers.  In truth, we were even more closely monitored than many kids I knew.  And in the country especially, most of the time (I feel) we were safe.

To me Boy reflected how things were growing up in the country in the 80's,

albeit a more extreme reflection than how I personally grew up.

The only times these incidents took place was when there were small opportunistic windows.  And they only happened more than once because I never said anything.

* * *

And once something becomes a bit dented it breaks more easily the next time it falls.

Being exposed to sexual things early made me come to expect these experiences as normal*.  I had also been groomed my entire life to be a 'nice girl'.  I found (and still find) it hard to deviate from this.  As a 'nice' teenage girl with early sexual encounters I struggled to understand how to set boundaries in terms of sex.  I struggled to even understand my own sexuality, as it always seemed be defined by who I was with.  I was a 'nice' girl - lost.

Teen me, my boyfriend and bro crew (faces greyed for privacy.

I soon found a solution to that boundary setting problem which meant I rarely had to deviate from 'nice'.  I became a serial monogamist.  Constantly having a boyfriend meant I no longer had to have those awkward conversations.  I could just say 'Sorry, I have a boyfriend'.  This was especially helpful as growing up, most of my friends were boys**.  Always having a boyfriend meant I could still hang out with my guy mates as mates with no worries.  The longest I've ever been single since I was fourteen was for about three months.

Before I came up with that solution however, I tried something else.  Hitting puberty before my peers was hard.  There were different expectations of me and new interest in me.  This was uncomfortable, along with the new feeling of jiggle when I ran.  And when things became worse at home and we*** finally left, I started trying to instill my own control with how I ate.

I wouldn't say I was anorexic - my weight loss and outlook were never that extreme.  I would say I went through periods of very unhealthy relationships with food.

After cutting so much from my diet that my body started to reject food (uncontrollably vomiting after eating) I freaked out a bit and made a conscious effort to eat more normally.  Since then though - up until my mid 20's I had patches of binging and purging, excessive exercising and extreme dieting - each incident sparked by something in my life which triggered a strong urge to control whatever I could.  This hasn't been problematic for years, but viewing food as a facilitator of control or pleasure is something that will never go away.

The latest Kardashian cover

Following this, I tried to love the body I was in - curvy.  But not seeing this body type reflected on TV or in magazines at that time, I turned to the only outlet that seemed to appreciate women who looked like me - pornography.  I watched it.  I read it.  I drew pictures of it.  It wasn't a thing of sexual titillation - it was just the only way I could see women who looked like me 'appreciated' other than in paintings that were hundreds of years old.  None of this will have helped me in terms of having realistic expectations regarding my body, sex and relationships.

These days, us curvy ladies have the Kardashians to look up to.  But like the women in porno, they are there to sell one thing - sex****.  If society idolised women based on their skills rather than their looks we could begin to see a larger representation of women in terms of looks.  And the focus would start to shift from what we looked like at all.  To me, this is optimal in terms of shifting the focus from women as objects to women as people.

The Librarians 'cover' - way more awesome

* * *

The other thing I realised after posting is that in all my history of this stuff is that I never personally experienced any kind of workplace sexual harassment.   Have I witnessed it?  Yes, a number of times.  But it never happened to me.

I think this is because at work I'm quite a different person.  Work has preset boundaries which makes it easier for me to set personal boundaries.  Also, I'm kinda bolshy - I'm the person people dreaded having in operations meetings because I would always bring up (important) issues not on the agenda.  In the workplace colleagues were (and maybe still are?) a bit scared of me.  Consequently, they have never been any kind of sexual threat.

The kinds of women I've seen harassed at work were almost the antithesis of me at work - shy, soft-spoken, or possessing a fragility obvious underneath a staunch facade - this hasn't changed over the 20+ years I've worked.  It's horrible.  I've seen sexual harassment perpetrated by colleagues, bosses, clients and customers.  They purposefully target quieter women as they seem like a 'safe' bet.  And in only one instance I witnessed did the victim actually speak up about her experience (I was her boss.  We took it to HR.  We sorted it).

In every case I have seen (bar one, and I still feel bad about it) I have encouraged these women to speak up.  Sadly, not all of them did.  I had one workmate who suffered ongoing harassment from customers.  I encouraged her to talk to our manager but she didn't want to be a problem.  I knew our manager would back her - it was a very caring family business we worked for.  Regardless, she was scared she would lose her job.  I couldn't speak for her - I understood and respected her position - how could I not?  I was in it so often in my own life.  But I still felt sad for her.

Thank you Taylor Swift for outing this opportunistic creep.  Straight up workplace harassment.

* * *

I think I could write about this all day every day and still have more to say.  But I have to leave it here for now.

I am so grateful for all the people who messaged me - publicly or in private - last week.  Mostly because it shows we are starting to open up a dialogue about these uncomfortable things.  Because they need to be talked about***** if we are going to understand how to change things to make this a safer place for the next generation.

Thank you Poto Williams         

I hope this legislation gets through!

 

I am hopeful that the #metoo movement heralds bigger changes.  It is hard to see us able to move very far when we still have men in power like Donald Trump.  But it's certainly a possibility.  I am grateful that at least here in New Zealand a change in government will likely mean changes to our criminal justice system putting the onus on the accused rather than the accuser.  At least that's a start.

We still have a long way to go.

* Not exactly relevant to me, but important to note that about 1/3 of women who experience rape before the age of 18 experience rape as an adult (US stats - struggling to get the link to work sorry).

** As a kid I didn't really 'get' most other girls.  I generally had different interests, and on hitting puberty early, and becoming even more different, I started to get bullied for those differences.  Until I hit my late 20's all my closest friendships had been with dudes, and I'm grateful to still count some of those guys in my close circle today (although also grateful to have met a bunch of fucking amazing women who get me and love me anyway).

*** When I was 14 I left home and my Mum followed shortly after.  We then got a small flat in Helensville and Mum and Dad had joint custody of my brother.

**** They do this so they can sell us something else - the Kardashian brand.  Because they know that sex sells.  From their perspective, it's smart marketing, but unfortunately most of us don't really watch the Kardashians because we appreciate their marketing skills.

***** I don't think that everyone should feel like they have to talk about this stuff.  For some people, this may not be helpful to their mental wellbeing.  They should not feel like they have to talk about it until they are ready.  That is unfair.  I am comfortable having this dialogue which is why I do it.  Although it may not seem so, there are plenty of things I do not feel comfortable talking about.  Yet.

Me Too And Why I Didn't Tell Anyone

** TRIGGER WARNING** Sexual assault.

Please don't read if you know this may be triggering or unhelpful to you.  I am not trying to be gratuitous, I am trying to give an honest account of my experiences as a woman as I don't believe them to be uncommon.  I am hopeful that in doing this I can help other women feel that they are less alone in their experience, and maybe give an insight to those who do not live with suffering sexual harassment and abuse on a regular basis.

If you want to skip the incidents and just read about why I never told anyone, and what I think we can do differently - just miss the first section in italics and read ahead.  If you are in New Zealand, and you do read this and things come up for you you can call victim support on 0800 842 846.

*            *            *            *             *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *

When I was nine years old an older boy I had not met before showed me his penis in a spa pool.  It was the first time I'd seen a penis that didn't belong to my Dad or my brother.  He wanted to see  something in return so I showed him my hand which made him angry.  I didn't know what to do (there were no adults around at this time) so I showed him my flat nine year old chest which placated him for a while.  Then when I refused to cater to his next request (oral sex) he chased me into the house and pinned me down.  Then someone (an adult relative) arrived home and he got off me and pretended like nothing had happened.*

*            *            *            *             *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *

Me around age 10 wearing my Brownie sash.

When I was eleven years old I went to a very small country Primary school.  During Summer, we were allowed to have supervised swimming at lunchtimes which was great because it was hot and we were kids.  For a period of time, during swimming an older boy would chase and grab me then try to forcefully penetrate me with his fingers under the water.  This happened many times and I always fought him because it really hurt me, and I didn't understand why he was doing it.  He was much bigger than I was.  He would just laugh at me while he did it while I tried not to drown.  It was a game to him.

 *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *

When I was fourteen years old I started going out with a guy my age.  He, and other friends were sleeping over at a party at my house for my fourteenth birthday.  We thought we'd try to give sex a go.  I didn't really know how it worked, and neither did he.  Long story short, we didn't have sex and we broke up shortly thereafter.  He told all the boys in my year that I was too tight to have sex with so he dumped me.  Unsurprisingly, I was teased about it at school by strangers mercilessly**.

 *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *

When I was fifteen years old I was at a party at my boyfriends house.  I was extremely intoxicated.  He wanted to have sex with me.  I told him no - we had had sex before but I was not interested at that time because of my drunken state.  I don't even know how many times I said that word.  In the end I was so drunk and tired I just lay there and let him do it because it was just easier that way.  We never spoke about it and remained friends.

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My award winning team-mates from YES       
(I'm not in this photo as I had work that day)    

  

When I was sixteen years old I was walking from a friends house (mentioned above ^) to High School for a Young Enterprise Scheme meeting.  A man stopped me on the street to ask me the time.  He then grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me into a bush.  I managed to wriggle out of his grip and run to the Massey shops, then waited until I was sure he was gone before continuing on to my meeting.  This was in the afternoon on a main thoroughfare.  I was wearing a long brown velvet skirt (it was the 90's), a black shirt, and a smart/casual brown jacket.  I thought I looked like a businesswoman.

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When I was eighteen years old I went on a couple of dates with a guy I had known some years earlier through High School.  We had only ever kissed.  One night we were at a party with mutual friends.  We were playing drinking games and I became very intoxicated.  He took me to a bedroom and locked me in there with him.  A friend was concerned so was banging on the door trying to get him to unlock it.  I don't remember any of this - she told me the next day when she was checking that I was ok.  I can vaguely remember the sex.  I remember trying to seem enthusiastic even though I was barely conscious - it was what you were supposed to do, right?

In the morning, I remembered that I had my period.  The sex had been had while I had a tampon in and it was very stuck and took some time to dislodge.  I never heard from or saw this boy again.

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When I was maybe 24 years old I went to a Halloween party down the road from my house at the home of an acquaintance where I was meeting friends.  On arriving to the party someone - I have no idea who because the hallway was as crowded as a moshpit - grabbed me through my dress between the legs and tried to insert their fingers into me.  I writhed away from their hold and screamed out exactly what had just happened.  No-one in that crowd even asked me if I was ok - they just moved away from me like I was a crazy person.

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Last week I was walking home from the dairy with my kids when an older man I know (he is a friendly fixture of the neighbourhood) stopped to say hi and talk to the kids.  He gave me a bag of oranges even though I told him please, I don't need any oranges.  We have an orange tree.  He ignored me.  He then tried to kiss me on the mouth and touch me in an inappropriate way.  I left as quickly as I could.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  I have not felt comfortable walking to the dairy since.

 Me, the day after the incident above - at Paw Patrol with my family.

These are just a few of the many incidents that I've dealt with over my life.  There are many more but I don't think it's necessary or helpful to share all of them for you, reader, to understand my point.  Women like me suffer incidents like this far too often.

And I know many women who have suffered far greater that I.

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The Harvey Weinstein allegations and the #metoo social media campaign have opened up an international dialogue around women's every-day experiences of sexual harassment and assault.  Sadly, so far nothing I have read - none of the heartfelt personal statements from any public figures or strangers or friends or family have shocked me.  Because, as you may already know, these experiences happen to women everywhere, every day.

The other commonality is that we don't tell anyone.  And we carry the shame and guilt of the experience, and of not telling anyone.  Discussing why this is, and how we can change things, is what I want to focus on today.

I never told anyone about what happened when I was nine.  I think I might have told a therapist in my 20's, and probably some friends when I was older but I definitely never told anyone at the time.  I can remember aspects of that day with crystal clarity, because even though I wasn't 100% sure what was happening, I was sure it was meaningful.  I felt a mix of feelings - fear of getting in trouble for what had happened and excitement - that an older boy did things that demonstrated that he 'liked' me.

It's the same story with the incident when I was eleven.  Even though I felt sick and disgusted and hurt and not an ounce of excitement.  And even though I was asked by an adult if I was ok because it was apparent something was going on (supervised swimming) - I still said nothing.  The adult who checked on me (the principal of the school) had previously referred to me in passing as 'a flirt'.  I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I didn't think it was good.  And I was sure it was linked to attention from boys.  So I was sure that if I told him what was actually happening to me I would get into trouble.  Because I had somehow initiated things.

It took me until I was in my late 20's to even begin to consider those date rape stories as such.  Even though I had said no and even though I was intoxicated and clearly not consenting.  Because I felt that  probably during sex I would have made some sort of consenting noise in order to speed the process along.  Because I didn't want it to be happening, but felt powerless to stop it from happening.  I stayed friends with one of the guys until the friendship ran its natural course.  I put the incident down to a fumble on both our parts due to lack of knowledge of how sex was supposed to work.  I never saw a need to tell anyone and in truth, I still don't feel mad at him.  That second guy though - retrospectively - he was a predatory creep and I really should have told someone.  But what do you say when this happens?

Teen me, wearing the same brown skirt.

I did tell someone about the incidents with strangers.  I told friends, and I think I did tell my Mum about the man who grabbed me on the street.  Telling someone about strangers acting dangerous didn't feel so awkward because strangers are the people we are told will do this to us.  I didn't tell the police.  It never even occurred to me that this was something I should do.  Now I'm a parent and reading awful articles about guys trying to (and sometimes succeeding in) grab(bing) kids and young teens, I would call straight away.  But I didn't know this then.  And at the time, both my Mother and myself had had negative dealings with police.  I had been given no reason to trust them to do anything if I did tell them.

I told my Murray about the recent incident immediately.  I had already had an uncomfortable dealing with this person and had told Murray I felt unsafe around him.  Murray went around and spoke to him that night to try to 'iron things out' and help me feel safer.  I really appreciate it, because it was not an easy thing to do (this is a big guy from a different cultural background - he could have easily hit Murray) but I still feel unsafe.  He knows where I live and work - how can I feel safe?

So why didn't I feel safe enough to tell anyone about most of these incidents at the time?
Because I thought all of them were somehow my fault.

Many of us 70's and 80's kids learned about the

'facts of life' from this illustrated tome.      

While I remember being read Where Did I Come From vaguely as a young child, those awkward period discussions at Intermediate and seeing horrifying images of STI's at High School, I don't remember anything else in the way of sex education.  I didn't feel I could talk to my parents openly about this sort of stuff.  I remember my Dad catching me and the next door neighbour boy kissing behind a horse float when I was about five and him saying 'Don't let boys touch you.'  He never said why, and I was actually a bit scared of boys for a while (five year olds are notoriously imaginative).  What was implicit in that sentence though was that I was the gatekeeper of my body.

It doesn't seem that huge a leap to feel that if someone breached my body it was going to be my fault: 'Don't let.' = my job.  So every time a boy touched me inappropriately, I felt I had failed to do my job.  And if the adults in my life found out, I would be duly punished.

I don't think this feeling is unusual.  Sure, other girls mightn't have had it said in those exact words. But maybe when they were older someone said: 'You're not going out dressed like that are you?' or 'You shouldn't be out so late at night' or 'You shouldn't have got so drunk.'  Every single one of these statements puts the ownership of women's safety squarely on their own shoulders.

Every one of those statements implies that it's our fault if someone else breaches our bodies.
That we failed.

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How have these things impacted on my life?  Well, they certainly haven't helped with my social anxiety that's for sure.  I doubt my own judgment or my ability to accurately assess situations.  I have trust issues - generally, with humans.  Having been penetrated before I ever knew self love, I have never felt my body was my own to love.  I was promiscuous from very young - sex just never felt like much of a big deal because my body never felt like it was my own.  I do not feel strong, or capable of being strong.  I feel tired and worn down and angry. 

And when incidents like the most recent one happen these old feelings become stronger, my anxiety worsens and I develop insomnia.  So yeah, I'd say there's a significant impact.

How can we change this?

There are many thoughts about this already out there (like this great list) but I see no harm in adding to them.

Here are some of my thoughts:

• We need to create a safe environment for our children to come to us with their thoughts, fears and mistakes.  If we can show them they can tell us anything and we will still love them and take their concerns seriously, they will be more likely to come to us.  And if we can start this process when they are young, we have a lot of time to put in the building blocks for when they're older.

• We need to educate our kids about sex, age appropriately, from very young.  We have to stop assuming that abuse only happens post-puberty.  We need to remember that 90% of victims of childhood sexual abuse know their abuser.  We have to arm them with knowledge - about their bodies, their rights and what to do if something goes wrong (there's some good stuff here).  We need to make sure they feel safe to tell us what's happening even if their abuser is Uncle Bob.

• We have to stop forcing our children to have physical interactions with family members and friends.  I don't care if Aunty Margaret thinks it's just polite.  This sends mixed messages regarding consent and unwanted touching.  Our children's well-being is far more important than Aunty Margarets traditions or hurt feelings.   End of story.

Harvey Weinstein - a powerful man.  Now accused 
by over 40 women of sexual misconduct spanning decades

• We need to remember that abusers are manipulative and most abusers are known to their victims.  If they weren't good at hiding their actions, they would not be able to continue the abuse.  Abusers will lie, coerce, bend truths and 'correct' peoples memories to ensure their position is secure.  Our abusers are our fathers, our uncles, our sons, our partners, our friends, our family friends, our neighbours, our work colleagues.  They will usually seem like 'a bloody good bloke' to most.  They will do their utmost to seem like the pillar of morality when it serves them.

Why do we immediately think Bill Cosby

is innocent?  Because he was a tv Dad and

because we don't know the women who

have accused him so we don't believe them.

• We have to stop putting the onus on women for sexual harassment, sexual assault and rape.  Slut-shaming, and self imposed curfews on women imply that we are in the wrong.  It is not wrong to want to go for a walk and enjoy the night sky.  It's not wrong to want to feel the wind on your skin.  It is not wrong to go on a date with someone then decide you don't want to sleep with them.  It is wrong to sexually assault someone.  The fault is with the abuser.  As a society we need to start recognising this.

• We need to listen with open minds to women's stories.  We need society to become a safer place for these stories to be heard.  Until it feels safer, why would they tell anyone?

• When we talk about gender we need to stop reinforcing these antiquated fucked up roles that pitch men as this and women as that.  This macho rugby, racing and beer bullshit bro-code does no-one any favours***.  Even better - stop focusing on gender period - gender is a social construct.  We have built our own rape culture.  We need to un-build this.

• We can start by doing our best not to objectify women.  This is such a built in part of our daily lives that as women many of us have come to crave objectification.  We want to be seen as beautiful.  We buy the magazines, we buy the lipsticks, we idolise the Beyonce's.  We need to stop just referring to our female children as 'pretty' and start throwing some other adjectives in there so that they seek approval for their intelligence, their kindness and their wit rather than their ability to be a good object.  We need to focus on all their abilities rather than just those celebrated by society as befitting for women.  Because if you think this isn't a thing maybe just have a look at the slogans in kids T shirts in basically any department store.  Trust me, girls are groomed from babies to be pretty, passive flowers.

• Likewise, we need to stop treating men and boys as unfeeling observers.  We need to give our male children dolls and teach them kindness and empathy and that it's ok to cry.  We need to hug and kiss them and respect their feelings.  We need to stop telling them to 'man up'.

• We need to educate boys to understand consent.  And if we see errant behaviors we need to correct them at the time.  Saying 'boys will be boys' is basically just a straight up license for them to continue doing what they like.  It's not ok.  Do not praise peers for 'scoring' with 'chicks'.  We have to stop creating a dynamic where boys and men get kudos for being hypersexual while women are punished for it.

• We need to create some sort of website or PSA about exactly what to do if you have been sexually assaulted.  Do you know what to do if this happens to you?  I sure as shit still do not.  I picture some kind of pyramid of incidents going from catcalling and the like (at the bottom) to rape at the top.  Each with a series of things to do when this happens.  What do we do?  Who do we tell?  What precisely will happen if we tell?

• We need clear processes and procedures within our schools and workplaces regarding sexual harassment, discrimination and abuse.  And we actually need those processes and procedures communicated to us - maybe even during orientation at a new workplace.  Because if we don't know they exist, how can we use them?

The Roast Busters + John Tamihere and Willie Jackson      

who shamelessly victim blamed *Amy (a victim of the pair)   

on live radio.                                        

• We need to demonstrate that there are consequences for abusers.  Recently we've seen massive public abuse cases like Roastbusters where a cop has received the international award of Most Outstanding International Female Investigator even though no prosecution has been laid.  These are our public examples of what happens to known rapists in New Zealand - absolutely nothing.  What is the deterrent to perpetrators of abuse?  Very little.

And for those of us who have made mistakes, we need to rectify these.  We need to apologise to those we my have hurt and make amends.  We need to stop excusing our behavior and work to do better and we may need to get help and support to facilitate that change.  We have all grown up in the 'rape society' I speak about.  We have all been conditioned to accept and believe certain things.  But we all have the capacity to do better.  We can change this culture.  We can make the world a safer place for our children than it was for us. 

* I realised post-posting that I should point out being left alone was not a common occurrence of my childhood.  This was pre celphones - there was a miscommunication and it was expected that my relative would be home - this happened in a small time frame - probably less than half an hour.

** I think it is important to note that this boy, many years later tracked me down via Oldfriends and apologised to me.  It sounded likely that he was going through a 12 Step Program and was up to the 'making amends' part.  I accepted his apology.  I was no longer upset - it had happened a long time before, and I had some understanding of his family situation.  His apology was surprising, realising that he had held on to the guilt from his actions that long made me feel sad for him.  Even though I didn't need the apology I am grateful to him to this day for realising how this may have impacted on my life.

*** Read previous post re: male suicide rates.