The Deer

Two days ago, I wrote a poem. That shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone, seeing as I have been writing poetry for almost forty years. And yet it was a shock to my own person. And that statement begs an explanation. So, here goes:

I am a former abuse victim, both psychological, as well as physical and sexual. That might not be news for many of you who have read my stuff in the past. But what I want to write about today is the reality of the long term affects of being such a victim. Yes, I am a survivor, but I am also very human. Which means I was conditioned to accept that kind of treatment, and learned some ways to deal with that reality. The main one was to silence myself. I have to be very clear here: I didn’t understand that I was silencing myself, I thought I was keeping me safe.

When anger or violence came into my present moments, I became the deer frozen in the headlights of any oncoming vehicle. I would still myself, because to do otherwise was to make myself the focus of that oncoming rage.

But then I went to college and found words and writing, but especially poetry. It was really difficult to allow myself a voice of any kind. I had to constantly fight my own ingrained response to whatever was happening around me. Eventually, the words won out and I accepted my new role as a writer. And after that, as an advocate for other survivors. It wasn’t easy, life never is.

College is a sheltered environment, meant to create an opportunity for discovery and growth. I flourished there and was scared silly when it ended. But the writing stood me in good stead, brought me awards and acknowledgement that eased the fear, and allowed me to continue. Until recently.

I leapt to join the #Me Too movement. It was something I’d unknowingly waited for almost my entire life. Why wouldn’t I? It was empowering to see and hear all these women speaking their truth. But, then came the Larry Nassar trial. I began shutting down, receding into my quiet, and mostly silent self. The enormity of what this one man did, and was allowed to do over decades, was too much to absorb. And disguising it beneath the white coat of a healer and care giver was beyond comprehension. This was just one privileged man, living in a male-dominated society. How many more could there be?

I turned away from the words. They no longer held meaning for me. Instead, I dove into my quiet escape of visual art. Didn’t realize that I was shutting down. Just taking a break, I told myself. I live in a world that has been completely altered. The man who leads my country is a self-proclaimed abuser of women, who calls his actions “locker-room talk”, and simply denies the numerous accusations that have been brought against him, defining them as lies, falsehoods, and the words of individuals seeking some sort of publicity. And his followers, whipped into a fury by any opposing voices, are willing to do violence both in word and deed, because he encourages that sort of behavior. I live in a world fueled by greed, whose leaders tell us that a massacre of children can only be met by thoughts and prayers, because they get pay-offs for not legislating the sale of guns. I could go on and on, but I won’t.

I’ll go back to the poem I wrote. It was very short, very simple, but I struggled for almost 24 hours about whether or not to post it, before realizing that I had allowed myself to slip back into that victim’s mode of silence. I thought others would laugh at its simplicity. They didn’t. I thought a great many things, before pushing that publish button, but did it anyway. I had to, because I am a writer, and words are the world I live in and have created for myself. And the poem pushed me to continue, to come here today and reassert that reality. I was that deer in the headlights, but I refuse to be frozen, to be silenced, especially by my own fears, old and new.

The poem may be found here:

https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2018/02/14/together/

It’s an invitation.

Elizabeth Crawford 2/16/2018

Untitled
Photograph
by
Elizabeth Crawford

 

 

Advertisements

About 1sojournal

Loves words and language. Dances on paper to her own inner music. Loves to share and keeps several blogs to facilitate that. They can be found here: https://1sojournal.wordpress.com/ http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/ http://claudetteellinger.wordpress.com/
This entry was posted in The Deer and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to The Deer

  1. Sherry Marr says:

    The poem is wonderful, my friend. And so is this post. It is always a pleasure to read your intelligent words……….I, too, coped with abuse by going silent, numbing myself was how I got through a significant portion of my life, childhood through young motherhood, partnered with two abusers. Thank heaven we are speaking and writing now, with our hard-won wisdom and life experience. Now we can recognize the abusers. And the fact one of them is in the highest office of the land is mind-blowing to me. The sickness of our society, and the vast division between left and right, has been revealed. How will we respond?

    Liked by 1 person

    • 1sojournal says:

      Really good question, Sherry. If I’m totally honest, I’d say my poem was the first step toward finding an answer. Conversation, one word at a time, building a bridge of acceptance, respect, and understanding that will result in finding the answer we so obviously need and desire. At least it’s a beginning. We can do better, but only if we begin the conversation.

      Elizabeth

      Like

  2. A very powerful post, Elizabeth. I have found over the last twenty years, that many, many women have experienced some sort of sexual abuse at the hands of, usually, someone they know. I had a bad experience with my art teacher when I was 14 years old and then an even worse experience with an ex-boyfriend when I was 17. I have had issues on the work front many times in my life. I live in a country where, up until last week, we had a president who is a rapist.

    Liked by 1 person

    • 1sojournal says:

      Thank you Robbie, for reading this and the poem. Back in the late 80’s, when I was doing some research for a College paper, I found some statistics that said that one out of every three women are abused, raped, seduced, or sexually assaulted before the age of eighteen. There was also a disclaimer at the end of that report stating that it was based on reported incidents and there was no way of knowing how many such incidents have gone unreported.

      I have three daughters, each of them would have to be included in those statistics, because they told me their stories. I am a History student, so I know that these actions are not so much about sex, as about domination and power. And blaming the victim is only one of many ways to continue the subjugation of her person.

      But now, for the first time, women are coming forward, telling their stories, demanding a change. And being heard. There is so much healing to be had in that reality. Yes, I am afraid of what is happening in my world, but I am grateful to be alive to see all of this, and to know that it is well past time.

      Elizabeth

      Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.