who can speak “me too.”
And for those
whose hearts ache a heavy sigh
softly inside “me too.”
Both are bold.
Both are strong.
Both are worthy.
You are enough as you are.
Bringing whispers or bringing screams.
I wrote this poem right after the #metoo movement exploded overnight on social media.
It was a glorious and terrifying 24 hours because almost every woman I knew began to post #metoo their status.
I had flashbacks to sitting tucked into my bed at a sleep over with a group of my girlfriend sharing our scars in hushed tones beneath a down comforter. At least, we can pull up our sleeves and show the white ribbons where we’ve been cut.
At the same moment, having sat with the stories of many of my friends, I knew there were tender and difficult binds that this onslaught of posts created for them.
What if my story isn’t public? What if people still don’t know? What if I never want to tell? Is that ok? What if I can barely say it to myself? Do I belong in this glory?
Also, painful realizations: Oh my goodness… yes, I have been sexually harassed, groped, so on and so forth. I tucked it away.
I spoke quietly with many of my female friends – discussing the pain of seeing how widespread and pervasive sexual harm is in our culture. We also talked about how difficult it is and the shame many of us feel to put it out there that we have been made victims, that our bodies have been trespassed – and how even admitting that makes us feel vulnerable, reminds us that we can break.
I know many people aren’t spiritual and may balk, but anytime there is an ache in my spirit, and I can barely touch it, I frequently think back to that verse “the spirit intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” Groanings. Too Deep. For Words.
Oh the kindness to groan. To both scream and rage and whisper. It is more than enough and it is kind to our bodies to make no requirements for more if you cannot.
So, for these spaces where than inky blackness bleeds…even if we can only “say it slant”, a whisper is enough.