The past week has been trying, challenging, interesting, emotional, panic stricken and wonderfully healing.
I don’t watch much television. I used to turn on my tv just to make sure it works and then turn it right back off. So I had no warning when I went on my phone a couple months ago and every scroll of my thumb I was accosted by stories of women from all over the globe sharing some form of sexual trauma or a simple status of ‘#MeToo.’ Somehow I missed the memo and I wasn’t prepared...at all.
As I read the stories, I thought I should share mine as well but then the sad thought came: which one?
Yeah. Which one? Then images rapidly came to the forefront of my brain. Memories that I’ve suppressed for so long. I mean, do I share the story of finding out my privates were played with at age 3/4 by a close family member? Or the story of my first kiss being at the age of 6 and the boy 16? Or after my mother being in NY pleading with my father not to send me to the country (in Jamaica) for the entire summer by myself, but he did anyway. (Total run on sentence I know.) I wasn’t there a week before a grown man came into my room and grinded on me until he ejaculated. My poor mind and body not knowing what’s happening but knowing that it was wrong. Or should I share about when I immigrated to the States and the 17/18 year old boy upstairs would wait for me at the door blocking the staircase and wouldn’t let me up unless he copped a feel and finally being bold enough to make an excuse to come inside the apartment and fondle me. Nah, let's not share that one.
What about the main story? Yeah, the main story, the one with the longest duration of time. The one I’ve written about here. Family friend who penetrated me at age 11... he was 38 years old and married. He did this every single fucking day. When my period started I thought it would end or at least I would get a break. It didn’t stop. There was no break. He would simply put a towel down and told me to be sure to clean up properly after. That went on for four years. Nah won’t share that.
What about trusting a high school boyfriend only to walk in and see three other dudes stroking their dicks waiting for me? What about my uncle? Or the dudes who don’t comprehend the word ‘NO’ and you assess the situation and realize it may be safer to just go through with it and then dip. Block his number and profile on your way home. Yeah, ‘consensual rape.’ The new term floating about. Maybe I should post about that!
But I made not one post about it.
Instead I closed my social media apps. It was too much. I felt everyone’s pain. Not only that, I was feeling my own. The memories of all those times. Remembering the times I put on a brave face, fronted and pulled out tricks out my sex hat just to make them cum quickly so I could escape. Remembering the stories I never even shared with either best friend. Remembering crying in the bathroom on the cold tiled floor. Remembering feeling guilty. Remembering how I learned in therapy controlling sex was my way of reclaiming the control that was taken from me. When I say controlling sex, I mean having fuck buddies. Nope I have no interest in knowing about your life. All I care about is your sexual health history, how soon you can get to me and that I contact you. You don’t contact me. Control. Contact me and you’re crossed off the fuck buddy list immediately.
It was a cry for help.
My best friend BJD told me I needed therapy when we met back in our Sophomore year of high school. I finally looked into it after being cuffed by a cop and pushed faced down in the $3500 Sleepy’s mattress my boyfriend at the time and I were sharing and still paying for. Yeah his ass was about to be grass. I wrote about it somewhere on this blog (if you’re new. Welcome! I’ve had this blog since 2013, feel free to explore). But quick story. He had asked me to check out why his computer was going extremely slow. I finally sat down to check and realized it was the countless porn he had downloaded and saved to the hard drive. I then stumbled across a saved MSN folder. I sat and read one year’s worth of him trying to rendezvous with one particular woman. I was patient. I sat and read everything. Then went to his phone to find her number. It wasn’t there. He was smart enough to not save her number because she was his good friend’s girlfriend. Gathered all the info I could find then went into the kitchen, grabbed the chopper knife and calmly walked into the bedroom and asked: “Who is Rose?”
Yeah, it was time for therapy. God was with your girl though. Don’t worry I wasn’t taken away. They un cuffed me and in a turn of events went after his abusive ass (story for another time). Point is, after he left the house and I sat looking at the pots and broken glass all over the house, I went to the back of my insurance card and dialed the number that said “behavioral health.”
If you think for one nanosecond that the trauma you experienced doesn’t influence your life in anyway, I’m here to tell you: *gentle voice* You're lying to yourself Hunny.
You put on a brave face and you smile your way through the day while you cope at night. You become promiscuous, you get involved with certain people, you respond to outside stressors in a harmful way, you’re miserable, you hate men, you hate women, you hate authority or you become a straight bitch.
Yeah,whatever the effect, know that there’s a cause/reason and ya, it could be from that trauma. *Gentle tone* you’re not okay. It’s okay. It took me years to finally accept that my behavior was destructive. Great grades in school. A flipping nerd actually but after school? Tuh!
I was looking for couples therapy after that chopper knife event. My therapist looked at my intake form and saw the trauma listed and said to himself: “she wants couples therapy? Does she even know herself?” I haven't forgetton that line he shared with me all those years ago. Over the course of 8 years with him I learned a lot about myself. I set the pace of the sessions and I hardly brought up anything from my past. It was about learning myself and how to interact with the outside world in a constructive manner. Weekly sessions turned to bi weekly, then monthly until my case was closed. I was ‘good.’
Then I flipping opened my social media that day and saw all the #metoo stories and posts. Can you say trigger?
So little things have been bubbling up to the surface. I have enough of an awareness of self to say, aye chick you need therapy. Time to do the work on these past traumas. And then BAM I see the post below. I signed up immediately and marked my calendar!
Jet Setting Jasmine, Licensed Clinical Social Worker with a Masters in Social Work Masters in Gerontology, Liability insured and HIPPA Compliant at your service! She's here to help. Someone give this woman a cape!
During the free webinar she mentioned she will be doing group sessions for 6 consecutive weeks. She will have Sunday and Wednesday sessions at the fabulous price of $12. Yep, you read right, $12!
This 6-week Virtual support group is designed to help those with a history of sexual, physical and/or emotional trauma.
Tell your story and seek support and healing in a safe, therapeutic environment.
Max: 8 Participants
Issues: Sexual Abuse, Trauma & PTSD, Intimacy Issues
Trauma & Solution Focused
I’m not here to tell you that this is easy. It isn’t. After the webinar I had a dream of the guy from the main trauma where he said he made peace with what he did to me. I looked at him and told him: GO FUCK YOURSELF! I woke up crying and shaking. I’m so thankful to have Rod. He held me and consoled me way past his alarm. It's great to have a sympathetic understanding partner. I have to make peace with myself. IDGAF about him and his peace but making peace with myself is important.
You may not be in the same situation. Maybe you have a friend or maybe it's just you. You may start bawling spontaneously, or get angry suddenly or retreat inwards or whatever. Dealing with trauma and working on yourself to heal aren’t peonies, lilies and hydrangeas. It’s your body temperature increasing, it’s blowing your life up aka boogers into your puffs and or hugging your teddy bear- moments.
But if you are, the above mentioned support group is an affordable option. Okay lemme get the link for you.
Wait. Let me buy more weeks first before you purchase my spots.
BRB *insert Jeoporady's theme song here*
Okay here you go: Https://bluepearltherapy.eventbrite.com
Not ready for a group session? It’s totally understandable sweety. There's also the National Sexual Assault Hotline that you can call. It's strictly confidential and they're available 24/7. Info below.
They also have a 'chat now' feature on there.
Team too much? Don't worry. They are there whenever you're ready. Know that you have options.
Okay, get puffs, drink plenty of water, be safe. Bless! These days I'm doing a whole lot of breathing and relaxing.
Remember that your healing is your responsibility. Take care. Tomorrow will be a better day.
PS: Be sure to subscribe to my blog to receive an email as soon I hit 'publish.' Muahhz! Oh and don't keep me all to yourself. Feel free to share this post.