Only I Didn’t

Hi. I’m a mother.

I was the girl who discovered that even though birth control was heavily used, I became pregnant at the tender age of sixteen with a man I loved at the time, even though he had raped me in the past. Though for several weeks, the only eyes directed towards my still-flat stomach were my mother’s and my own.

Hi. I’m a mother.

I was the one who, once the glimmer of life stirring within me became large enough to not be passed off as an “Oh, she’s lying about being pregnant for attention,” was criticized for openly loving and welcoming the well-attached belly that despite the way I was treated, could not be removed in an instant.

Hi. I’m a mother.

I was the body it seemed every eye searched for as I walked down the halls as comments and whispers were exchanged by the very females who were also having intercourse without even an eye-opening thought of “This could easily be me.” Only “What a slut.”–A line typically spoken by males that said that line so freely, it began to escape from the lips of females as well. As if it were a language of truth. Because my belly was well-attached and I did this to myself, only I didn’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And when boys would comment about me being “loose” or “filthy” for the only reason of  what people would call my “promiscuity” (never intercourse at the correct biological time in a human’s life) being visible under my tightly fitting t-shirts, they never had a second thought of their own DNA they had been spilling into the bodies of my classmates. I was in the wrong. I could have done something different, I was told. After all, I did this to myself, only I didn’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And when males who sat in front of me in class turned around to comment on my stomach, they decided to “try their luck” and request oral sex from me. When I would get angry, the blame was my own. For not “sharing” my body with another man. After all, I was a slut with a well-attached belly who did this to herself, only I didn’t. Plus, “boys will be boys” I was told by adults who seemed less than adults from their backwards opinions on their student’s sexuality.

Hi. I’m a mother.

I excelled at school, but when the final bell would chime I would rush to meet my baby’s father (now ex-husband) and prepare for her arrival since he would not be present for her birth due to the Navy. It was my fault that he wouldn’t be there because I was a slut with a well-attached belly who did this to herself, only I didn’t. The reminders of my fate came from even the most kind strangers with disappointed glares.

Hi. I’m a mother.

When I was due with my baby at seventeen, the nurses and hospital staff treated me as if I knew nothing about my body or how childbirth happened. I had studied many hours to prepare and had taken weeks of classes, I told them. Not enough, they responded coldly. Because I did this to myself, only I didn’t. And I was a slut.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And when motherhood took its tightest grip and I was buried in the stresses of new motherhood and drowning in an intense love for my baby, I was told it wasn’t enough. Because aging my body by ten years would have solved all of my problems, it seemed. I was only a slut with a baby and a fiancé who enlisted in the Navy to “get away from me” because I had done this to myself, only I didn’t, and boys will be boys after all.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And thirteen months later after my wedding and a move across the country into my own home with my husband who others had told me only wanted to get away from me, we discovered a new life growing rapidly within my womb who had previously grown what some referred to as my mistake baby. Ah, one would think with a ring on my finger I could finally relax and enjoy the pregnancy without hate from others because now I’m not a slut because I married the abusive father of my child, and I was reminded through the actions and sudden love from others.

Hi. I’m a mother.

When the pregnancy didn’t go as planned and I was constantly in and out of the hospital daily and my husband’s abuse became very apparent because “Why can’t you just stop begging for attention?” Because I did this to myself, only I didn’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

When I went into preterm labor over eight times during the pregnancy and was restrained from being an empty shell for my husband to use as he pleased, he turned his cheek to me and set his sights on the bodies of other women because I could no longer serve him. My own fault, I did this to myself, only I didn’t. And “boys will be boys and they need pleasure” I was reminded from the well-meaning strangers I reached out to for help.

Hi. I’m a mother.

When I labored for many hours and finally welcomed the glowing life who had resided within, my husband held her twice, and left because watching me labor naturally from a chair was exhausting and he needed sleep. My eyes were open for 48 hours post birth because the child was mine and I did this to myself, only I didn’t. And babies were women’s work.

Hi. I’m a mother.

A week after a mere few hours of sleep, the beginnings of postpartum psychosis were creeping into the back of my mind, threatening me to no end as my husband could not care less because it was my baby, and I did this to myself, only I didn’t. He had stress too, after all. Babies are women’s work. What does that mean, again?

Hi. I’m a mother.

Two weeks following labor, I began to bleed heavily and requested we go to the hospital to make sure it was alright. In response, he threw me to the floor and left with blue rope in his tightly closed fists because it was my fault that he was stressed and cheated because babies are women’s work and I did this to myself, only I didn’t. I asked too much of him, I was told.

Hi. I’m a mother.

After hours of searching with police for what we had assumed would be his corpse, newborn and toddler in tow, he was found hanging from a tree in a woods behind our house, not yet dead. But I was asked by police what I did to provoke him to do this even after I explained the abuse and sex addiction he had because I did this to myself, only I didn’t. Add it to the list of my faults.

Hi. I’m a mother.

As I visited him almost daily in the mental facility he was locked in, he reminded me that the situation had gotten out of hand because of the children he had helped create, even though he now claimed he never wanted even though he poured his seed into my body and arranged a legal ceremony to bind us to each other and raped me on more than one occasion and abused me from the start and began to cheat because babies are women’s work and it was my fault he was stressed because I did this to myself, only I didn’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

I lost my milk supply after months of trying to feed her and relactate, feed her and relactate. She had many medical issues and was constantly in and out of the hospital because to him I always begged for attention and forced him to impregnate me and had an insane personality and emotionally abused him and refused to have intercourse with him and was asking him to cheat on me and refused to take care of my women’s work and it was my fault he was stressed because I did this to myself, only I didn’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And the only forcing I did at the time was forcing him into therapy. Therapy that served no purpose. Pills he was given that he would count out and throw away because he refused to listen to anyone but his inner voice because I stressed him out too much because I was insane and begging for attention and I did this to myself, only I didn’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And after he invited his mentally ill mother and what his friends referred to as a “boat boo” (but for the sake of this discussion we will call her a woman) over to the house I was paying for to take my children’s things and to have intercourse, I drew the solid back line that separated him from our lives. Followed by that line came a slew of words. Slut, whore, cunt, bitch. But those were words only given to women because women are the ones who ask for it because we are attentions seekers. We do it to ourselves, only we don’t.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And believe it or not, I’m a god damn human. I’m a daughter. I’m a woman. I’m a loving, warm body that has grown three children. I’m an artist in the truest sense. I’m a sister of the Earth. I’m a business owner. I’m a tribe member. I’m a writer. I’m a lover of my children and a caring partner to my spouse. I’m a fighter. And I’m a feminist.

Hi. I’m a mother.

And I could have easily let the way society taught boys and men to treat me completely destroy me and turn me into a slave- only I didn’t.

 

“No woman is required to build the world by destroying herself.”

65% of women are sexually harassed by age 20. The majority of these women do not report what happened, and many more of them are taught that its only the result of being exposed to a typical male. That “boys will be boys.”

Lets break this down:

Oversimplifying a major, life-threatening problem in our society is enabling people like Brock Turner to rape an unconscious female and get a shorter sentence because his victim should have not engaged in “risky behavior.”

A victim is NEVER asking to be abused.

“Boys are not a**holes by nature. It’s not in their genetic makeup to automatically be mean-spirited or cruel. Being born with a penis does not predispose anyone to being the kind of person who will bully or hurt others. Boys may be more likely to engage in physical play and want hands on activities, but there’s no connection between being kinesthetically oriented and intentionally damaging others or causing them pain.”

Please, do the world (specifically women) a favor. Teach your sons that society’s definition of masculinity is false. 

We cannot hand over a free pass for hurting and abusing others, and that’s exactly what happens when people say “boys will be boys.”

Letting our sons get away with this behavior creates cases like Brock Turner’s. It creates a world where 98 out of 100 rapists receive absolutely NO punishment. Come on, only THREE out of 100 rapists ever serve ANY time in jail, and those who do typically receive a shortened sentence. 

At this point, there is not a soul on this Earth that can argue that this isn’t an issue. 

Spread the word about rape culture. Sign petitions like this one. Arrange a protest. Teach your sons and daughters exactly what harassment and abuse is. Teach them about rape culture. Share this post. Be active in this war against rape/abuse victims. Be the change that you want to see in the world. Don’t stand by and hope someone else does what you only dream of doing. 

Together we can help save women.

“If you consider a woman less pure after you touch her, maybe you should look at your hands.”

 

Posted by

I am an overly-passionate, Earth-obsessed woman who spends her time raising three beautiful flowers, and growing with the other half of my soul.

Leave A Comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s