Thursday

I’m dripping from the shower and I’m craving black coffee as I listen to Dave kiss each of us goodbye in the same tone of voice, and I’m right back there again, back to the beginning of us, thinking, Who is this guy who is exactly who he is no matter who he’s around? The way I’d cringe but then shrug, sheepish, as he answered my grandma with the same matter-of-fact Dave-ness that he used with me or the guy at the gas station or his mother or his co-worker, the kind I saved up and stored for only my closest friends. Back then all those years ago was the first time I really took note of the way I morphed depending who I was with, the airs I put on to protect myself, the self I thought was better kept hidden. Performing is exhausting; After a while it was easier to just keep to myself.

***

She skips across the street all boots and skirt and funk and I think, She’s so much cooler than I am before I hug her to break the ice. She takes cream in her coffee and I don’t have any to offer at my studio, an oversight easily forgiven because we really don’t know each other at all and how could I have known? This was one of those mutual, Hey, I dig your blog! and Wait, you live by me?Well hell, why not? and so here we are, strangers but not really, not at all. We walk down to the classy java joint and as I swipe my card and steal secret glances at the rock star kerchief in her hair I think, Can I ever be cool if the only name I know for it is kerchief? We spend hours talking about blogging and marriage and privacy and parenting and when it’s already time for her to leave I’m surprised and a little sad. She’s a girl I’d like to know better and so what if she’s moving to England this summer? She may be my neighbor now but I wouldn’t have known about her if not for another blogger, and that chick’s in India, so what does it matter, distance? That’s the thing about blogging. That’s the thing I love most. and

***

Across town now and this other woman is rubbing my feet and I’m pretending to be important and busy on my crackberry but really I’m playing brick breaker and trying not to feel weird about this other woman rubbing my feet. I’ve finally cashed in a gift certificate that’s one year expiration date was almost up and so here I am, being pampered, when I really have better things to do, when I’m not sure I deserve the luxury. It’s true, though, that I’m exhausted, that my brain is like battered putty this week and I keep noticing that my jaw is clenched and consciously, consciously relaxing it, so fine, I’ll sit here and have this overpriced ‘mani/pedi deluxe’ combination. From my pedicure throne I’ve got a straight shot down her shirt and she’s anticipated this violation with the coolest necklace I’ve ever seen, a twist of pearls and a single, silver feather. She is all angles and cream, carrot colored hair, ice blue eyes behind hipster glasses, a slight scar on her nose only noticeable when she looks down. She is massaging my hands now and I ponder the intimacy, two strangers, one paid, a kind of one-night-stand for the hands. I’ve often wondered what it is about my face that makes people feel safe, and while I’m sitting there trying so hard not to think about my phone or my emails or my deadlines or my sorrow and as I’m trying to forget everything for just these suspended moments I’m not even a little bit surprised when she confesses that she’s a survivor. Of course she is. I’m not surprised, but I allow myself a subtle smirk at God’s predictable sense of humor.

***

I have to work at it, socialization. It’s a force-fed meal for me, brussel sprouts and liver, knowing how important it is, how healthy, swallowing hard. When it’s good like today — unexpected, exotic flavors — I’m relieved, grateful, sated. All these years I’ve been thinking I need to be like Dave, that being exactly who I am at all times no matter who I’m with is the ultimate aspiration, but tonight with a glass of wine and my daughters and my sweatpants with the threadbare thighs, my defeated curls, my worn out eyeliner, my sagging belly, my sagging smile, I’m thinking maybe it’s okay, the layers, the subtleties, the peeling like an onion, the secret candy centers of each human being that perhaps shouldn’t be so easily achieved, a reward, for work. For true intimacy. That maybe I’m a little bit different with everybody I meet, even more me with my old friends, and most me with these girls, with Dave, with these words. Maybe all of those me’s are me. And maybe that’s okay.

Cary's Story

She was the first one to answer my open call — you know, the one where I ask perfect strangers to rip their guts open and offer them up on a steaming, wretched platter for public consumption. Where I ask them to share the most intimate details of what is almost always the most shameful time in their lives, all in the name of theories and public good, in the hopes of somehow, someday, affecting some sort of change.

And she’s terrified.

That so many people are willing to do this blows my mind. That a brand new blog that is not even 24-hours-old yet is nearing 2,000 hits is honestly one of the most humbling feelings I’ve ever experienced. Remarkably, I now have an arsenal of these stories awaiting your eyes and ears, many of them written by bloggers you know, or think you know.

That’s Cary’s point, actually; She writes, “I am just like you.”

Her piece is all I could have hoped for in an opener, and it wasn’t even planned that way. It’s written with a quiet clarity. She has taken each simple sentence like a wooden plank and laid it gently down, one by one, side by side, to form a long, white, quiet, whitewashed dock, the kind you don’t even realize you’re walking, the kind that makes you sit a spell at the end and dangle your feet into the cool, still water.

It’s an exquisite story. To me, the most striking thing about it is that I know this woman. I mean, we’ve never met, but I think you’ll understand after you read it.

So, please. Go read the inaugural survivor story on Violence UnSilenced — Cary’s story — and continue to spread the word.

The most imprtant post

The day I announced I’d be starting a domestic violence blog, I signed up for two Google alerts. Any time the words “domestic violence” and “murder suicide” appeared in the national news, I wanted to know about it. At the time I wasn’t exactly sure what this new blog would be, and I thought the alerts would be a good start, a practical way to stay up to date on blogworthy news items. I thought it would give me ideas. I expected a handful of emails and a truckful of inspiration.

But from day one my inbox was bombarded. In fact, I was so overwhelmingly inundated by domestic violence and sexual assault related emails that I had to cancel the alerts to preserve my sanity. I’m not gonna lie; I felt very discouraged and small. I felt like this was a mistake. I knew this was a huge issue, but I’d never really looked at the prevalence of violence on a day-to-day basis and it blew my mind. Frankly, it delayed this project for a while. After all, who the hell am I?

I am not an expert. I am not an educator. I am not a counselor. I’m just a woman hobbled by an old experience, a journalist inspired by a story, and a blogger — and that’s when it sunk in. I’m a blogger who has been touched and astounded by the power of this community over the past two years. I know what it can do.

And that’s something.

So I’m starting small, and I’m sticking to what I know. My vision for this site is to bring the survivor stories of other bloggers to you with the hope that you will see yourself, or your brother, or your daughter, or your neighbor, in their words. With the hope that you will feel safe enough and inspired enough to chime in. With the hope that by the telling and the listening we will all be better people.I know what you people can do. I’m here to collect and disseminate your stories of abuse. I’m here to ask you to tell them, to hear them, and to spread the word.

Sure, I still want big things. I want to make a difference. I want to ‘be the change.’ I want to spark awareness and I want to reach you through your computer screen and I want to shake you and show you either that you are not alone, or that you are blind to what is all around you. I have such high hopes. But every big thing needs a beginning. This is ours.

THE CONTEST

Here is what I’m asking you to do.

1. SPEAK OUT: Tell your story. Read this, and email me at maggie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com with questions.

2. TAKE THE PLEDGE: Read the stories of your fellow bloggers. Subscribe to the feed, grab a badge for your sidebar, and add ViolenceUnSilenced to your blogroll and I’ll return the favor on the pledge page.

3. SPREAD THE WORD: Share this post in your Reader, Twitter it, Stumble it, Kirtsy it, Digg it, whatever it is you Internet savvy folks do. There are gazillions of personal blogs out there, and one in four women share this experience. I’d venture to guess a hell of a lot of men do, too.

When you’ve done as many of these things as you can possibly do, drop a comment here and you’ll be entered to win a necklace, the same one I gave away with the Violence UnSilenced naming contest, generously donated by my friend, Elizabeth. It says ‘Peace’ on one side, and on the other (facing a person’s chest) it says ‘at home.’ It is strung on deep purple suede, and valued at $84. It’s pretty awesome.

When Elizabeth sent this necklace to the winner of the naming contest, she surprised me by sending me one, too. I’ve been wearing it, and I hate to part with it, but I’ll happily give it up to one of you for helping me out with this cause.

Speaking of generous women, my friend Samantha — the blogger and wonder designer behind BlogNosh, Don Mills Diva, and of course, Okay, Fine, Dammit — designed the new Violence UnSilenced blog free of charge. She put up with literally hundreds of emails from me, and not only that? She chipped in the domain registration and hosting. I’m incredibly grateful and humbled by her help. If you’d like to show her thanks, be sure and check out her impressive portfolio at Temptation Designs.

Time to cross my fingers and hit publish. Thank you all for the support you’ve already shown this cause. I will post the first survivor story tomorrow, and end the contest one week from today on Monday, February 23.

Here’s to The Beginning.

www.ViolenceUnSilenced.com

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I’m closing comments here to keep the contest all in one place, over at the new site. Click here to enter!

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