Me Too

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault and sexual harassment

I want to thank anyone who participated in the “Me Too” campaign, because you inspired me to get my story into words and onto paper. Thank you to the founders of the campaign, the ones who participated, and the one who encouraged me to write this out.

The first time I was assaulted, I was a sophomore in college, 19 years old. He told me he was doing it for me, that I should be happy because he was doing it to please me and he wasn’t even asking for anything in return. He stayed and slept next to me that whole night. I told very few people at the time because I had a boyfriend. Those I did tell had mixed reactions. Some empathized with me and told me I had said no, so it wasn’t my fault. Others said things like “Well at least he didn’t rape you,” and “What does your boyfriend say?” I also did not fully recognize it for what it was at the time, so after a while, I just started telling people that I cheated, I was drunk and so I hooked up with another man, even though that was not the true story. That was less embarrassing to tell a person than the truth; that someone had done something to me against my will. I buried it, negated it, and diminished it until it was only a minor event in my previous life.

The second time was three years later, after college, when I thought I had left all the abuse and trauma of my previous partner behind.  He was a friend of a friend and so I assumed I could trust him like I trusted my friend. This man raped me. After, as I sat on the couch sobbing, I asked him, “Didn’t you hear me say no and to stop?” thinking that maybe I was crazy and I had only been saying those things in my head. His response was that he had, in fact, heard me say those things. But he didn’t think I meant them. There are no words to describe the feeling of someone admitting that they knew your desires and feelings but still doing what they wanted to you. I left that morning, not even taking the time to find my underwear.

Later that day, the man found me on social media and sent me a message, telling me what an amazing person I was and how he was so taken by me. Shortly after that, he sent me another message, saying that he had talked to our mutual friend. I had told our friend that I had said no, that he had sex with me anyways. My rapist said that he guessed I didn’t see what happened the previous night the same way he did and that he wished me the best and a great life. My sister was the first person I saw when I returned that morning. I was shaking, not able to cry because I couldn’t feel anything. I felt emptiness. I will never be able to adequately thank her enough for what she did for me by just being there and telling me it wasn’t my fault.

For those who have never been through this before, I hope you never have to. But the feeling you have after someone has just taken something from you that you did not want to give is almost impossible to describe. For months, I felt like I was falling, with no end in sight. I constantly felt on the verge of tears but never able to cry. I jumped at everything, thinking my next attacker was going to come out of nowhere. I became meek, unable to laugh at things that usually made me laugh, and felt a continuous sense of desperation.

On top of being raped, I had a partner at the time. One who I loved deeply and still do today. Telling him was the single hardest thing I have ever had to do. His initial response was understandable, one of confusion and anger, because I was also confused. I could not find the accurate words to tell him what had happened. I automatically blamed myself, as victims of this kind of crime are taught to do. However, once it became clear what had actually happened, he was (and is) the most supportive person I could have asked for. He sprang into action, figuring out ways to help and when he could not, found others who could. He is the love of my life and there is not a day that goes by where I do not give thanks for his patience and the fact that he did not just walk away after that first phone call.

After that, the reactions were mixed, but mostly positive. My friends sat with me, cried with me, and gave me the space to not be okay. They went with me to get tested and held my hand through it all. After the first doctor I went to refused to give me plan B because “it would be impossible for me to be pregnant,” I went to Planned Parenthood where they treated me with great compassion and care. My family was there for me in a huge way, visiting me and checking on me constantly. I had to explain over and over why I chose not to call the police or report it, each time having to question my decision again and again. I found a counselor at the Rape Crisis Center who helped me make great strides in processing my trauma and whose lessons I think about to this day.

The lasting effects of my assaults and abuses are everywhere. I hate being alone with men. Immediately following my rape, if I was alone with a male coworker, I was also searching for doors to get out of. I started having panic attacks as a result of the rape and I still have them. I walked away from the church because I heard from too many people who knew what had happened that God “protects us” and that bad things “happen for a reason.”

The amount of anger that I hold within me is more than it ever has been in my life. I am angry with my rapist. I am angry with men because they are the ones who perpetrate these crimes, even though there are good men and not all men are rapists or commit sex crimes. I am angry that I have to be here, as a survivor, and comfort men who are questioning their previous behavior. I am angry with God that this happened and that it has impacted me for so long.

Not all consequences of these abuses have been negative. I have seen the most beautiful and compassionate parts of humanity through my friends and family who have been there for me. I’ve gone through several years of therapy, learning things about myself that I would not have otherwise. And while sexual assault can be the most singularly isolating event in a person’s life, I have found such community through it. It is tragic that that is how community has to be built, but the support and empathy that survivors have for each other is an amazing thing. When you are a survivor, you feel as if no one could ever feel the way you do right then. But then when you open up, you realize that, sadly, there are others who do feel like you do and want you to take comfort in each other.

Being a survivor has also taught me to be who I am, unapologetically. Before I recognized how these events have shaped me, I used to apologize for parts of myself. Then, when I was raped, I didn’t want to apologize for that part of me, it was something I couldn’t help. It was also something that people needed to know about me before I felt that I could be truly myself. The assault and all its consequences were now a part of me and something that came with having a relationship with me. I realized that I shouldn’t have to apologize or hide any part of me; that it was who I was. So, through a twisted and awful event, I found a way to be more authentically and unapologetically me.

This is not to say that days are not hard, because they are. I am almost three years out from my last assault and just now there are some days when I don’t think about it. But then there are other days where it is all I can think about. Therapy has helped to heal those wounds, but there are some things that smack me in the face and make it hard to escape the fact that I was raped or assaulted or abused.

My hope in writing this is not to glorify myself or being a survivor, it is that somebody takes comfort in my story. Whoever you are, you are not alone. You are loved, you are powerful, and you are a survivor.  You can feel what you feel and do not let anyone try to diminish your story or your voice. Do not feel pressure to talk about it or not to talk about it, that is your choice and your choice alone. You have power and control over you.

It’s taken me this long to be able to put this all down on paper because of fear of what consequences might come if I did put it out there. However, the bravery of people around me who have laid out their stories in recent weeks and months has encouraged me to do this. Survivor’s stories should be shared because they expose the root of the problem of rape culture and misogyny our society suffers from today.

If anyone reading this needs to talk or ask questions, you know where to find me. 

The world needs more John Dewey

I am frustrated. That is the best way to describe exactly what I have been feeling for the past several months.

For those of you that do not know, I am a teacher in an inner-city school in Memphis, TN. My coworkers and I are in the thick of it and I love it (for the most part, more to come on that). My students are incredible and because I don't have my own children at the moment, they take up the majority of my emotional and intellectual energy. They are all brilliant kids in their own way and it is a privilege to work with them everyday.

That being said, throughout the past year and a half, I have seen my kids suffer at the hands of the education system day in and day out. Not because of any actions of one particular person, but because of how the system is set up and how it functions. Now, before you start thinking "Oh, just another self-righteous teacher complaining about standardized tests and accountability," hear me out. I COULD NOT care less how my students standardized test scores reflect on me. For some of you, that may be shocking, but I really do have reasons for it. I hope you keep reading.

My coworkers and I are with these kids everyday for 8 hours, sometime more. We see them at their best and at their worst and we get to know A LOT about them in 9 months. I have the blessing of teaching kids multiple years in a row and through this I become very close with their families. All that to say, we know the kids. We as teachers are trained to recognize when they are growing and when they are not. When their light bulb goes off and when something is just not clicking. And, in my opinion, the majority of the time, this learning is not always demonstrated on a test that was created by God knows who in God knows where. Some of our students, yes, are very good test takers and that is awesome. But others are not. And should an entire year spent in a classroom be boiled down to a number that may or may not reflect what actually went on in the class?

I could go on an entirely separate rant/blog about testing bias, but I will save that for another time. Just trust me when I say it does in fact exist.

John Dewey is one of my favorite educational philosophers. Essentially, he believed that the purpose of education was to build thinkers who are prepared to participate in a democratic society. CRITICAL. THINKING. And yes, while in theory common core does emphasize critical thinking, the strict adherence to standardized testing has shifted kids away from thinking critically to being able to put arguments into specific templates that please the graders. So much of teaching is not just about reading and math, but about how to be good people and good participants in society. We teach about expressing your feelings, controlling your feelings, conflict resolution and ambition. None of this can be assessed on a test and yet it is what I feel is the most important job of a teacher.

I genuinely do not know what the solution to our educational woes are, but I do know this- we all have a voice. If you are a parent or brother or sister, call you congressperson and tell them what you think about everything that is going on in our educational system. Encourage your children to ask questions and become leaders and thinkers. I know too many good people who are involved in the education system one way or another and together I genuinely believe we can start to turn things around.

"While it is not the business of education to prove every statement made, any more than to teach every possible item of information, it is its business to cultivate deep-seated and effective habits of discriminating tested beliefs from mere assertions, guesses, and opinions; to develop a lively, sincere, and open-minded preference for conclusions that are properly grounded, and to ingrain into the individual’s working habits methods of inquiry and reasoning appropriate to the various problems that present themselves" - John Dewey

Impact of the Camino 2 months out

As my dear friend and mentor, Silvio, is about to embark on the full Camino Frances today, I am in a place of nostalgia and reflection, which of course leads me to want to write. And think about my wonderful trip.

Much has changed in the past two months. I have started my first full time job as a teacher and I love it. I am no longer half student, half teacher, I am the full blown thing, which can be incredibly unnerving. I also have had personal issues in my life that have had an immense impact on all other aspects of my life. I have been brought to my knees many days from a feeling of not knowing what to do. While I love my job, there are some mornings where I don't want to leave my bed just because the day seems too challenging, too insurmountable. The past two months, my kids have kept me at school and kept me coming back everyday.

But this morning, on my way to school, I began thinking about Silvio and the Camino. How there were mornings where I didn't want to get up. I wanted to give up and quit and just take a bus to Santiago. I didn't want to climb mountains or go down through valleys because every part of my body hurt and I had a 30 pound backpack to schlep along with me (my one regret was overpacking). But, much like now, I didn't really have a choice about getting out of bed. I had to get up and continue on my journey. And every day it was worth it. I met new people, saw new things, and had great conversations that left me fulfilled by the end of the long day. I learned over and over that the journey of the day made all of the pain and challenge worth it. I even had the trail marker tattooed on me to remind me of this lesson and yet in 2 months I have forgotten. But thanks to Silvio, I have been reminded again.

I know that for months to come, it will still be hard to get out of bed. I will have really really hard days and pretty good days. But now my goal is to remember that the joy is in the journey, not in the destination. At this point, I am not even really sure what my destination is, I just know that I am ready for what I am dealing with the be over. But the camino helped me learn that that is no way to live your life. The camino is always going to be with me, and for that, I am thankful.

Also, BUEN CAMINO, SILVIO!!!!

Camino by the numbers

The last few days have been filled with a lot of emotion. From the joy of finally arriving in Santiago, the pure exhaustion we both feel still, and being moved to tears at the beauty of the pilgrims' mass today at the cathedral, I've had about all I can handle of the emotions. So I am going to give you the most emotionless post possible by writing about our trip through the numbers. (Author's note- most numbers are a rough estimate. Sorry not sorry.)

300- number of kilometers from Leon to Santiago de Compostela. And we walked every. Damn. One. 

4- number of forms of transportation taken to make this trip possible (train, plane, taxi, walking).

127- approximate number of times I thought about throwing myself to the ground in the hopes of ending the walking part of the journey early. 

128- approximate number of times I told myself walking into Santiago would be much more rewarding than riding in. 

35- number of times people laughed when I told them I learned Spanish in Sevilla, almost always immediately followed by "siempre son de fiesta, los sevillanos." Duh, they're my people. 

13- days of walking. 

6- average number of hours we walked a day. 

2- number of ice creams I had a day... Ok that may be low balling it...

47- number of times I contemplated throwing my bag, shoes, hat, shell, and various other pieces of equipment off the side of a cliff. 

14- number of hostels/albergues/hotels we stayed in and that number will increase before our trip is over. 

1- daily average of times I audibly cursed the terrain/trail we were walking. 

32- number of times dad made me laugh a day. 

27- number of times dad made me roll my eyes a day. 

100- number of people we met and had significant conversations with while on the trail or in a hostel. 

1- the number of cafe con leche needed to function a day, sometimes bumped to two. 

Infinite- the amount of gratitude I have for this trip and for everyone who made it possible, whether through physical or moral support. And thanks to dad for putting up with/encouraging my shenanigans (particularly my drinking habit). This trip would not have been the same without you and I know we have made a lifetime of memories because of it. Love you, pops. 

ONE DAY MOREEEEE

 I hope you are singing Les Mis now, because I was all day today. 

Yesterday we made it to Melide, barely. It was an over 32 km day and by the end of it, I was concerned I would have to drag dad. But we made it to a really nice place to stay. And most importantly about Melide is that I FINALLY got churros con chocolate. I'm sure the lady at the counter was very confused why I did not take her suggestion to move to the patio instead of immediately inhaling them at the bar, but I got tunnel vision and all I could think about was getting them in my belly. 

Today was kind of rough for me because of a pretty bad pain in my foot. It got bad enough that I wanted to find a pilgrim clinic (those exist) but the only thing available at the time was the clinic for the general public and I got scared. So I decided to suck it up for the rest of the day and see how I feel tomorrow. Plus, most likely they would tell me to take a rest and there is no way in hell in doing that when I am one day out from Santiago. We stopped at this really sweet place for the night which is kind of a complex with a restaurant and wading pool, which my feet have loved. And we are washing allllllllll of our clothes praise God. 

Because dad and I have been in alternating days of pain, there hasn't been a lot of time for talking, mostly thinking in solitude. Which has lead me to think a lot about what I have to take away from this experience. I am a firm believer that every experience in life has a purpose, something to talk with you through the rest of your life. I'm sure those of you reading are thinking "Shouldn't she have had a purpose in mind before she went on a pilgrimage 5,000 miles away where she walks 300 kilometers?" Probably, but I didn't really. I started truly planning this journey 9 months ago out of a sense of loss and pain. I needed something to look forward to in order to escape what I was feeling. And while things have improved significantly since that point, I still wanted to go and I still didn't know what I would learn from it. So here are a couple lessons that I think God has taught me specifically for this season of my life. 

Human resilience- I have been overwhelmed by the variety of resilience I have witnessed these two weeks. It varied from seeing people with their entire foot bandaged due to blisters who are continuing on regardless of the pain or the South African who had his entire farm seized by the government with no compensation whatsoever or the French man who fell on his face and had hundreds of stitches only to keep going. All of these stories and more have opened my eyes to just how much the human spirit can take and bounce back from. I think particularly as I go into my first year of teaching, this is something that I am going to need to carry with me. I love my job and my kids more than anything, but that doesn't mean it isn't hard. There are expectations set for myself and my kids by a higher power that sometimes seem impossible. And outside of school, my kids face daily challenges including poverty, tough neighborhoods, discrimination, and relatives being deported to name a few. It's easy to get bogged down in all of this and sometimes feel helpless and inadequate in more ways than one. But being here has opened my eyes to what people are capable of overcoming and has challenged me to keep this mentality in my own life as well as encourage my kids to have this kind of attitude. 

The vastness of the human experience- we have dragged our butts all over the north of Spain. Over mountains, through valleys, through flat farmland, and through every size city and hamlet you can imagine. We have met and had extensive conversations with at least 100 different people in 2 different languages, 3 if you count body language and gesturing. And while I like to consider myself a well travelled person, this walk has opened my eyes to so many different kinds of lifestyles and beliefs that I didn't even know existed anymore. All of that to say, I want my kids (both students and future children) to have their eyes opened through my journey and be inspired to take their own. I don't want my students to think the world revolves around Memphis or to not know what their heritage means because they are separated from it by miles and time. I want to give them a taste of the vastness I have seen and experienced and then say "Now go see it for yourself." And I know this will look different for everyone and that's okay. I only want to plant the seed, to have them just start to open their eyes to the beauty of what God has created around them. 

We have one more day left of walking. One more day until we officially get the piece of paper that says we are pilgrims. But I know my pilgrimage is not finished yet. Mine will continue into every job I have, every relationship I make, and every place I go. My pilgrimage will continue for the rest of my life with God whispering in my ear, "What can you learn from what I'm showing you? And more importantly, how can you share it?" Those are the questions I will always find myself searching for the answers to. 

Holaaaaaaaaa Galicia

After several days of very spotty at best wifi, I'm finally sitting at a bar in the middle of nowhere where T-Swift is playing and I have enough wifi to write. Just go ahead and reread that sentence and take in the absurdity of it all. 

On Friday, we got to Triacastelas, which was a cute little town that had one main road with a lot of bars and hostels. Oh but before that, we climbed ANOTHER mountain and we made it into Galicia, the final province crossing of our trip! It is a beautiful place with a really heavy Celtic influence. As well as a ton of farmland. So in Triacastelas, we had lunch and did lunch and such. Then a group of Spanish women that we had befriended invited me to come see the church with them. All of us fully intended to just go in, look around, and leave. We walked in at around 5:59 and come to find out, mass started at 6... We were kind of committed at this point. One of the women asked me if I had ever been to a mass before and I said no, so she just told me to follow her lead. I was very glad I ended it up there because I figured I should go to at least one mass on a religious pilgrimage. But it was really hard not to laugh at myself because while I was not the only non-Spanish person there, I was the most easily spotted for being almost 6 foot tall and constantly one step behind everyone else. But like I said, valuable cultural experience at least. 

On Saturday, we made it to Sarria, which is the minimum amount you can walk to Santiago in order to be considered a pilgrim. So a lot of people who have limited amounts of resources or time start here, which makes everything from here on more crowded, happily so. Instead of staying in Sarria, we decided to move on to the next pueblo, Bandarelo. Holy smokes, it was tiny but an oasis. There was a pool!!!! Dad and I were there for a very long time needless to say. It was such a funny mix of people there because it was a place for pilgrims, but also it appeared to be an event venue outside of town. So there were all these very well dressed spaniards there for a child's first communion celebration. Dad and I couldn't help but find it amusing. Wifi there was pretty bad and dad was frustrated/sad because he couldn't really communicate with Ginny or the boys and hadn't been able to for a few days. It was sad and sweet at the same time just to see how much he missed them. 

This morning we were some of the last ones to leaves our hostel (CLASSIC) and headed to the next big city. It's funny though because dad and I just walk fast naturally and so we usually end up meeting or passing friends that left significantly earlier than us. We stopped in Portomarin for a lunch break, which is where most people were planning on stopping for the day. But we decided to go a little farther to the next town. And by a little further I mean 7 km mostly uphill and in dorect sunlight... Probably not our best choice, but we are staying in a super sweet hostel, still in the middle of nowhere. 

We are hoping to be in Santiago by Wednesday so that we can take a day trip to the coast too. As of now, we are definitely on track for that. It all seems like it has gone by so fast, especially considering in the beginning we would be walking forever. We have gotten into a groove now and it makes the days go by really quickly. 

A few other various sundry notes- because we are in the heart of Galicia. Farm land, there are poop and flies every where. You can't get away from either, especially the flies. I stepped in horse poop on accident the other day and some Spanish women behind us yelled that it will bring me good luck and money. We shall see. And we have walked through several cow and sheep herdings. Also, any time someone asks me how I learned Spanish, I tell them I studied in Sevilla. Their immediate reaction every time is to laugh and say "Why would you go to Sevilla to learn Spanish?? They speak terrible Spanish there!" It's very amusing, but I also get slightly defensive of my beloved city. 

I'm still working on distilling everything I have learned from this trip, but I still have a few more days/months/years to think on it. 

Stupid mountains

I had a million things I wanted to say in this entry, but my nap has seemed to erased all of those thoughts. Oh well, I will try anyways. 

Yesterday, we decided that we needed to do about 30 km in order to keep on schedule. For those of you doing the math at home, yes, that is about 20 miles. So we started out from Molinaseca pretty early (still not as early as all of the other pilgrims) and made it through Ponferrada (a fairly large city) pretty quickly. We met up with our Barcelona family in a suburb outside of the city. We looked up and saw a young boy sprinting towards us and I immediately knew who it was. He is the only person I have seen running at any point this whole trip. We walked with them for a bit and dad thought he lost me for a second because i stopped to get some ice cream from a convenience store. Obviously if you know me, you are not surprised by this. We left the family in a tiny pueblo about 6 km from where we wanted to stop in Villafranca. At this point dad and I were feeling pretty good still, but the last 6 km were up and down hills, which was rough. When we got to Villafranca finally, it was down in a valley. Dad and I started to disagree about where to go because we both always know where we are going, but we finally made it to our hostel on the complete opposite side of town. To say I was tired of walking would be an understatement. The hostel was very nice and clean and we both immediately showered. I decided it was too late to nap because I wouldn't be able to sleep, so o went exploring because it was a very cute town. And I wanted churros con chocolate. The motivation was mostly the second reason. I passed three beautiful churches and a park with all these gorgeous flowers. I got to the churrería and it was closed!!!!! Heart breaking. So instead, I stopped at a cafe and had some dessert that I am still not quite sure what it was, but it was delicious. We explored a little more and then we had some tapas for dinner, including pulpo (octopus) for dad. Dad has gotten tired of the typical pilgrim meals, so he was happy to mix things up.  We both passed out early last night and pretty much slept through the night for the first time this trip. 

Today was our recovery day (LOL). We walked along the highway for a very long time through a ton of small towns. I was thankful for that because the alternative was straight up and straight down a mountain. However, we got to the last 2 km and those were winding up a hill. I was cursing the mountain the whole way, which probably wasn't very pilgrim-like, but I was so annoyed that the mountain wasn't ending soon enough (irrational, I know). We finally got to the top to this tiny tiny town and are staying in this super hippie albergue. I'm talking vegetarian menu, organic wine, and a porcelain hole that functions as a toilet and a shower. But the people who run it are very nice and it is clean, which is what matters. We wanted to go to the next town up, but we didn't have another 4 km of hills in us. 

I am starting to get used to the pilgrim lifestyle, much more so than I was at first. But I think the thing that has surprised me the most is how challenging switching from albergue to albergue everyday. It would be nice to be able to stay in one place more than one night, however that is not the way of the way. My body hurts, but I am still so thankful to be here. 

Oh and dad keeps talking about bringing the whole family to do this thing. LOL what do you think Kaitlyn???