To say I’m experiencing severe burnout is an understatement right now. I used to browse Twitter for funny jokes and countdown until my wedding. Sometimes I check Facebook to update the masses but with my grandmother gone and my mother-in-law away, I find myself rarely updating that. Maybe it’s because I’m older and I don’t care for social media much anymore. I dream of running off into the woods without internet. Just the people I love, some books and much better mental health.
However, the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s the climate. News at your fingertips. Opinions everywhere. God forbid you’re dumb enough to read the comments. Breaking news: Senate Judiciary Committee set to vote on Brett Kavanaugh. At that moment I thought about deleting Twitter. But it only gets worse.
Yesterday was particularly rough for me. I found out that the owners of my favorite baseball team are actively supporting Brett Kavanaugh through their 45Committee. They spent $650,000 to fund a commercial featuring former female classmates claiming Brett is some good guy. Pitting women against women. I’m still going through what feels like an existential crisis. The team I love also once drafted a domestic abuser and currently has an accused domestic abuser on their team. As a victim of domestic violence and sexual assault, I don’t know that I can have this knowledge and still support them. Thirty-one years of loving a team to find out that their owners are bad people. If I still cheer for my favorite team am I letting every woman down?
As I start to wind down my day after a talk about all the things that upset me that day, I receive another notification about what the President did at his rally. WHY IS HE STILL HAVING THESE? He managed to snake his way in. This is disgusting narcissistic behavior. I digress.
Do I remember every single detail of any assault? Probably not. Who cares how I got to a party or how I got home. Do I remember their face? The smell? The flavor of gum? The color of the wall? You bet.
I was relieved a little when he said she seemed credible at first. But following up by saying she looks like a very fine woman made my stomach churn. So you can imagine the horror and disgust as I heard him chant about one beer and how she couldn’t remember mundane details. Please ask me again why women don’t speak up sooner as I cry every night because I’m being forced to relive every single thing.
I carry my burdens. I know these things were out of my control but I still carry them every single day. Every man I’ve ever let in my life has experienced some resistance. I’m afraid to walk outside when it’s dark, parking garages, bars, drinking too much, not having my cell phone on me, highways at night, being home alone, letting my dog out super early, going to work super early or leaving work once it gets dark. I keep my purse close to my body and my keys in my hands. I’ve learned where to kick/punch/knee or to bite if need be. I learned to scratch because DNA under your fingernails can help. I started jogging (in the afternoon) just to build up my speed.
Pretty soon I’ll have to teach my daughter these things. My pure little baby that loves playing with Barbies and making up songs will have to learn to defend herself against attackers. While my sweet boy that loves to read and play video games will learn about how to treat everyone with respect. I was around his age when we learned about good touch/bad touch and where to kick. I wish we didn’t have to live in this world, a world where this knowledge is learned at a young age but abuse and assault still happens. I wish I didn’t have to relive my trauma daily. I wish I could throw my phone in a lake. But that wouldn’t do me any good. Instead I have to use my voice to help until I can’t speak or write anymore.
I do think I’ll just drop this blog post off and walk away for a week. Enjoy my honeymoon with my husband without Twitter and Facebook and breaking news stories. Take care of yourself because if we’re going to keep up the resistance we’ll need to be refreshed both physically and mentally.