Tiny Little Male-Friend Moments

Watching Bill Cosby be convicted was, for many of us, one of the few shining moments of hope in a very sad chain of disappointments in the fight against sexual violence. In light of the news of him being set free, I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling triggered.

I’ll be fine. I have to be. It’s something we all learn after abuse. While the way trauma hardens you is not exactly a superpower, for those of us who it doesn’t kill, it makes us stronger. But in spite of so many things currently making me resent the world, I have also been thinking of the tiny things that matter.

Do other people notice these things? Do other people experience them the same way I have?

Sometimes I see these moments in movies and on tv- these grand gestures. I realize life is not a movie, but I have often wished I could just have just like one of those. I know so many people with stories of grand gestures bestowed on them- I have a friend who was sucked into Scientology years ago; the story of his “rescue” and the way an entire community unapologetically surrounded him both warmed my heart and made me feel a moment of resentment.

I had a moment about five years ago when, after a decade of proactively dragging myself through some semblance of healing, I hit a really large speed-bump. I wanted a level of peace I just couldn’t access, and I sought help in a support-group atmosphere that ended up being incredibly toxic. Long story short, and perhaps a story for later, I still don’t understand who thought of handling sexual-abuse trauma as a twelve-step program. I do not need to make amends; I need to make peace, and mostly with myself.

I’ve had a lot of practice, because honestly, there hasn't been a grand gesture.

A few times, I really needed that big gesture, or at least I sure wanted it. But the blessing of not getting “rescued” is that I learned how to sail through the storm mostly unassisted. But that’s not to say I was not set back on course by some amazing and unexpected lighthouses.

It occurs to me so hard in this moment that most people never get to hear about the tiny little things they said or did that made a massive, indelible impact. I have not shared most of these. This is an incomplete list and I feel weird about sharing most of this; I don’t know if any of these moments would be surprising to those involved and I haven’t decided whether to share them directly.

Would you, dear reader, want to know if something you said or did was among the tiny little moments that made this kind of impact?

I would.

So, in chronological order:

1995. “It’s not your fault.”

A lot of these went without a big fanfare or any formal acknowledgement, but I had the honor of getting to sit down, say thank you, and talk about this one maybe 8 years ago; it’s still wholly deserving of a place in this list: Summer, 1995. The director of the youth theatre company I'm in sits down the 15 teens in the cast and asks each one if they have seen me being molested. She accuses me of slander because one other witness (and one other girl making the same accusation...) is not enough. She suggests that my older siblings come babysit me backstage so I don’t make any more false accusations. The cast is dismissed and the other 15 teens leave wordlessly, except one, a few years older, who hugs me and tells me what happened was not my fault. It the furthest thing from being some dramatic moment, and the fact that this exchange of words happened honestly might have kept me alive- those were some particularly dark days. It was a brief moment and a show of decency I clung hard to for the years.

1999. “Someone is being hurt here. We have to do something.”

It’s weird how this is the next chronological moment in this list because it bears similarity to the first story. it’s weirder now looking back. If you can believe it, the cast of my senior high school play is put in that same circle as the production years earlier. Like the time before, another girl has made the same complaint, but now she won't speak. A few cast members are taking sides as they go around sharing whether they have seen anything, and then the boy playing my husband in our little show speaks up. He has never been unkind to me for a moment in our 4 years together in this theatre program, but we're not really friends. I’m not expecting what he says. “Someone is being truly hurt here, so we need to stop this from happening.” I think I’m butchering this one. I’m usually better at remembering verbatim because these moments have stuck with me so hard, but I will say, as I lay next to this 17-year-old boy during many scene changes and blackouts (we were playing husband and wife and were onstage for the whole two-hour show), I felt safer knowing he didn’t question my integrity. No one stopped anything from happening the rest of the run, but the fact that it was acknowledged by my stage husband, helped.

2007. “Talk.”

In the middle of a very low point, I go into a shell- it must be 2007 at this point- I’m still pretending my past didn’t happen… it’s.not.going.well. A boy from my group of college friends is already at my house; he’s dating my roommate. He sees immediately that I’m not ok. I don’t know if I beeline for the balcony to avoid showing the state I’m in or if he pulls me out there. He sits down beside me and says, “talk.” I don’t remember what I said, but I know it’s things I have never said at that point. I had never told most parts of my story; even now there are stories about it I haven’t told. But at this point, in 2007, it’s all very secretive and I’m pretty sure I’m taking it to the grave. My friend tells me he and any of our friends would be there to listen any time about what I consider so taboo that I can’t imagine. I can’t imagine anyone listening. Granted I never give them anyone in that group that opportunity; I wasn’t ready.

2010. Fearless.

I confide quite a bit in one male friend I bond with while doing a production. I tell him too much. I don’t know which parts to omit. I'm speaking freely for the first time and I’m tired of having to omit and edit, so that summer, I don’t. I’m exhausting myself and I’m exhausting this friend who I know I’ve come to rely on too hard. It’s messy, but the way he faithfully, actively listens, opens a door I had never been willing or able to walk through. Sometimes, when someone is fearless for you, they can help you unlock that for yourself. And sometimes, as this friend taught me, you don't have to wait until you're not afraid. That fall, I triumphantly survive my first Space Mountain ride after deciding at the last minute to get on and hold on to this friend's hand. I hate the ride, but I gave it a chance because he helped me feel safe. In that circumstance, I was able to be a bit braver. I needed to know that I could be. Once I knew that, I became brave in ways I never could have imagined.

2014. A Badass.

A male friend makes an ingorant statement that honestly makes me question our whole friendship- it's something about whether girls deserve things that happen to them based on their choices. I write him off a bit and I'm shocked that he's willing to come see my solo show. He walks down the street with me after the show, puts his arm around me, pulls me close, and tells me I’m a badass. There might have been more that was said, but this wasn’t a long moment. It was simply an important affirmation that it was okay to speak- that maybe my presumed “target audience” or the people who I think will understand should not be limited by my imagination, which itself has been limited, by the boundaries I have created to keep myself safe.

2015. The First Hug

I spent 6 years as a professional a Capella caroler. Along with the joy of singing in harmony for actual money, I’ve made some incredible friendships with company members; I’m fortunate that all of my tenors have been wonderful; it’s important because the alto stands next to the tenor. I bond with my last tenor a normal amount- but notably, not as blatantly as past tenors. Full disclosure, for a long time, I’m not certain he gives a shit. But he comes to see me in my very personal solo show. I’m fully confident he’ll have a normal reaction and be appropriately supportive, but I think I don’t really expect much. You know how, when you have an acquaintance and you have this feeling you should be friends, but that doesn’t quite exist yet? By that night, my show has been through several festivals -I’ve learned the precise post-show behavior 99 percent of audience members have- no matter how close of a friend they are. I will walk out to the front and they will wait for me to come to them to say hi. It’s not like it’s a large theatre- it’s an intimate, 45-seat house, but when I emerge from my dressing room and into the lobby, there are 40 people waiting to talk to me, and, as I said, no one approaches. This time I take exactly two steps out of the dressing room and my friend crosses the room and gives me a hug. I don’t know if I can really explain what it means because part of me isn’t sure I can claim the meaning. But that’s the thing, it’s a tiny thing. And huge at the same time. When I started doing my solo shows about trauma I went through a big panic party about whether any male friends would ever come near me again. I remember thinking they’re going to be uncomfortable; They’re going to worry about hugging me. They’re going to feel bad for me and wish I had not said anything. It was a totally unfounded fear, and at the point of this story, it’s been a while of doing my show , but I’m still unlearning my fears about men in all ways, including the possibility of being worthy of a friend’s support, and the possibility of them rising to any occasion. In this tiny moment, I am awestruck at how the action of feet moving across the floor show me that this friend is in my corner. It’s not always a big, loud ruckus of a moment. Sometimes it’s giving the first hug.

2016. Holding Space.

I become fast friends with my supervisor at a short-term summer job and although he made training a deeper and more interesting experience than you’d expect from a summer-camp for children, it just doesn’t make sense that I’d open up so fast in the way that I did. Especially to someone like him. I can give some credit to timing- at this time, in 2016, I’m working on my second show about trauma- I’m learning to talk. I’m learning to stop letting shame be by guide. Then again, old habits die hard. Also a theatre person, he simply takes what feels like a genuine interest in my show. So when he says, “What’s it about.” I give him an honest answer. I tell him it’s when Pop Culture meets Rape Culture. It’s the elevator pitch I’d never come close to saying out loud. Now it seems silly that it was a problem, but at that point, I had refused to introduce my show that way. Saying it out loud levels up my game in so many ways, altering all of my friendships. And giving me an awesome one with this friend, who becomes an immediate confidant. He also earns huge, fast points for inviting me to a silent vigil for survivors of sexual violence. He tells me more people should have been there- there are maybe 60 of us, sitting outside at the Hollywood Arclight. He makes a comment about how people who are not survivors of sexual violence should come support those who are- the burden should not just be on survivors. I have never asked for this- for people to show up for me. Was that an option? But if I could ask for it, maybe I wouldn’t need it. But I have needed it; someone to sit silently beside me so I don’t have to bear this burden alone. It immediately feels lighter on my shoulders. We sit silently. He becomes someone I can sit silently with or tell things to. I often choose the latter. I need that a lot that year. He’s the one who teaches me the phrase “holding space” – an important phrase I’d never heard. It’s perfect, because he also becomes a wonderful example of demonstrating how to do so for others.

2020. That’s Not Okay.

There’s no way to really explain the impact sexual violence has had on my feelings about dating. But at the start of 2020, I recommitted myself to being proactive and staying committed to being willing to try. I went on a handful of online dates- they weren’t wonderful, but they were okay enough that I thought I could start to repair some of my feelings about dating. Maybe, I began to think, I can handle this. Maybe I can shut down the very loud voice that tells me I’m in danger, I told myself until I half-believed it. I was a few days from a scheduled date with a man I was chatting with online. He seemed wonderful, but before that date could happen, a real-life friend of many years finally made the crossover from flirting into actually asking me out. I didn’t think there were going to be any feelings, but this person had been so nice and appropriate. No red flags, so I had to at least give him a chance. At the end of the date, he told me he was interested in me, and for the first time in my life, I felt comfortable giving a very clear No. A “no” isn’t always the word no, but as I’ve learned, men are not mind-readers. There was no ambiguity this time. I was so proud of myself. And two minutes later, he had me pinned to my car and would not let go as he kissed me like I was a rag-doll and kept going as I tried to pull away. I didn’t want to use the word assault, but when I told the story to a handful of friends, that what they called it. The next day, seemingly-wonderful online-date guy told me he’d just gone on a second date with someone else from Hinge or Bumble or wherever we'd met, and wanted to give that a chance. I was bummed because he seemed great- somehow it came out in my text that I’d missed the warning signs and had a really not-great date experience the night before. He asked about it and I told him. This stranger I was never even going to meet took the time to acknowledge my feelings and tell me it was not okay how I had been treated on that date. Sometimes you just need to hear it from someone else.

Please be clear, all of this is not to take away from love and care and listening and empathy of female friends.

But here's the quickest way I can say it; When you have a wound from one gender, it can sometimes be provoked more dangerously by that gender. Similarly, it can also be healed. The next time you're in a position to listen, to stand up for someone's integrity...do it. It might be a bigger deal than you think.