Hanging out with friends seemed pretty normal for me in high school. Slumber parties, BBQ gathers, Pool parties were quite fun for me. That all changed after February 11th 2016...
Excruciating mensuration pains kept me in bed all day Saturday. Sweating, crying and deep guttural moaning. It feels good to bleed 🩸 but the pain is immense. I love being connected with my body and allowing it the natural courses it needs to take, especially when it forces me to be present with my pain, looking it in the eye and feeling every inch of visceral shedding. When I can I avoid pain killers so I can support every part of myself, especially with pain. Pain is important, its designed in our bodies for a a reason. Living in a society that runs from pain is toxic and unnatural, numbing us to the sensations of life. Without pain what do we have to compare it to when we want joy? I am grateful to my body for supporting and holding me together (literally), for taking me places and for growing with me as I journey through life. For communicating to me the things I need, even when I don’t always listen.
She said no, but you still grabbed her hand. She said no, but you still hugged her. She said no, but you still kissed her. She said no, but you still didn't listen.
I was 18 years old during the summer of 2009. My family and I were off to Disneyland for a week-long vacation. I had a lot of fun throughout the week until the very last night. I was on my way to the hotel room after having a smoke. I had just come out of the elevator when someone approached me. He was wearing a solid white cook uniform and he rushed up to me to ask if I wanted to drink that night. I figured I might as well get drunk since it is the last night.
Sometimes the things that are the hardest to talk about are the most important conversations for us to have. Unsurprisingly, cancer is one of those often-avoided topics. Discussions about cancer can be uncomfortable, unsettling, or sad. However, sharing information, offering support, and promoting community make these conversations invaluable.
November of 2008, Thanksgiving day rolled around, which also happened to be my 18th birthday. No party. No special plans. No company even. My friends were away with family for the holiday. Dinner at my house wasn’t anything too special. I finished my plate of the typical, traditional food, and locked myself in my bedroom for the night.
Trigger Warning: This story contains contents that may trigger others from past trauma.
To be vulnerable is to trust and trusting others is my weakest spot of my heart. However, in time life has changed me in ways that help my experience become more 'explainable.'
His name was Keith Bridden, with eyes so blue that they sparkled and thick, dark hair. I watched him for days while I worked as a cocktail waitress, trying not to be too obvious, but noticed he was smiling at me every time I looked his way. He'd noticed, and my heart skipped a beat in my chest just imagining what it would be like to touch him.
Be forewarned, this is part rant, and part examination of what it means to stand with women who have been through sexual trauma rather that silence and diminish them. Here we go...
I was a little girl who just wanted her mother's love, but instead I got blamed and hated. Here's my story! My mother brother and I moved to Averill Ave in a small town a long with her 2 other sisters and their children .We all went to number 15 school I was 5 when we moved there, As a child we were always told that children should not be seen when their adults in the room we were taught to respect all Elders, but what happens when a adult miss treat a child and nothing was done about it, but you were told that you are a lair and all you did was go to bed like you were told. While I am laying in my bed I had a nightmare about rats and in my dream their were nothing but blood all over my room, their was a big fat rat sitting on my chest, once I realize what was happening I started screaming and crying for my mom to come I kept calling for her but no one answered I called out for her again and again just to be woken up by her boyfriend Bosco. When Bosco entered my room he had on just his boxers and no shirt .With his boney little legs and arms I wish I was much older but at that time I was just a little girl looking for my mother and she was no where to be found. When Bosco entered my room he said, "What's wrong with you? Why are you in screaming! I said," I had a bad dream" and I want my mom! he said" your momma not here she left now shut all that noise up before I give you something to scream about "I was scared but I'm still crying for my mom and she wasn't there! While I'm still crying Bosco walks over to where I was laying and got in my bed I didn't know what to do I thought it was ok because he was grown and I was told to respect my elders so I thought letting Bosco in my bed was the right thing to do ,but then he started touching me in places he wasn't suppose to because it hurt, he had long fingers nails that he would put inside of my 5 year old vagina. My mother then walks in and catches Bosco in my bed and ask him "What are you doing? He got smart with my mom and got up and went back in my mother room ,my mother left to go next door and I got up and ran after her ,but when I got there, I over heard my mother telling my Aunt that she caught me in the bed with Bosco, Not I found Bosco in the bed with my child! She did ABSOLUTELY nothing but blame me, nobody cared enough about me instead I grew up being hated for something I had no control over ,Now I'm grown and hate PEDOPHILES.I have buried this for so long today is the first time I spoke on this I hope you guys liked this story because this was hard to write but I want to heal and my healing starts today I hope this touches someone who may be going thru the same thing and know you are not alone and please tell someone thanks for hearing my story.
You don't expect too much when you go in for a bikini wax. You know it'll hurt if you forget to take an Aleve before your appointment. You know ingrown hair pain is much worse than the waxing. You know the warm towels are the enjoyable part. And you know how awkward, yet painless, the butt-waxing is.
Motherhood – there is nothing quite like it. The first time your newborn grips your finger with his or her little hand, your heart melts. It’s absolutely pure, filling you with so much love and a sense of pride.