Using Our Voices

May 18, 2022

TW: kidnapping, voyeurism

Long post alert…this one’s been brewing in my mind for a bit.

I recently went to a new doctor. The kind nurse introduced herself. We stopped at the scale, where she laughingly acknowledged that it was an awkward way to start our relationship. While in the room, she began asking me all of the standard questions. And then she asked me if I was safe at home. Without hesitation, I told her I was physically and emotionally safe at home and that I appreciated the question being asked.

She stopped.

Then told me that not everyone agreed with me.

She told me how another patient had been in earlier that day. When asked the same question, he got angry. He demanded to know why she asked the question. She explained that it was a routine part of their process. That everyone is asked the same question. He told her the only people she needed to ask that question to were women who chose not to use their voice.

The kind nurse was clearly still very upset about his comments and I was upset along with her.

Because it was so focused on victim blaming. Because it made me wonder about his background and what would cause him to respond in the way. And it made me wonder about the safety of his potential current or past partners.

And it made me wonder more deeply about a recurring dream I have been having lately.

I’ve had three recurring memories in recent adulthood. Most recently, my vivid recurring dreams have been centered around circumstances where I am in imminent danger, I try to yell, and nothing comes out.

They are upsetting for sure.

This has led me to thinking a lot about two specific events when I was young. One where I used my voice and one where I didn’t. I have told the stories of these events occasionally over the years, but always as very factual events. No feelings attached.

I am working on the feelings part now. Processing a lot. Grieving a lot. And taking some action.

The first thing happened when I was about 6. I was waking ahead of my family to the car coming out of the local YMCA. It was dusk. It was cold with an impending winter chill in the air.

A car drove up the wrong way against the one-way side street. A man got out. He walked toward me, acknowledging how cold it was outside. He told me to get in the car with him to warm up.

I knew it was wrong. I trusted my gut. I turned and ran in the direction where I knew my mom was. I don’t remember if I yelled or not. And I don’t remember anything else except that the man and the car were gone right after that. And I spent a long time looking at albums of mug shot photos at my kitchen table with a police officer that night. I also remember not being able to identify the man in any of the pictures.

The second thing happened when I was 17. I was at a lake and cabin with some friends. A friend and I went to change in a bedroom. And while we were changing, I noticed a large hole in the far wall and could see a long-distance relative watching us. A relative I didn’t know was even on the property at the time.

I did not say anything. I did not do anything. That whole fight, flight, freeze response? Yeah. I froze. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t told my parents where I was. Perhaps it was because I minimized it in my mind. Perhaps because I didn’t fully comprehend how violating it really was.

I shoved it down. Just explained it as having a creepy relative. I did not use my voice. I was not able to. It didn’t feel safe. I could not imagine speaking against a family member even though I knew my parents would believe me. It didn’t feel like viable option then.

But it’s different now. I know how wrong it was. I recognize how hurt I was by it. How my friend was hurt by it. And, chances are, this same person has done it before and others have been hurt by it, knowingly or unknowingly.

So last week, I let the local law enforcement agencies in the area where it happened know about it. I told them what happened and who was involved. I know nothing will come of my situation because of a little thing called a statute of limitations, but I was able to use my voice and perhaps provide information that could be helpful for other people in similar situations more recently or in the future.

Even though these both happened so long ago, their impact remains. Despite the wide passage of time, I can use my voice now to tell my story. To encourage and support others in using their voices when and if they are able.

We all have things that have happened to us. We all respond in different ways. And all those ways are okay. And if you want to tell your story if and when you are ready, I am here for it.