What I wish people understood about women who've been sexually assaulted

I haven't updated since October?! My bad!

As a support worker for survivors of sexual violence, a feminist academic and a friend to many womyn (and therefore, survivors!), I find myself having the same conversations over and over.

[TRIGGER WARNING for discussions of sexual assault... obviously.]

So here it is.

I wish people understood that women who've been sexually assaulted:

1- Are not fabergé eggs: Womyn who've been sexually assaulted are not inherently fragile and ready to break(down) at any minute. Of course, the time when they start to heal is not an ideal time and they're probably not feeling their best. But if at least 1 in 4 womyn will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime and humankind has existed for centuries and centuries, clearly womyn have found ways to cope and continue living their lives.

It's problematic at best and sexist at its worse to assume that womyn who've been sexually assaulted are forever 'broken' and should therefore be treated like children.

2- Are not going to react in the ways you expect or hope: The amount of people who've told me that their disclosure of sexual assault was dismissed because they didn't 'act like someone who has just been assaulted' is downright depressing. When someone is assaulted, they might pull a CSI victim and break down in tears, they might bury it deep and deny it, they might speak about it non-stop, they might never speak of it again. They might abstain from all sexual activity, they might sleep with anything that moves, they might quit their job or go back to work the next day. They might drink/smoke it away, they might become macrobiotic vegans.

It is absolutely absurd that we throw out all logic about the uniqueness of people when it comes to sexual assault responses.

3- Owe you absolutely nothing: Just because I've told you about my experience of trauma, that doesn't mean that I now owe you every detail of my assault(s), every detail of my therapy session, etc. To pry for more information is both inappropriate and fucking creepy.

4- Want their power back: Sexual assault is not about sex; it's about power. To assume that men sexually assault because they can't control their sexual urges it not only illogical but also offensive to men.

And so when someone is sexually assaulted, they are dealing with the fact that their power, bodily integrity and agency have been violated. And so telling them what they need to do and insisting you know what's best is not only annoying but also contributing to their disempowerment. If I've learned anything in my years as a support worker, it's that the vast majority of womyn who've been sexually assaulted and who seek out help are looking for validation, resources and the space to vent. They know what's best for them and the course of action they should take, they just want you to validate their choices and provide them with any necessary resource information.

5- Don't need your judgment: They don't need you to question why they accepted a ride with that guy, why they dressed that way, why they drank so much, why they went back to him, why they didn't report, why they did report, why they waited weeks to tell you, why they didn't self-defense classes, why they didn't leave the party, why they invited him inside their apartment, etc.

Womyn who've been sexually assaulted don't need your judgment: Society is doing that part just fine, thanks.

Feminist Blogosphere

Read this if you still fail to understand the power of feminist blogging.

Oh and, this if you're one of those assholes who believes the brouhaha about 'slutty' Halloween costumes.

My Activism: Part II 'Finding Myself'

I wrote this piece months and months ago but it's funny to me, in light of a new Jezebel article asking 'Why Would Anyone Become a Nun?'

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My journey to becoming an activist all started with my desire to become a nun.

Let me explain.

Growing up, I went to Catholic school. In my house, we were definitely of the C&E Catholic variety. For the uninitiated, this is the type of Catholic family that will write down “Catholic” on their census but really only attend mass for Christmas and Easters. Oh and weddings and funerals, of course. (Catholics love the concept of ‘forever’).

My Catholic upbringing was rather non-existent except for some bizarro inclusions like the whole “No sex before you get married” thing which was mostly my mother’s quiet way of saying “Please don’t get knocked up and ruin your chances at a life”.

Because you see, my folks were also hella progressive in so many ways. I got the “It’s okay to be gay” talk at like… 4. And I routinely was told that I was smart first and pretty second and that I never, EVER needed a man to be happy.

I include all this because I really want to emphasize that Bible-thumping-Jesus-Praising just wasn’t a part of my reality. And yet, I really loved nuns.

See, I didn’t love Catholicism as a whole. I found the actual class boring as fuck. All the memorizing of prayers and scripture just seemed hella pointless. The occasional time that I was dragged into Sunday school, I hated the patronizing tone of the clearly-unhappy-at-home Sunday School Teachers.

The only things I loved about being Catholic was the stories and the rituals. I LOVED some of those stories. (Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t call them ‘stories’ since they are really just passages of the Bible but I can’t help but treat the Bible like Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes so yeah, they’re stories to me).

Obviously as a budding feminist, I loved the way Jesus was all down with Mary Magdalene’s sinful ways and I remember thinking “GET OFF YOUR KNEES WOMYN AND SAVE YOUR DIGNITY” when she went to wash the guy’s feet. I knew she was better than that.

I also loved this one story about a guy named Zack or something? He heard that Jesus was coming into town and he was so in awe of the guy, that he didn’t feel worthy of being in his presence. So for the fancy procession into town, little Zack went and climbed up a tree and just admired from a far. When the big JC rode into town on his ass, er, I mean donkey, he saw Zack and was all “Hey dude, come and walk with me. You’re obviously cool enough to join my posse”. (I’m paraphrasing).

I thought it was cool that Jesus was down with anyone and everyone. That he forgave folks, chilled with the disabled and homeless. He did to leprosy what Princess Diana did for HIV/AIDS.

Real talk.

And anyone who knows me at all, knows that I’m a fan of ritual. Or as my mother would say – TRADITION! (Only you have to say it in a loud booming voice while raising your hands, à la Fiddler on the Roof).

I refuse to let my parents buy a fake Christmas tree because it’s TRADITION! Tradition dictates that we go to my uncle’s, get a real tree and decorate it as a group. Then either my brother or I (we alternate years) put up the really hideous tacky star, the same star that my dad has wanted to change for years but I refused to let him because it was TRADITION!

Even as a lefty progressive person, I really value tradition and in particular, refuse to do something that is ‘traditional’ unless I know what the meaning of the tradition is. Since tradition is important to me, if I’m going to be passing it on, I wanna know what it is I’m replicating.

ANYWAY…

My love of nuns stems from this. Nuns are not only ALL ABOUT traditions but they are also hella devoted. And if there’s anything I love more than stories and rituals, is devotion. And so from afar, I would admire me some nuns. I never got to see them in real life until high school (more on that later) but the very existence of nuns intrigued me.

For one, they were the only ‘womyn’ I ever really associated with the Church. They also wore really interesting outfits and had wedding bands because they were MARRIED to God. If that’s not hardcore, what is? They also lived in some secretive convent where I first imagined giggling girl talk and later, some serious queer action.

The coolest part about nuns though is that they had been ‘called’. THIS is what I was all about. Womyn who had been handpicked by the big G-O-D to do his work. At the time, I didn’t see it as an oppressive relationship but more of a “God thinks you’re hella special? Then you’re special to me”.

As a youngster, I felt a ‘calling’. I wasn’t really sure what the calling was to do but I felt a strong feeling that I was meant to do something. Since I had no role models of other people who had a strong calling for their work, I figured this is it, I’m meant to be a nun.

Unfortunately, when I started high school where I was taught by REAL. LIVE. NUNS I realized that they actually sucked. Unlike “Sister Act”, they weren’t badass dancers in a penguin suit. They were actually homophobic, self-hating, hypocritical and BORING.

So then I thought “Fuck… now what?” If I feel a strong calling to do something and to work with people but I hate Christianity, don’t identify with nuns and quite frankly, don’t want to spend my life as a celibate, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Thankfully for me, my parents wanted me to have what they didn’t and paid for me to move to Ottawa and get a post-secondary education. There I met tons and tons of people whose vocation was basically doing all the truly benevolent things that I wanted to do, without the colonialism and Jesus-lovin’.

My relationship with nuns has simply become this ironic fetish that involves nun action figures and Gothic Christian imagery. Got a picture of a holy virgin with some nice flashing lights and a crown of thorns? SIGN ME UP. But as for that whole “Life of celibacy and rubbing one out to pictures of a light-skinned Jesus?” No fucking way.

My Activism: Part I 'Being Whole'

Lately, I've been doing lots of internal dialoguing and other fancy smancy shit that privileged activists like myself have time to do.

Here is part I that I wrote a little while ago:

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Anyone who knows me well knows that I am an intense person, yes, but I laugh at funerals, use sarcasm when I probably shouldn't and really do believe in a silver lining.

If you know me well you also know that there is no room in my life for religion or even much of spirituality, either. I call myself agnostic, but really I'm apathetic and really over all discussions of the sort. It just doesn't interest me in the slightest.

I say all this because the following might seem incredibly out of character but it's something I've been thinking a lot about lately.

I am deeply concerned about activism in my community lately and rather than complain about it, I want to make a call for a better environment and see who is interested.

I've been doing activism in an official capacity for about 8 years. Like most people, I've done things that would constitute activism for much of my life, but it's only been since I've lived in Ottawa that I've made a concerted effort to do activism and to identify it as such. The overwhelming majority of my work has centered around womyn's lives and in particular, violence against womyn, access to abortion and equity in education.

I've previously written at length about my feminism and how I came to do the work that I do now, so I won't get into that.

My issue is that the environment in which I do my activism has become ugly and I have really struggled with how to deal with it.

I know that I am a product of my environment but I am also part of my environment.

As activists, we are not car mechanics or meteorologists whose work is limited by the tools and physical structures available to us. We are the tools and structures. The only limits are our imagination.

So it is frustrating to see how people buy into the idea that we are tangible, objective entities rather than the subjects of our own doing. The rules that govern what we do or how we think are subjective and arbitrary.

There is absolutely no reason why we must treat each other the way we do.

Everyone I've ever known to have left the activist community, the feminist movement, social work, etc. did so because of the environment and their colleagues and not because of the actual work. Let me repeat this.

People whose jobs it is to listen to horrific stories, to support people who feel hopeless and to advocate for a better world in a political environment that is pessimistic and discouraging, end up leaving the work not because of their clients or because of their 'enemy' but because of their so-called allies.

This is often treated as fact; an inevitability.

By setting ourselves up in this way, we are doomed to fail again and again. And every time we do, the enemy wins. And I'm not okay with that.

There is no reason why we must treat each other this way.

I came into this world 'whole' and I intend to leave it the same way.

My mother is Native and an incredibly spiritual person. I deeply admire her for this. (The spirituality part, not the Native part. 'Cause no offense, ma but you had no say in the other part!)

She believes that when someone is deeply hurt in their life, either as a child or an adult, they lose a part of their soul, a part of their 'being' and then spend the rest of their life looking for it.

I believe this.

I believe that most of the issues within activist communities stem from people who've experienced (or who currently experience) deep, deep pain. Whether that pain was because of the work they're doing, or is part of the reason they started this work in the first place, they carry that pain with them. Because we've set activist communities up as 'warrior spaces' where nobody gives up, everybody does 110% and nobody admits defeat, people bury that pain. They bury that pain and bury that pain until they can't anymore but when they lash out, it is to the nearest person; regardless of whether or not that person has caused them any pain.

As people who've spent years and years listening to horror stories of violence against womyn, we do not lash out at rapists, anti-choicers, politicians, or judges. We do not lash out at racist education systems, sexist media or ableist institutions.

We lash out at our comrades.

And this needs to stop.

I am not the least bit delusional about the fact that many activists are damaging to us. Many people who claim to be activists, myself included, have done things (or do things) that are racist, homophobic, ableist, etc. We all need to challenge each other in ways that are productive and about improving the situations and not simply about lashing out.

We need to remember that the enemy is not in the room.

I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that anyone who dedicates their life to ending violence, fighting for equitable education, fighting for access to clean water, etc. is an ally and someone who should be worked with, not against.

And so as things get uglier and uglier (and then better and then ugly again, as it goes), I question why I'm here, why I do what I do and whether it's worth it.

I believe it is.

I do not believe that the revolution will cease without me or that it will fall apart. I believe that there will always be good people in this world who want to fight for a better one and who will step up and replace us all if/when we leave.

But this work is in my blood, it is a fabric of my being and I want to find a way to continue.

So this is what I'm proposing:

I want to build a movement based on the premise that anyone who joins does so in good conscience.

I want to build a movement that is a safe space for everyone, including those who have much to learn.

I want to build a movement that refuses all buzzwords, all lip service and all cliches. No more alienating people with academic language, no more preaching self-care but refusing to partake in it or demonizing those who do.

I want to build a movement that recognizes that just as survivors of violence and womyn who've had abortions deal with their lives in ways that are unique to them, so do activists. There is no 'one way' of doing activism. If you sign every petition and letter that comes across your inbox, hooray! If you march at every protest and raise your fist high, good on you! If you stuff envelopes and write letters behind the scenes, thank you! If you call out your co-workers at the water cooler and take on your racist grandpa at Christmas, you rock!

I want to build a movement that understands that sometimes, your organization is a business unlike any other. You just happen to be in the business of kicking ass and taking names. But you still need to spend time making sure you've crossed your Ts and dotted your Is. You need to be accountable to your stakeholders, you need to respect different forms of leadership and you need to know your role. A movement that understands that sometimes, you just gotta get the work done and not bog it down with checking up on every one's feelings and pussy footing around things that are 'touchy'.

I want to build a movement that is optimistic, realistic and practical.

I want to build a movement that truly recognizes that womyn are equal, that we are strong and that we need not break down into tears to be heard. We are valuable because we exist and that is enough.

I want to build a movement that rejects martyrdom, embraces creativity and remembers ALL of Andrea Smith's work (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_Smith_%28academic%29). In particular, the parts where she calls out activists for creating a movement that is depressing, reactive and not focused on being proactive and engaged.

I want to build a movement that allows people to enter 'whole' and to exit with all their pieces intact.

You with me?

Why I SlutWalk(ed)

Alright so I'm a terribly absentee blogger, but the election results kept me depressed for a while.

But all the media kerfuffle and critiques of SlutWalk have got me galvanized to write again. Now, I'm not going to link to any of these critiques because they are just way too many and many are shit and I don't want to increase their page views. But just Google "SlutWalk" and you'll get more responses than you'll ever have time to read.

This blog post assumes that you know what SlutWalk is and what prompted it. If you don't know, Google that shit then come back and join me. It's been said all over the world over and over again, so I won't bother to repeat it.

So Ottawa had its own SlutWalk and you better believe I was there. In fact, in the interest of full disclosure, I was asked to speak at it, too. But that's where it ends, for the record. I've never organized a SlutWalk, have no part in organizing future ones and quite frankly, spent 5 minutes at the Ottawa one talking about systemic violence against womyn.

I must admit that I was initially a little apprehensive about the whole thing. I'd heard about it in its planning stages and felt that it might have been a well-intentioned but misguided attempt to highlight an issue.

But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.

It seems that people want to talk about sluts, sluttyness, slut-shaming, slut-positivity and all things slutty. People love sluts, other people love to hate sluts and some people hate that they love sluts.

And that's the fucking point.

See, the organizers knew that if they organized another "Take Back the Night" or "Anti-Sexual Assault" or even a "Stop Victim Blaming" march, you'd get the same little handful of diehards, maybe a blip or two in the media but not much else. The unfortunate reality is that the average person and media outlet doesn't give a flying fuck about violence against womyn and sexual assault. Because only sluts get raped, and womyn falsely accuse men all the time and feminists are whiny and don't know how good they have it and on, and on and on.

A name like SlutWalk catches people's attention, provokes a reaction and is just downright impossible to ignore. The sight of stiff journalists on the nightly news saying "And now, let's go to Marcie who is over at SlutWalk" can't help but solicit raised eyebrows.

And once again, that's the fucking point.

Whether you want to reclaim the word 'slut' or not, you can't help but perk up your ears when you hear the word being used in mainstream, every day conversation by your average folk. And the organizers knew that. They knew that the only way to ensure this cop's comments didn't go unnoticed was to shock people into reacting.

They hoped maybe a couple hundred people would show up, they'd find some solidarity and be able to sleep better at time. Instead, thousands of people showed up, an international media machine was started and there are Satellite SlutWalks around the world. Not bad for a handful of novice organizers in Toronto.

But what about this reclaiming business?

That part is tricky and complicated.

Many womyn of colour have commented that it's not easy for them to do, considering how slut-shaming and labeling is so tied into racism, colonialism, etc. Makes sense.

Others (including myself) think it's also classist and rather 'in-crowd' to assume that everyone can safely embrace the label. Tell that to poor, 16 year old rural girls who are just trying to survive gym class.

But that's okay. See, SlutWalk isn't really about everyone embracing the label Slut because like most things in life, if everyone is one, then nobody is.

But you can embrace the name on a political level while still recognizing how problematic it is at the individual level.

Example: We can embrace Ottawa's annual "Dyke March" while recognizing that a 16 year old high school girl has no desire to embrace the 'dyke' label that is thrown on her daily.

Ideally, everyone who identifies as 'dyke' could choose to do so and others who don't could escape the labeling. But we're not there yet, although we're working towards it.

SlutWalk is not an end, but a means to an end. It's a way to rip open the universal covers on sexual assault and to expose the deeply entrenched stereotypes that enable it to continue at epidemic levels. It's meant to prompt discussion, to test your knee-jerk reaction.

You don't want to call yourself a slut? - Why?
You don't think it can be reclaimed? - Why?

Regardless of what your answer is, it got you thinking and that's the point.

As someone who has been doing anti-sexual violence work in Ottawa for close to 8 years, I've been to every conference, march, demonstration, letter-writing campaign kick-off, red tape cutting, award ceremony, you can imagine. I've been there, I've spoken at them, I've shaked my head at them and I've marched in them. And none of them had the turn-out that SlutWalk did.

Ottawa is an extremely conservative city with a small, (too) tight-knit feminist community and here I was, standing amongst a thousand other people, many of which I had never seen before. The crowd was diverse in age, background, gender identity, ethnicity, etc. And despite what you might have read or seen about the celebratory nature of SlutWalk, it was a rather sombre event. People were angry, not laughing. As they should be - sexual assault isn't funny.

So you've got a conservative community out on a Sunday afternoon, talking about womyn's sexuality and sexual assault in a constructive and meaningful way. Regardless of how you feel about reclaiming language, you have to be impressed by the power it had that day in Ottawa.

(Say it with me) and that's the fucking point.

I have no desire to call myself a slut. None. My reasons for this are many but include the fact that I don't want to define myself by my association with other people (ie: how many people I sleep with, who I sleep with, etc). It's also difficult to call yourself something when a definition doesn't exist. We know that a slut has something to do with sexuality but ask ten people and you'll get ten different answers.

I was called a slut for holding a pro-choice sign at an anti-choice rally.

I was called a slut for attending a new school in grade 10 with no friends or history in that city. A rumour was started that I was chased out of another town for having slept with someone's boyfriend. The truth? I was a virgin who'd had to move for her dad's new job.

Hell, I was called a slut for defending SlutWalk. (The irony.. it hurts...)

But even though I do not long for the label doesn't mean I fail to see its importance. As Jaclyn Friedman so amazingly said, we must all stand under the banner of 'Slut' and recognize that when it is used against one womyn, it is used against all womyn. Because we can all be called a slut by someone at some point and in many cases, the sting of that word not only offends us, but decides whether or not our rape is convicted properly, whether we get access to housing, a job, a promotion, a reference, or even someone's Facebook friend request.

So even if you don't want to call yourself a slut, learn to respect those who do.

And finally, to Gail Dines and every other 'prominent' feminist out there who is using the media as the soapbox from which to criticize SlutWalk, shame on you. I'm particularly upset by Gail because she has some truly excellent things to say and has contributed quite a lot, but her methods for critiquing SlutWalk are downright patronizing. Ironically, she's accusing SlutWalk organizers of shifting the attention away from victim-blaming and yet she's the one doing just that on every major media outlet.

The media longs to create tension and division between womyn and thankfully for them, Gail Dines is ready to do just that. *sigh* Get a clue, lady.

I'm a feminist, but...

This is a manifesto of sorts that I wrote a few months ago but I'm posting it here now because I seem to be having this conversation a lot lately.

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I’m a feminist. (duh...)

But when I say ‘feminism’, I’m not talking about theorists or jargon (I’ll get back to those in a second…)

See, I never came to feminism through academia, readings or even activism. Although I only began to identify as such after being in University, feminism was part of how I was raised.

My family is made up of tough, working class people. I don’t remember hearing much about ‘feminism’ growing up but all the tenets were there.

As a womyn, I was told that I had to work twice as hard to make it anywhere because people were going to try and take me down. I was told that I never needed a man to be happy or complete and that I was always intelligent first and pretty second. I was told that people are going to tell you that being gay or being a boy who identifies as a girl is BAD, but that it’s not. People should be free to love whoever they want. I was also scolded harshly for being racist and learned through my Oma that people with disabilities are as competent as anyone else in the world. I was told that money doesn’t equal happiness or intelligence and that formal education was a ticket to a better life – that it’s a privilege.

I was taught that nobody gets anywhere in life without hard work but that everyone is doing the very best they can.

And I’m doing the best I can.

For me, that means attacking an issue through different methods. I don’t really identify as a radical and I’m okay with that. As I stated here around the G8/G20 stuff, my politics are about accessibility.

My first introduction to ‘volunteering’ or ‘activism’ was in my early 20s, when I realized that my life was centered around ME: I worked, went to school and hung out with my friends. I had copious amounts of privilege but wasn’t giving back.

Not being connected to any kind of community, I became a Big Sister. And I loved it. I loved (And still do!) the two amazing girls I worked with and saw the brilliance and power of girls.

But then I started working with more and more groups and as exciting, energizing and exhausting as it all is, I've realized what I am not.

I am not an anarchist. I don’t think that makes me delusional or ignorant.

I don’t believe in elitist feminism. So yes, that means I don’t identify with academic feminism. But it also means I don’t identify with many activist circles.

I don’t think the world is going to be a better place by dropping Judith Butler bombs or by claiming “I’m oppressed”, “No, I’M oppressed” or differing to theory rather than having anything concrete to say.

I am a feminist that lives in the real world.

I do not interact only with other feminists every day. I live in a world where the vast majority of people have no fucking clue what ‘marginalization’ means, but they can tell you what it feels like. They think ‘rape culture’ is a scary generalization and would never claim to live in one. Until, of course, you explain it to them and then womyn slowly start raising their hands.

My feminism means that accessibility isn’t just building a ramp and oppressive languages isn’t just saying “That’s so gay”.

I live in a world where the vast majority of people who assault are men and the vast majority of the people I see in that world are men.

I cannot isolate myself from men nor can I allow myself to be co-opted by them.

My feminism includes men. No. Scratch that. My feminism must include men.

The role of men in feminism is situational and must always come from the direction of womyn.

You are not my ally if you challenge the sentence “Womyn are sexually assaulted” with “Men are raped, too!”

My feminism is trans-inclusive. I do not feel threatened by your definition of gender and how you self-identify.

I also firmly believe in the need for womyn-identified-womyn ONLY spaces. I think anyone who disagrees fails to understand the systemic nature of sexism and has yet to observe the dynamics of 12 year old girls.

I do not believe in collectives as a structure or a political strategy. I have come to this conclusion through personal experience and chats with those who’ve been there – including the beloved ‘Jane Doe’.

My feminism respects the herstory of the movement and the history of humanity as a whole. I firmly believe that if we don’t learn from history, it will simply repeat itself. This means recognizing colonialism, systemic discrimination against categories of ‘disabled’, and the sacrifices of those who go to war.

I recognize November 11th as an important day to pause and reflect on the sacrifices of those who died on muddy beaches for my right to demonstrate.


I do not throw the baby out with the bathwater. I recognize that Agnes Macphail, Katharine Mackinnon and Peter Singer are important AND terrible.

My feminism believes that sex is marvelous, dangerous and political all the time.

My feminism is not dogmatic. It strives on diversity and therefore inherently recognizes the right of bell hooks, Andrea Dworkin, Sarah Palin and Ginger Spice to call themselves feminist. Even if it makes me uncomfortable.

Oh yeah and my feminism spells women with a ‘y’ not because it hates men or even thinks that the spelling of a word will revolutionize the world. It’s spelled with a ‘y’ because it pisses you off. And your anger speaks volumes.


*My feminism also reserves the right to change any and all of this without notice. All sales are final.