10/16/2017
From DISCLOSE member, Jadelynn Stahl re :
I have noticed it in a shudder. In a fidget. In a scratch.
I have recognized it in a side glance, in a raise of an eyebrow.
I have understood it in a breath, in a sigh, in a scream in a laugh.
I have felt it in a tremble. In the electric vibration of a shaking shoulder, a rippling sob.
I have smelled it in the sweat that drips fear from our skin. I have tasted it in the tears of a lover as we proclaim to one another that we are real, that we are valid, that we exist.
I have witnessed it knowing no gender, no race, no class, no ability, no age, no s*xual orientation. I have known it to wear no particular skin, to claim no particular identity, to do no particular kind of work, to engage in no particular kind of s*x.
I have known it to have no standard of perfection, to shape itself into no box, no statistic, no qualifying speech from a person in power. It refuses to conform to one-hundred-twenty characters or less.
I am acutely aware of how fickle it can be to name - for whom disclosure is allowed, just who can wear that mantle with its liberatory grace upon their shoulders, who is deemed worthy and who is not. I am aware of who defines this worthiness.
My feed is full of . I am moved in the way that I am moved every time I witness a person who experienced s*xual violence speak. Our visibility is powerful beyond words. Our bodies once broken, still broken, drip revolution.
I am called to honor so many others in this moment as well - those who cannot or should not or can't yet or don't know. Those who aren't sure or maybe not or mine-wasn't-as-bad-as-theirs. Those righteously mitigating dangers, calculating their next move, spinning in the web of survival strategies. Those for whom the risk is too great. Those for whom the person that caused them harm doesn't fit the accepted narrative of "perpetrator". Those whose safety still depends on loving the person that harmed them.
We witness and honor you. We witness and honor you in all of the ways that your bodies speak, even when your words cannot.
My identity as a human is inextricably linked to my histories as a person who experienced childhood s*xual assault, intimate partner violence, attempted s*xual assault as an adult, s*xual harassment and coercion. It is linked to the violence experienced by members of my family, my communities, the intergenerational traumas of my ancestors that I carry upon my back. This identity is complex.
Sometimes I feel like a survivor. Sometimes I feel like a victim. Sometimes I feel like a warrior goddess. Sometimes I feel terrified and caged. There are days that I feel broken and days that I feel mosaic. I never feel 'healed'. I am not sure what this word means, as it exists in the world, or if I can trust it.
I know that this movement is built upon our blood, our tears and our sweat. I know that we are the architects of our own transcendence, the creators of another world in which many are possible - a world in which s*xual violence is abolished and destroyed.
You, all of you, will always have a seat at that table - those who are called to speak and those that cannot. Those whose words are understood, believed and accepted and those whose are rejected, scorned and belittled. Those whose experienced are affirmed by the dialogues that currently exist around s*xual violence, and those who are still desperately hoping to be heard.
There is no one way to say 'me too'.
If you long to build with us, please reach out to me. Our movement carries no price for admission. If you need to speak, please know I will listen, compa. And I will believe.