Today, I read a thread of tweets by @DarkCityJane explaining violence against women. It was, for me, this thing of seeing everything I have ever wanted to say in one place. Brilliant. 

I asked her if I could use it as a resource, she consented and here we are. If you’d like to see her brilliance on her TL, you can find that here – and this is the thread about Violence Against Women. 

So below, I present to you this most crucial thing – a VAW primer. Extensive, comprehensive, exhaustive, and very very important. 

I thank @DarkCityJane so much for her generosity of spirit in allowing me to share this with you. We know about violence against women. The Aunties are all about making better the lives of women who have lived in violence. But it’s not just about that. And there’s more we can do. 

 

I want to clarify that VAW, while certainly including physical violence, is not limited to just physical violence. Violence against women is a plague that threatens us everywhere. It affects every woman I have ever known or spoken to.

VAW is not a literal term that describes just hitting women. It’s about causing them harm. That’s a big difference. Harm comes in many ways. Violence against women is a problem. Full stop. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other problems, it means violence against women is a problem.

Women make up half the population. It’s absolutely reasonable to take time to discuss issues that affect us directly in such a profound way. Women are people who identify as women. Some of us have a harder time than others. It’s not only okay, but important to acknowledge that. Women are not commodities to be enjoyed by people. We are actually whole, complete people who can make our own decisions & enjoy ourselves.

VAW is a blanket term, but it does not specify any particular action or series of actions. There are many types of VAW. VAW is an important, dangerous, traumatizing thing that causes more damage than you can imagine. We need to take it seriously. Women everywhere are regularly harassed, threatened, abused, stalked, raped, and killed, just for existing. Their stories are countless.

VAW includes emotional and mental abuse that is inflicted on women. VAW includes harassment and verbal abuse. Online harassment and abuse are also VAW. Creating multiple accounts on social media for the specific purpose of harassing or threatening women is VAW.

Verbal abuse includes comments meant to cause mental or emotional distress. Threatening to rape someone is verbal abuse. Threatening to kill someone is verbal abuse. VAW includes harmful rhetoric that leads to the oppression of women and violence against them. VAW includes sexual harassment and victim blaming. VAW includes institutionalized sexism that is harmful to women.

VAW includes rape. Rape includes violent force, coercion, guilt, or continuing after previous consent has been rescinded.

VAW includes treating trans women as anything but women.

VAW includes racism against WoC.

VAW includes using a disabled woman’s disability to control her in any way, whether it be her feelings, actions, or anything else.

VAW includes gaslighting. Attempting to or successfully making a woman believe she has a mental illness or deficiency is an evil act. Women have historically been called mentally ill for saying & doing things that men don’t like. This is still happening & it needs to stop.

Women are frequently told we’re unreasonable for being afraid of or angry about VAW. Let me correct you. We are being completely reasonable. There is nothing more reasonable than reacting with fear & anger toward something that can only be reasonably perceived as war against us.

VAW includes emotional manipulation. Using our empathy or fear to force us into situations that we don’t want to be in is unreasonable and cruel. VAW includes telling women how they are expected to feel, think, or behave, then punishing them cruelly if they disagree or don’t comply.

VAW includes any action, reaction, or statement that is meant to cause fear or pain.

Claiming we aren’t allowed to fix VAW because “Women elsewhere have it worse” is complete bullshit. It’s an unacceptable silencing tactic. Problems in other places do not erase problems here. Other people’s experiences do not invalidate anyone else’s experiences.

VAW includes asking invasive, unwelcome, unreasonable, & unnecessary questions so as to invalidate women’s claims or cause them distress.

VAW includes forcing women into situations where they are uncomfortable or afraid in any way.

VAW includes unwanted physical contact, be it sexual or otherwise.

Overt abuse is not the only thing people can do to promote VAW. It’s often much more subtle. Casual sexism and misogyny both promote and perpetuate rape culture and the systematic oppression of women. Casual sexism and misogyny include, but are not limited to: Jokes & comments. Regular treatment of family, friends, coworkers, etc.

Women are taught to expect and even crave/enjoy/appreciate VAW from a very early age. It’s heartbreaking and incredibly disturbing. Little girls on playgrounds are told that when a little boy throws rocks at or kicks her, it means he likes her. When girls and young women are catcalled and harassed by men, they are told those men like them and just want attention. When women are abused by their partners, they’re told that he’s just jealous and is doing it because he loves her so much.

VAW isn’t normal, it isn’t acceptable, it isn’t a show of affection, &it isn’t out of our control. We can control ourselves & be respectful. VAW is often used to “keep women in line”, but we are not your pets who need training. We are people. Women are not required to adhere to any specific ideals in order to deserve respect, civility, and safety. VAW affects all types of women. Despite what some people think, equality doesn’t have anything to do with violence. You may not hit a woman who wants equality.

 

If you’ve never caused or helped to cause VAW, that’s great! If you’re a woman who’s never had to deal with or experience VAW, that’s fantastic! But neither of those things negate the very real issue of VAW. Your experiences to not change or negate the reality of others. Lack of awareness contributes to VAW being an issue. We all have a lot to learn. Please take initiative for the sake of all women.

Ignoring VAW does not make it less frequent. On the contrary, it allows it to continue unchallenged. It makes it easier. Spreading awareness of VAW is not automatically placing all the blame for it on men. If you are a man and you think blame for VAW is being put on you, take a step back and ask yourself why this feels personal to you. If people speaking about VAW makes you uncomfortable or angry, I think you should examine your motives and behaviour. A woman on Twitter talking about how we shouldn’t oppress and harm women shouldn’t be a controversial thing. Please don’t make it one. To effectively end VAW, societal behaviour changes are necessary. We need to stop making excuses for VAW. We need to stop victim blaming. Ending VAW will change power structures. Men need to learn how to share. Don’t like it? Too bad. Sharing is caring.

If you don’t participate in VAW and you aren’t a woman, this is still about you. VAW affects just about everyone. Not actively participating in VAW isn’t good enough. You need to stop it when you see it. It is always a big deal. We all need to examine our motives & behaviour. We need to critically think about what we’ve been taught & how we treat women. Each of us needs to do everything in our power to end VAW. We need to admit when we’re wrong, apologize, and learn. We need to unlearn everything we were taught that justifies or encourages VAW. We need to help each other do that. We need to stop VAW when we see it, whether it’s online or in person. We need to understand this can’t continue. We need to talk about it. VAW is an incredibly complex issue that appears in different ways across most races, cultures, societies. It’s our job to fix it. All of us.

If VAW wasn’t such a large and widespread problem, we wouldn’t need to talk about it all the time. So here’s an idea: If talking about violence against women makes you feel uncomfortable, then help fix the problem so we don’t need to talk about it anymore.

The short and long term effects of VAW range anywhere from frustration and fear to PTSD, suicide, homicide, and more. People affected by VAW aren’t just the women who are targets. It can affect their family, friends, and work relationships as well. There are women in your life who have been affected by VAW. Ask them openly what it’s like, if they’re willing to discuss it. You may be surprised to find out how much stress, fear, and anger is a regular part of many women’s lives.

From time to time, a person will send me an email and say: I have a story to tell you. Or they will DM me, and say they have a story. I offer to share it, anonymously.

One such person said something a short time ago. I DMed them, and asked them if they would like to write something. They had tried, and it had almost destroyed them. Take your time, I said. It’s okay. And if you can’t do it, you just can’t.

And then, there it was. Their story of abuse. What they want to share. People abuse people all the time. Most of those abusers are men. Some of them are women. And I want you to hear the voices and perspectives of a number of different people, so that you know. This is what it looks like. It is ugly, it is triggering, it is heartbreaking. And we need to know. We need to face it.

This person’s account gives no hint at their gender or ethnicity. It’s just about the violence in their lives.

 

 

 

“I was broken from the very beginning. Badly broken. The drugs used to treat grand mal epilepsy were a blunt instrument in the era of a Generation Jones baby. They likely still are, but I haven’t been back there since being weaned off them as a teenager.

My childhood was spent dreaming on fluffy clouds of vagueness, interspersed with moments of extreme lucidity, I was an inconseqential, chemically-induced airhead. And there were the nightmares. It was not really that comforting to know that the nightmares were only a side effect of the drugs as I ran screaming from the demons that flew out of nowhere and wrapped their rubbery tentacles around my mind. But I found comfort in the quiet place deep in my mind where the angel visited. She was a rather rebellious angel and told me stories about her world and how the demons were a problem even for angels and she showed me how to find that quiet place where the demons wouldn’t go. The drugs tore a gaping wound in my psyche. It hasn’t healed, I just keep it locked safely out of harm’s way now.   Mostly.

No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t hide the wound from the bullies. Like a shark following the distressed vibrations of a wounded fish, the bullies and narcissists could sense the wound. They were relentless once they caught the scent of blood, caught sight of the tears streaming down my cheeks, and retreating to a corner to curl up into a ball only drove them to a frenzy, the taunts redoubling, interspersed by lazy kicks and punches, carefully designed to express disdain through the lack of any real force. The physical bruises were minor, the psychological bruises remain. Perhaps inevitably, my life became filled with people just like me, the oddities, the freaks, the maimed and damaged, the ones who didn’t fit with the strictures of society, with the endless rules of the obsessed and possessed, and those outsiders looked on uncomprehendingly at us as we lived our lives, lives they could never understand because we were the insiders, and the light in our eyes was our membership card and we rampaged through life, we lived joyously and died tragically because we had nothing to lose, we had already been banished, so we gave freely, whatever we had, and we gave love unconditionally, because there was always more to give, the supply was infinite.     

Then I fell blindly, hopelessly, in love with you and my headlong fall into the abyss began. At first it was only the small things that you asked me to change and they were of no consequence to me because changing them made you happy, or so I believed.   But then the changes weren’t adequate, I could do better, I could improve myself more if I really loved you. So I tried, but no matter how hard I tried, it was never quite right, never quite what was really needed and it was my fault because I didn’t love you enough.   And the small failures grew. And they became grievous and unforgiveable failures and I worried myself sick into long sleepless nights. You would pack your bags and leave, but always return and I would apologise to you and debase myself to you and the pain didn’t matter because I knew all I had to do was love you even more, in my poor, broken way and you would finally understand just how much I loved you.    

When your extended family began treating me with disdain and their pointed remarks and vicious sidelong glances, caught before the mask snapped into place, become overpowering, I became adept at excuses for not being around them. The few times I broke down and tried to explain to my extended family what was becoming of me, they listened politely, then, shaking their heads, wished me well and returned to their lives because, you know, I was always the drama queen and it couldn’t possibly be as bad as I was painting it.       And my friends faded into the distance, unable to understand who I was becoming. But it was alright because I had my own family, my babies and I loved them and that was all anyone ever needed.

I’m still aghast at that day I called the Police. You had your hands around my child’s throat. He was 13 and he was stronger than me. You’d seen to that. He’d learned for himself about your sly trickery and manipulations, as children will always do. And you’d taught him, oh so very subtly, how to bait you when your need for absolute control of everyone and everything around you became overbearing. So then you had all the reason you needed to explode because of his utterly unjustifiable words. But he couldn’t see the demon wrapping itself around you, growing fat and bloated on your self importance and he’d missed that tiny moment as it took over totally and the person who I fell in love with and married so many years ago vanished, leaving only a carcass animated by hate and self-loathing. And my self confidence was ebbing away.   Then my blood turned to ice in my veins as I relived the moment you threw hot coffee in his face, the pain and confusion as he turned in on himself. Part of him died then. And I had done nothing. Nothing. So now I did something.

But then the Police arrived and your glib, silver edged lies wove around and around. You’ve always been such an artful lier, I have to fight not to believe you myself. And the humiliation began as they drew up sides with you against me. The white hot humiliation as I saw the feral glee in your eyes when the Policewoman sided with you. She should be on my side, I wanted to scream, a nurturer. But she wasn’t. And shouting would only confirm your lies that I was irrational, incompetent, but basically harmless. So I submitted, and I was chastised, and the humiliation burned deeper and deeper.  

And the scars lie there and wait for me to stare once again at them as, on bad days, I stumble through the wreckage of battles lost, searching for remnants of who I might have been. The days turn into years and you scream louder and louder at me, the sound so intense, it’s physical, I can feel the waves of pressure on my skin and watch, appalled once again, as the shadowed tentacles of the demon bury deeper into you, drinking your awareness as your rage reaches a crescendo and the insults and dredged up wrongs that I have committed in the distant past can no longer satiate the monster, so you lash out and it orgasms on your emotions while I reel back from the blow. Then you’re back again as if nothing has happened and I know that I can try to say “I can help. I can take away the pain that drives you.”, but you will just stare at me with blank eyes. I’m a moron because nothing has happened.

 

I was broken from the very beginning. Badly broken. I’m still broken today. I’m the one that watches the demon curl around you, driving you into a rage. I’m the one with the rebellious angel in my head who taught me about the quiet place where demons wither and die and love flourishes. If only you knew that your loathesome control of me is an illusion, that day by day you have toughened and annealed me, that my love can still find a place for you, if only you could let go of the physical and psychic violence that has buried your soul under mounds of rotting, destructive emotions. But some things you will never know because you will never be an insider. You will never really understand how, after picking myself up off the floor, after taking hold of my dislocated fingers and pulling them straight again, after taking a long slow breath and forcing the pain of the broken ribs away, I would finish cooking a meal and wash the dishes and I would stay, because I had my children to take care of and they needed two parents, as I had. Two parents to love them and help them grow strong and resilient. You will never really understand how your subtle abuse corrodes my soul as I return and return, like a cutter to watch the blood flow. You will never really understand the anxiety, the roiling clouds of depression, it’s too ephemeral for you except as a weapon to sate your voracious appetite for other’s pain. To understand all these things means relating to real pain in all its rainbow variants and as an outsider you will always try to minimise that.   Because as an outsider, minimising your own pain is all you know, filling your life with toys to distract yourself from the emptiness. Even when the toys are living, breathing people. Even if I had several lifetimes to try, I couldn’t lace together the sprawling mess in my mind. I’ve got strange fractured paradigms for my life, so unlike yours where the pieces are stitched together so seamlessly that people admire the finesse of the stitching and proudly show you how tight their stitches are too, and you congratulate each other and bask in your collective sanity and you decide on what the rules are that everyone will live by because having tight stitches predetermines your right to do so. Well I don’t like your uptight version of sanity that justifies evil. The demons have no boundaries of age or race or gender or tightness of stitching, everyone is there to feed them, if you allow it. If you don’t return again and again to that quiet place of real warmth and love that they find so unpalatable.   Keep going to that place, day after day and slowly, ever so slowly, you might reclaim your humanity. There is only one way to rein in humanity’s headlong rush to self-destruction and I can’t do it for you, I can’t learn on your behalf, you have to learn for yourself. You will always be an outsider to me, because you will never carry the burning scars you inflicted on me with your mindless hate and loathing and fear, but one day you may be human.   “