Written By Kayla Sprague
Growing up the youngest of three and the only girl was
something I was made very aware of at a young age. Sunday dinners with my
brothers running around the house while I set the table with my mother. Our
conversations always sprinkled with "That's not lady-like." I spent
years thinking I was rude and cold, shuttering whenever my eldest brother
called me bitch because how could I possibly know better?
This is the family that raised me; Loving, trying. Being the black sheep in a way that hid my wool. I wasn't rebellious or defiant. I tried to fit my shell but you can only ignore biting your tongue until you know what blood tastes like.
I just wanted to talk about being confused. I wanted to filter my release, begin a trickle to see if I fit here. I was a snowball tumbling down a hill too fast to stop.
I'm not confused, rape is rape no matter who they were.
I'm not confused, I know my feelings and I know they're valid.
I hit the base of my hill and was exhausted.
We need to be most familiar. In a world where beauty and size
depict our worth, we need to be the voice that gets heard. It's quality of our
words and the quantity of our tongues that will change the tide so it's easier
for us all to swim.
This is the family that raised me; Loving, trying. Being the black sheep in a way that hid my wool. I wasn't rebellious or defiant. I tried to fit my shell but you can only ignore biting your tongue until you know what blood tastes like.
I entered the world assuming I didn't know better. Assuming I
could speak up, but only to agree with an opinion already stated. It was
difficult to argue without collapsing in on myself whenever the word emotional
was hurled my way. I wanted out, so I checked out. Only nodding but not
listening.
It wasn't until my late teens that I found myself diving into
blogs and websites (Riot Grrrl leading the way) that shared the voices of
women. Women I would have never met, sharing their stories in public forum. Not
being a social butterfly, I loved these women. I knew their pain and their
injustice like it was mine. Because it was mine too.
Posts and blogs littered my screens as I sat back with my
first lightbulb moment, "I have been living a passive life." My life
was happening to me because I wasn't participating. I was letting men touch my
thigh on the train to school because why make a scene? I pretended not to hear
cat calls as I walked to the coffee shop downtown. This was my normal because
my environment told me I was better as a side piece in every definition of the
term. I wasn't the first in eye sight when you scanned a room, I wasn't first
in heart when you looked for a mate. I let myself fall to the side. These women
were talking and they were LOUD.
I wanted to be LOUD. I've listened and I have stories. My
world wasn't only dusting the Good China on Sundays. I ached to be a part of
this community, this open dialogue.
I will never forget my first post. Sure, it was anonymous and
probably lost in a sea of submissions, but I hit send. It was about a term that
followed me everywhere, a term that cloaked itself in understanding but waited
for me to turn my back to pounce.
Confused. I just wanted to talk about being confused. I wanted to filter my release, begin a trickle to see if I fit here. I was a snowball tumbling down a hill too fast to stop.
I'm not confused, you're sexuality is black and white while
mine is shades of grey.
I'm not confused, I'm arguing with logic and you're disputing
with my emotion.
Send.
I've never felt any feeling without the pang of self-doubt
afterwards. Opinions that used to only know the rattling of my skull, now
flowed into the universe for ridicule. My community, the voices I
identified with and knew so well, did not let me down or tell me to hush. I had
comfort, but more importantly I had Validation. Courage. I had my truth.
I had to seize this moment, this feeling. I began sinking
deeper into the present. Feeling the hands of women holding my shoulders square
as I made my stances. Rude does not define your character, it shows the
emotional string you plucked. Cold is a temperature that my tongue prefers to
be kept at as long as you feel my chill. I seized my moment and now it's my
podium.
This world has made me angry and sad, not confused. This
community has given me a voice that says NO loudly. Every key stroke I make and
foot I put down, I want to be that woman I heard. I want to be LOUD and echo my
confidence so it registers with any female within ear-shot. I needed to be within
ear-shot but had to really listen to hear it.
There is a phenomenon called the cocktail party effect. It's
when you're in a crowded room and everyone is talking over each other, but you
can always hear the voice of someone you know; the most familiar voice always
stands out to you. Females need to become the loudest voice.
You're only the black sheep until you find your herd.
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