And I loved it.
The wonders of Facebook has meant that I am able to still be in touch with some of those amazing men and women in a way that wasn't even in existence when we left university. One of those women is Larissa. I was awed by Larissa when I first met her on that first day in Prince Alfred House residence, she had so many principles, such an ardent conviction in the importance of fighting for the stuff that you believe deeply in. Oh the common room conversations we used to have!! It is true to say that Larissa made a profound impression on me, she made me think about stuff that had never crossed my (widely read, but not very broad) mind.
| Charlene and Larissa at the mouth of the Tyne |
| Me, Larissa and Sam copying the Angel of the North |
| Add caption |
And she still does today. I was thrilled to have Larissa and her peachy partner Charlene staying with me for a couple of days in early January, as part of a big tour of Europe they were doing. First of all it was just stunning to see her and catch up, and second of all she had the effect on me that she always had, of making me think about things in a new way, things I had packed away in a little box never to see the light of day.
She gave me a little book, a collection of short stories called My First Time edited by Jen Thorpe. The front cover proclaims "stories of sex and sexuality from women like you" and it has tales of a range of different life experiences; first time having sex, first period, first trip to a gynaecologist... some good, some not so good. But the more I read, the more overwhelmingly sad I became. So many of the stories were tinged with disillusion, disappointment, betrayal, abuse and fear. Yes there was also strength, dignity and transcendence but it was the need for these that caused my disquiet.
There are a lot of women who I would describe as friends, but within that group the amount that I would describe as close friends shrinks dramatically. When I looked at that small group I was appalled to discover that half of us had been the victim of some form of sexual abuse or sexual assault.
Half of us!!!
It's beyond horrific.
And I know it is anecdotal and not statistically accurate, but that doesn't do anything to halt my disgust at how many girls and women are still violated, despite this enlightened world that we supposedly live in. Honestly, is the best that we can do?
While Laris was here we had a disagreement about the importance of talking about things, about the value of psychologists and counsellors. I had not long finished studying my level 3 in counselling when Dad died. My GP referred me to a counsellor to help me deal with the ravages of my grief and after that experience I realised I no longer believed in counselling, in the need to talk about our emotions. I didn't want to talk, to anybody, and especially not a counsellor. I wanted to hold my grief close to me, and even now, 5 years later, I still hug my grief tight to me. And I have become much more closed and recalcitrant.
Talking about things that have happened to me on such a deep, personal level is not what I want, or need to do.
But what I have realised over the past few weeks as I have been thinking about this little book, is that I don't have to talk about me or my own experiences, but that I can talk about all the women who will be sexually assaulted at some point in their lives.
That I can shout out for them.
That, damn it, I should have been shouting out all this time.
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