That's Not What I Said

 Recently the topic of sexual harassment came up, and I shared a story about a time I was sexually harassed in the workplace. In one of my early jobs after college I worked for a large company. One day, a male coworker walked up behind me and began massaging my shoulders. 

At the time I didn't fully understand that what that manager did was sexual harassment, and my coworkers said "Oh he does that to all the girls". So I said nothing, and made sure to have my back against a wall whenever he came around. 

When I told this story recently, one of the people in the room said, "So you're not touchy-feely. Okay."

Nope. Incorrect. I am a huge fan of hugs, fist bumps, and high fives. Some of my male friends give me a kiss on the cheek when they see me, and I think that's incredibly sweet. So no, my issue is not that I don't like to be touched. My issue is that I do not want anyone I don't know well, especially men, to put their hands on me in an intimate way without my consent. 

I think way too often victims of sexual harassment, regardless of gender, are made to feel that their preferences are to blame, rather than the person who harassed them, and folks that's kind of bullshit.    

I will literally hug a stranger on the street if they need it. I'm a huge supporter of physical contact and all the psychological benefits that come with it. So let me spell it out to be extra clear,

Consensual Physical Touch = Good                Nonconsensual Physical Touch = Bad

It is really that simple. So next time someone opens up about harassment, or any experience where they felt their personal space was violated, remember that it doesn't matter what they like and don't like. Touching someone without consent is wrong, and the victim isn't to blame. 

Happy Girl

 Recently, multiple coworkers have commented on my peppy attitude, and how I'm always so upbeat. This is easily one of my favorite compliments to receive (not that I'm not thrilled to get literally any kind of compliment). 

I spent so much of my life being unhappy. I faked smiles and hid tears. I'd play the role of social butterfly and little miss sunshine all day long, then spend my nights sobbing in the dark, begging God for help, and trying to hold onto my will to live. 

From the time I was 15 or so, until my mid-20s, suicide was an almost daily thought. It was like a highway billboard that I would pass over and over while I tried to ignore it. I tried to take my life at 17, and I struggled with suicide for years after that. Even with therapists, and medications, and great friends. Even with a support system. Even as things in my life went really, really well. 

I remember one night, my sophomore year of college, when I walked out to my car in the middle of winter and just sat in for hours in the middle of the night because I truly did not think I could sit in my dorm room, next to bottles of pills, and not swallow them all. I don't even know if they would have killed them, but I was so depressed that I was ready to try anything. 

Back then I hated the idea that I would need pills for the rest of my life to be happy. I wanted to just be able to be happy on my own. I didn't fully understand yet that my depression wasn't just in my head. I hadn't learned enough to know that it was a chemical imbalance in my body, and not just a weakness. 

I wanted nothing more then than to be able to be happy and smile and not be lying. I didn't want to go through my days afraid of the night, and all the things that crawled out of my head when there weren't people around to put up a front for. 

So when people look at me today, and they're in awe of how I can always be so peppy, or why I come in everyday with a smile, I tell hem. I say that I spent too many years of my life unhappy, and now I want to relish in every single moment of glee. I want to bask in the joy of not hiding dread. 

Being able to simply be happy, is my everyday miracle, and even if I'm not the walking example of perky every day, I will relish every day that I get to be happy.