Grieving? #metoo [part three]

[This is part three in a series of blogs which were written to help me make sense of the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling with this #metoo movement.  If you’re going to read one, please read them all because this is a complicated and nuanced life we’re living and it deserves more than 1000 words. Will update posts to link to each other as they go live!  Part one can be found here and part two can be found here.]

I think so much of the chaotic backlash we’re seeing around the #metoo movement is because we are obsessed with syncing up the external events and internal experiences.

The multiple #metoos [part two]

[This is part two in a series of blogs which were written to help me make sense of the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling with this #metoo movement.  If you’re going to read one, please read them all because this is a complicated and nuanced life we’re living and it deserves more than 1000 words. Will update posts to link to each other as they go live!  Part one can be found here.]

I wrote yesterday about the unpleasant side effects of the #metoo movement.

An unpleasant side effect of #metoo [part one]

[This is part one in a series of blogs which were written to help me make sense of the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling with this #metoo movement.  If you’re going to read one, please read them all because this is a complicated and nuanced life we’re living and it deserves more than 870 words. Will update posts to link to each other as they go live!]

It’s an unpleasant side effect of this shit show we’re living in. It’s happening every time another woman speaks up, another name is in the media, another person I love shares a story that they’ve never told me before.  Every time I feel this unpleasant side effect that has me longing to look away: nausea.

When words won’t work

I thought I’d find the story here, at the edge of the world, looking out at the mountains and the ocean.  I thought I’d find out how all these words fit together.  All these words that are in me but refuse to be massaged into the whole. I know they belong together. I feel it in my soul, but I cannot for the life of me find the spine that would let them stand together, straight and strong.

They are disjointed, separate and yet full and fat in my soul.  Thoughts thrown on a page that so clearly connect in this mad mind of mine, but the connection is impossible to capture.  It dissolves each time I reach for it.

An end-of-the-year challenge

[My friends and I gave each other an assignment a few weeks ago: the task of writing a letter to a-year-younger version of ourselves, on the verge of 2017. So, below is the letter I would write to the woman who was me on December 31st, 2017.  She sat at her computer, much like I do now, planning and plotting for the year to come, and these are the words I would share with her.]

Dear Fabienne,

Happy New Year! Welp. You made it through 2016!