This is probably my last blog before Christmas. Tonight we're having my husband's partners over for a holiday dinner. Tomorrow my lovely children come home. I'll have them both for 10 straight days, and my daughter for another week beyond that, and mostly I plan to bask in their company. I've missed them.
Yesterday at Faith in Action I interviewed a client whose story dropped me to my knees. I can't share any details, of course, and wouldn't if I could--it's the client's story, not mine. But I will say that any one of us who thinks our lives can't change blindingly in an instant are simply already blind. I read somewhere recently that we should consider it a blessing to be able to help others, and I do. I also submit it should be a blessing to allow yourself to receive help, when you need it--to admit your own frailty. But yesterday the help I was able to give, though real, couldn't touch the client's central problem. I am haunted and humbled and helpless, as I sit in my comfortable cluttered house, waiting for my beautiful children and hoping the beef tenderloin I bought for tonight is large enough to serve 12.
The Chronicle of the Horse had the guts to reprint my blog post, "An Open Letter to Diane Carney." It's the closest I've ever come to having something I wrote go viral. The comments are fascinating. Some are sad. Some are wildly illogical. What probably shouldn't surprise me, but still does, is how very little empathy many of the commenters displayed for children who had been sexually abused. There was a lot of noise about how horrible it would be if "even one" person were falsely accused.
I believe it more horrible that even one child could be assaulted because of an adult's inaction. But also, false accusations are incredibly rare. And I think that a lot of time, what looks like a false accusation is simply a truthful accusation that isn't believed.
I would like some people to get a big shiny chunk of empathy in their Christmas stockings. As such, I'm assigning the following holiday reading list:
To those who wonder why sexual assault victims fear coming forward: Speak and Shout, both by Laurie Halse Anderson; Leaving the Saints, by Martha Beck; She Said by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey.
To those who believe the criminal justice system in this country always works: The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander; Know My Name by Chanel Miller.
To those who think it can't happen in their sport: What is a Girl Worth? by Rachael Denhollander; Abused: Surviving Sexual Assault and a Toxic Gymnastics Culture by Rachel Haines.
To those who think poor people get what they deserve: Evicted, by Matthew Desmond.
Moving on. For adults who just want to read something fun, dammit: Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. For kids, ditto: Charlie Thorne and the Last Equation by Stuart Gibbs. For everyone still on the fence about graphic novels: Anne Frank's Diary: The Graphic Adaptation, by Anne Frank, Ari Folman, and David Polansky. For bad-ass teen girls, and boys who should fear them: Damsel by Elana K. Arnold. For everyone (fiction version): The Book of Boy by Catherine Gilbert Murdoch; (nonfiction version) The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater.
Happy reading. Happy holidays.
Yesterday at Faith in Action I interviewed a client whose story dropped me to my knees. I can't share any details, of course, and wouldn't if I could--it's the client's story, not mine. But I will say that any one of us who thinks our lives can't change blindingly in an instant are simply already blind. I read somewhere recently that we should consider it a blessing to be able to help others, and I do. I also submit it should be a blessing to allow yourself to receive help, when you need it--to admit your own frailty. But yesterday the help I was able to give, though real, couldn't touch the client's central problem. I am haunted and humbled and helpless, as I sit in my comfortable cluttered house, waiting for my beautiful children and hoping the beef tenderloin I bought for tonight is large enough to serve 12.
The Chronicle of the Horse had the guts to reprint my blog post, "An Open Letter to Diane Carney." It's the closest I've ever come to having something I wrote go viral. The comments are fascinating. Some are sad. Some are wildly illogical. What probably shouldn't surprise me, but still does, is how very little empathy many of the commenters displayed for children who had been sexually abused. There was a lot of noise about how horrible it would be if "even one" person were falsely accused.
I believe it more horrible that even one child could be assaulted because of an adult's inaction. But also, false accusations are incredibly rare. And I think that a lot of time, what looks like a false accusation is simply a truthful accusation that isn't believed.
I would like some people to get a big shiny chunk of empathy in their Christmas stockings. As such, I'm assigning the following holiday reading list:
To those who wonder why sexual assault victims fear coming forward: Speak and Shout, both by Laurie Halse Anderson; Leaving the Saints, by Martha Beck; She Said by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey.
To those who believe the criminal justice system in this country always works: The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander; Know My Name by Chanel Miller.
To those who think it can't happen in their sport: What is a Girl Worth? by Rachael Denhollander; Abused: Surviving Sexual Assault and a Toxic Gymnastics Culture by Rachel Haines.
To those who think poor people get what they deserve: Evicted, by Matthew Desmond.
Moving on. For adults who just want to read something fun, dammit: Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. For kids, ditto: Charlie Thorne and the Last Equation by Stuart Gibbs. For everyone still on the fence about graphic novels: Anne Frank's Diary: The Graphic Adaptation, by Anne Frank, Ari Folman, and David Polansky. For bad-ass teen girls, and boys who should fear them: Damsel by Elana K. Arnold. For everyone (fiction version): The Book of Boy by Catherine Gilbert Murdoch; (nonfiction version) The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater.
Happy reading. Happy holidays.
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