A Billion
Gazillion
Trillion
Painfully Polite Years
A Journey Through Trauma
and Strength
Hi, I’m Cheryl. Typically I’m a business writer, and a fun one at that. Today, I’m taking a more personal route. This is my story — or one of them. It will be difficult to read for many. It’s ok if you can’t. For some, you’ll find comfort in sharing my lived experience and knowing that you aren’t the only one. I can’t offer you solutions. There are none.
All I can offer is my story, my pain, my perspective.
This powerful story delves into a vivid, haunting memory that challenges our very notions of safety and trust.
Prepare for an intense, deeply human narrative that offers no easy answers, only a shared experience of vulnerability and strength.
Trigger Warning* sexual assault, molestation
Jet Lag is a Bitch
My phone rang today. To say it was an unwelcome intrusion would be a colossal understatement. I left it unanswered. I’ll say everything I need to say, right here, whether anyone will ever read it or not.
He patted my butt when he hugged me. It made me uncomfortable but what was I going to do? Make a big deal out of nothing? I brushed it off and retreated to the bathroom to freshen up and regroup. I was excited to be there; 2,694 miles from home; visiting a man I loved and hadn’t see since sometime before the pandemic brought the world to its knees over 2 years ago.
The pandemic didn’t bring me to my knees. No life had already turned me into pulp and deconstructed everything I held dear. I’d already been brought to my knees and ground under its heel. I entered the pandemic headed out of a divorce and the inevitable betrayal and abandonment of friends I thought would be by my side forever. The pandemic was a respite, a time to close myself off from the world. It was a time to heal, to rebuild, to transform like a caterpillar in its chrysalis from mushy pulp to regal beauty (or at least something better than mushy pulp).
I was ready for something new. I was just days away from publicly reinventing my business and redefining my place within the industry I’d known since I was 18 years old. I was a monarch, ready to fly. In the weeks leading up to this trip, I worked so hard I was sporting a wrist brace from repetitive stress injury. I pushed myself to my limits and beyond. I was ready for a much needed 3 day break before the big conference. I was ready to step away from the computer and enjoy some good company, sunny skies and beautiful beaches.
It was getting late and we both spent the day traveling, so we didn’t tarry at the hotel. A quick freshening up in the bathroom and we were off in search of dinner and a drink. We found a cute little pub rich with dark woods and crowded with tables too close together. There were 2 open seats at the bar and a band was warming up in the corner. We spent a couple hours catching up, reminiscing, eating decent food and sampling a couple of drinks. It was warm and relaxed and the live music floated around us, just loud enough to make the bar feel less crowded.
When we got back to the hotel, he cuddled up with me on the king sized bed and turned on the TV. I requested 2 queens, but he said he couldn’t find any rooms with two queens. When I booked my room for the conference, I was attending later that week in the next town over, I couldn’t find any with double queens either, so he was probably telling the truth. A few minutes into the show, he lightly started running his fingers up and down my arm and shoulder. Then was moving across my chest, just above the neckline of my shirt. It made me uncomfortable, but what was I going to do? Make a big deal out of nothing? My whole life he had been just a little more affectionate than I was comfortable with. I always figured it was me. I’m weird. I’m uncomfortable in normal social situations all the time. This is probably the same thing. He just had his arm around me. It was just my chest he touched. I said I was tired and closed myself in the bathroom to change into pajamas and wash my face.
Did your parents have a catch phrase when you were growing up? I do with my kids. Well, I think I have several, but one of my favorites is, “You live here, you work here. Everyone contributes.” My parents’ catch phrase was “Be a good girl.” Every single time they left me at my grandparents, or a friend’s house, or dropped me off at work, they gave me a hug, told me to “Be a good girl,” and waved good-bye. It was never, “You’re such a good girl” or “Thank you for being so good.” No, it was only, and always, “Be a good girl.” As if, at any moment, my perfected facade would crack and shatter into a million pieces leaving a raging a demon child to rampage the countryside terrorizing the villagers and destroying their image as good parents.
I retrieved the blanket I packed. A soft, warm comfort from home that I was grateful I squeezed into my suitcase. On one side, it was a patchwork of some of my favorite fabrics. I love sewing patchwork because it means I don’t have to choose just one fabric. I can have all the different colors, patterns and textures I want. On the other side, it was the deep azure blue of jewels. It was the kind of color you could just fall into forever, like the deep blue of Crater Lake in Oregon. Have you ever been? The pictures don’t do it justice. You can’t capture that depth with a camera. You can only comprehend that depth after a long hike up soft, volcanic ash trails, hop-scotching over tree roots until your calves ache. You can only comprehend that depth on a bright, sunny day when you’ve stepped outside your daily life, stepped outside your own head, and time freezes — for just a moment. A lifetime ago, he and I made that hike on a warm August day without a cloud in the sky. We were both much younger and I still believed it was possible to leave your problems behind by changing your location. Cocooned in my blanket, on the far edge of a huge and unfamiliar bed, 2,694 miles from home, I fell asleep thinking about adventures I had in previous lives and hopeful for the new life, new adventure I was just starting.
Jet lag is a bitch. I woke up the next morning disoriented and drowsy. Always an early riser, he was already awake. I have ADHD. This means I mostly have 2 modes — awake running full speed and asleep, mind racing while my body rests. First thing in the morning is the hardest time to stay still and not fidget, so I don’t tend to lounge in bed. Waking up with jet lag that morning was unfamiliar and unpleasant.
When he heard me stir, he rolled over and spooned me. I was still cocooned in my beautiful blue blanket, but he managed to slip an arm inside. “Is this ok?” he asked. No, no it wasn’t. This was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable. What was I going to do? Make a big deal out of nothing? I was taught to be a good girl. I’m not supposed to make other people uncomfortable, or hurt their feelings. My comfort comes last. I am to follow the rules, do as I’m told, and do whatever it takes to fit in and not make any waves. I’d been taught that my entire life — by my parents first, by the kids at school who called me weird and made fun of me, by all of society, then by my abusive ex-husband. ‘Is this ok?’ No. No. It’s not ok. But when has that ever mattered? To anyone? I nodded or made a noise. I’m not really sure, it’s still a little hazy. I was starting to panic at that point. I felt like a rat trapped in a cage. I’m supposed to be a good girl and shouldn’t make anyone else uncomfortable. Besides, what was I going to do? Make a big deal out of nothing?
I laid there stone still, trying not to forget how to breathe. My mind was racing a million miles an hour and I needed to pee. But my comfort isn’t important. I need to move, to fidget, not only is it morning, but now I’m uncomfortable and anxious and trapped. I need to move. Don’t move. Be a good girl. Then, he moved. His hand, under my blanket where it didn’t belong, shot up fast as a striking snake and closed around my right breast. Before I could even think, I shoved it away. Then my body froze while my brain went berserk.
Oh my god. What just happened? What do I do? This is not ok. I am not ok with this. Why would he do that? What crazy demented twist of logic would make him think that was remotely ok to do? What do I do? I’m not supposed to make other people feel bad or uncomfortable. How do I handle this? Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I don’t feel safe. 2,694 miles from home. By myself. What do I do? What comes next? If this man, I thought I knew so well, would do something like this, what else might I miscalculate? How much danger am I in?
After what felt like a billion gazillion trillion painfully polite years, I got up, murmured something about needing to pee, grabbed fresh clothing out of my suitcase and locked myself in the bathroom. I took a shower. Because are you really crying if you can’t feel the hot tears running down your face? Are you really crying if no one can see the tears through all the water?
Eventually, I ran out of things to do in the bathroom. I had to leave. I walked out and he said, “Did I make you uncomfortable? Is that why you went in the bathroom?”
I took a deep breath and told him it wasn’t ok and he should never do it again.
He apologized.
We said nothing more about it and I told him I was going to take a walk and call my fiancé and my kids to check in on them. My teenagers, who would rather I just disappear on any average day, were especially chatty now that I was away from home. They told me all about every detail of their lives that had happened in the 24 hours since I’d left the house as if they somehow knew how much I needed to hear their chatter in that moment.
“Last night there was a wedding happening on the rooftop bar,” I shared with them. “When we were heading back to our room after dinner, we passed some people from the wedding headed into the elevator. They had plates of delicious cookies. So I crashed the wedding to steal some cookies!” I told them.
The 15 year old laughed. The 13 year old got mad. “Are you kidding me!”
“What? It was funny. The wedding was just winding down and the cookies were going to get thrown out anyway.”
“Lil and I were at the park yesterday but we left because they were setting up for a wedding. A little later, Lil suggested we go back and crash the wedding, but I told them that would be wrong.”
“You’re a good kid. I’m proud of you,” I replied and meant it. “I just sent you a video, check your phone.”
“Awww…. Can you bring one home for a pet?” They cooed about the sea lions on the rocks below me.
“I’m pretty sure Frank would object. Speaking of Frank, is he home? I should catch up with him too.”
I didn’t say anything about what happened earlier. I didn’t know what to say, how to say it. I wanted to forget it had ever happened.
As I walked back up to the hotel, he met me at the coffee shop. We got something to drink and headed into town on foot to check out a street fair. When we exhausted ourselves, we returned to the hotel room for a break. He fell asleep. In the stillness and quiet, reality started to sink in. I was not ok. I was not ok with what had happened. He had betrayed my trust and my space and my body. He was supposed to be the one person, in a world that had largely been hostile, who I could trust, who would protect me. How could he do this?
Then the mocking bird of voices past would squawk inside my brain. ‘You’re making a big deal out of nothing. You’re too emotional. You overreact to everything. Be a good girl. Don’t upset people. Don’t make any waves. This is your fault, you should have spoken up sooner.’
‘But I’m not ok with this,’ I’d cry to the mocking bird. ‘How was I supposed to speak up sooner if that is making a big deal out of nothing? What was I supposed to do? Why did he put me in this position to even have to question what is the correct way to handle this? I am not ok. What do I do? I have no car, nowhere to sleep for 2 more nights, no friends or family nearby, I have nothing. If I never thought he’d do this, what else will he do? I don’t feel safe. What should I do? Isn’t there anyone who can save me?’
Will you be my knight?
Will you be my heroine?
Will you be my night?
Will you be my heroin?
Safety is an Illusion
“The lies that I depend on exist only in my mind.”
— Only in My Mind by Imperative Reaction
When I was a kid I thought the world was a dangerous place….for kids. It was the job of adults to protect kids. Specifically, parents. I never stopped to ask, ‘Who is protecting the adults?’ I think I just assumed that once you were an adult, danger somehow disappeared. I blame Disney.
I was so very wrong.
There is no such thing as a happily ever after.
Who is protecting the adults?
Sitting there in that hotel room on the far edge of a huge and unfamiliar bed, next to the sleeping form of a huge and familiar man, 2,694 miles from home, the mocking bird in my head continued to squawk. The same old lines I’ve heard over and over again, my whole life. ‘You’re making a big deal out of nothing. You’re too emotional. You overreact to everything. Be a good girl. Squawk. Be a good girl. Squawk. Don’t upset people. Don’t make any waves. Squawk. Be a good girl. Squawk.”
I could feel the panic rising from the pit of my stomach as my brain spiraled out of control in its argument over how to deal with a situation that no one is ever prepared to deal with, can never be prepared to deal with.
Phoenix Rising
“Head like a hole. Black as your soul. I’d rather die than give you control.”
— Head Like a Hole by Nine Inch Nails
“Have faith,” people say, when they don’t know what else to say, what else to do. “Have faith,” people say, when they realize that no one is protecting the adults.
Out of no-where, I remembered a time when my son was little. He was running around the house with a foam sword in his hand and a blue cape tied around his neck. “Ungod!” he cried. “I challenge you to a duel puny human!”
I giggled. “Don’t you mean ‘on guard’?”
“‘On guard?’ Why would I say that? I’m trying to frighten you.”
Huh, un-god. Have faith. Most people equate the meaning of the word faith with belief, often belief in something without evidence or knowledge to support said belief. However, I equate faith with the word trust. Trust goes hand in hand with logic, reason, and knowledge.
The faith I needed was faith in myself, not the divine, not in some Disney knight in shining armor moment. In the end, when it all fell apart, when I put my trust in the wrong people, the only one I could count on to save me, was myself.
I suddenly remembered that I’m not the person I used to be. I’m not that small child who’s prime directive in life is to ‘be a good girl’. You see, life had plans for me. Life already turned me into pulp and deconstructed everything I held dear. It brought me to my knees and ground me under its heel. More than once. Believe it or not, this was not the worst situation I’d ever dealt with. Each time life stripped me bare; each time it pummeled me bloody, I got back up on my feet, forged like steel, melted and folded over into itself. Stronger. More resilient.
The Whole Fucking Fire
“I’m not that little darling, I don’t beg your pardon…There’s no stopping me.”
— Charm City “Bad Seed Rising”
I got on my feet. Stronger, more resilient than I’d felt earlier. I allowed my perfected childhood façade to crack and shatter into a million pieces.
Humanity are masters of deception and there is no one you deceive more than yourself. The biggest lie you will ever tell yourself is that you are a victim. The second you place blame for any situation outside yourself you give away your power, all of your power. And you are immensely powerful! You have the power to create your own reality, but only if you own your reality.
I am my own knight in shining armor because the night is cold and lonely and dark. I am the only heroine I need because false idols can only let you down.
The world is full of terrible, awful, no good, very bad people. Safety is an illusion. We come into this world alone. We leave it alone. And ultimately, I am the only one who can protect me.
I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.
In that hotel room, 2,694 miles from home, I’d like to say I became the raging demon child who terrorized my father and pummeled him into a bloody pulp, on the far edge of a huge and unfamiliar bed, but I did stand up, walk out of that room and never speak to him again.
It may not sound like much. Just a whisper, instead of a bang. But sometimes the most powerful things in life are the most unassuming.
To those who may find themselves in an “uncomfortable” situation, to hell with being good, be brave, be strong, be smart, be the whole fucking fire.
“I don’t rise from the ashes,
I make them. I’m the
whole fucking fire.”
-Erin Van Vuren
