12 Years of Being Slut Shamed

Can you remember the first time you felt your innocence slipping away? The first time you realized the world was not as spectacular as your un-jaded mind had made it out to be. For me it was a series of events that brought me to the skeptical, constantly second guessing, uncomfortable nearly 21 year old I am now. A chronicle of men who had made me feel small, feel dirty, feel meekness in myself that my young defiance had never felt. Yet, what was worse,  it was always the people who I loved, who I trusted, who cared for me— who were always making me feel like I was always the one to blame. That my shame was not only deserved but was from my own doing, it was MY actions that reaped these cruel consequences .

For many women slut-shaming begins at a very young age, mostly from parents or other loved ones. The first time I was slut shamed I was playing with my childhood best friend in her driveway, while her father watched us from the kitchen window. We pretended like we were supermodels, taking pictures of each other with our cameras as we walked and danced up and down the driveway, skipping and twirling between the fence and cars. Our innocent giggles were cut short by the loud vroom of a sports car as it made a sharp right turn into the driveway. The windows rolled down as two large adult men stuck their heads out and shouted at us.

“Show me that twirl one more time girl,”

“Wanna come for a ride sweethearts,”

“We guarantee a fun time.”

I did not truly understand what they were saying, and quite honestly it was not their words that made me run, it was the looks they were giving me. I felt like their prey.

When I told my mother a few hours later, still shaking, I found little sympathy.

“What were you doing?”

“Why weren’t you playing in the backyard?”

“Well, you do look old for your age”

I was eight years old.

The next vivid memory I have is when my mother had bought me a brand new green plaid skirt from Justice. I had never felt so pretty then I did in that skirt. I twirled around in it and put on a fashion show for all of my family, and picked the perfect polo top to complement my yellow lines patterned that criss-crossed on the skirt. Later that day, I accompanied my mother to the grocery store while she shopped for toiletries I took a number at the deli counter and waited to be called. The song ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ played throughout the store and me, still fully involved in weekly ballet, tap, and jazz classes-gingerly danced to some of the choreography from last years recital. Nothing crazy, just some footwork, until an adult man struck up a conversation with me. I can’t recall this conversation just that his friends stood around me as we talked. My mother found me moments later surrounded by three men, dancing to ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ and waiting for deli meat. She pulled me through the store, throwing items in our basket and rushing to check out. When we got in the car, I asked her what was wrong, only to be told.

“You can’t wear that skirt if you’re going to act like a tramp in it”

I was twelve.

I never wore that skirt again, I tore it to shreds and threw it away.

I can tell you nearly a hundred stories just like these. I’m sure just about any woman could; but it was these moments that made a lasting impression on my life. Every time I am harassed, or groped, even the night I was assaulted; I couldn’t stop thinking about all of the things that I had done wrong. When in reality I was simply walking home, dancing, or just existing in a public setting.

And though it may seem like my mother was malicious, she is my best friend to this day and has reconciled her mistakes from the past. We still fight over outfits I wear and what she believes is ‘appropriate’ for me, but I know she does not mean to hurt me. She worries about what could happen to me when I leave the safety of our home. Like many mothers, since my mother was unable to control the actions of tormenting men, she decided to control the only variable she could, me.

I’m not sure if our society can be fixed. I’m not sure we can undo centuries of systematic misogyny. But I do know that one day if I ever have kids I will break the cycle of slut-shaming in my family. I can hate the world around me, without taking it out on the people I love.

photo source: http://www.femratmagazine.com/all-articles/8/15/stop-slut-shaming