For Cynthia. For you.
This is for Cynthia.
And this for you when told that you deserved to be harassed because your clothes are too skimpy, too revealing, too low cut, too high waisted, too sexy, too skinny, too attention grabbing. This is for you because you can't wear anything unflattering enough to guarantee not being harassed. This is for you because you were taught to take ownership for the vileness of strangers. May this weight be forever cast off; its not yours to carry.
This for Cynthia.
And this is for you who stared down the barrel of a gun and wondered if today would be the day, the one when you couldn't make yourself small enough, when you couldn't stay out of the way, when your cloak of invisibly was broken. This is for you because no matter how much you gave, loved, sacrificed, offered, released, tried- it was never enough to create permanent change. May nonviolence not be an abstract concept but a practice in every aspect of your life.
This is for Cynthia.
And this is for you who couldn't share that you've been sexually assaulted because he is a nice Christian guy with a good GPA and is well liked, and sex isn't a word you use on a Christian college campus. This is for those who were coerced by an authority figure- someone you were supposed to be able to trust. May truth win.
This is for Cynthia.
And this is for you who cannot speak about what happened that day, that night. Who doesn't want to remember but cannot forget. Who must drive by the same spot. Who must go to the same class, same job, same church. Who must sleep in the same bed, or in the same house, or under the same roof. Who cannot trust. Who cannot get away from the trauma. May healing be yours.
This is for Cynthia.
And this is for you who must hide- in closets, in bathrooms, in bedrooms. Who hide the bruises, the scars, the scrapes, the burns. Who hide from family, from friends, from pastors, from coworkers. Who put on your smile with make up, who use visine to hide red eyes, who knows more tricks than anyone should to cover the pain. May visibility finally equal love.
This is for Cynthia.
And this is for you who attend a church that never talks about abuse or harassment or assault or rape. Who has heard numerous sermons on being submissive, but not one on how much you deserve respect and love. Who believes this is Divine. Who believes this is love. May our churches do better for you.
This is for Cynthia.
And this is for you who tried to tell, tried to tell the men you loved and were asked 20 questions about what you should have done differently and how you handled that badly and how you should do 25 things differently next time. Who knows there will be a next time. May you be heard by someone who will protect you.
This is for Cynthia.
This is for you who tried to tell your mom, your girlfriends, your sisters but were silenced instead. Who dropped hint after hint but no understood. Who expected words, hugs, comfort, and a game plan. Who received a lecture on why you must stay. Who expected more. May you be heard by someone who will protect you.
This is for Cynthia.
And this is for you because everything hangs in the balance- a home, a family, children, money, career- your entire world. This is for you who risk it all when you attempt to leave. This is for you who loves someone who stays. This is for you who lost someone who had the courage to leave. May freedom and peace be yours.
Cynthia is a woman I loved deeply. She was my parents best friend, who in many ways took on the role of my aunt. She tried to leave her abuser, and when she did was chased out of her home and held at gunpoint in the middle of the street. He shot her and broke the hearts of many- most significantly her children. I still think of her often.
Knowing what can happen to a woman who tries to leave, I have no time for judging why women stay. I hope all of our hearts will be ruled by compassion rather than condemnation. They have enough condemnation in their lives. Choose to sing a different song- of love, of peace, of care.
This is for Cynthia, I miss you. -Austin