Hips, Shame, and Forgiveness - Part I

Driving to the osteopath around 7:45 Saturday morning, I had a revelation—not a revelation that I wanted to have, but one that made me burst into tears and fill with dread knowing what I must do. I have, of course, known all along, but there are so many ways to ignore the signals until I just cannot ignore them any longer.

I was on my way to the osteopath because I am suffering from hip bursitis. I have always seemed to have hip issues—from having a pinched nerve in my hip when I was about eight to a clicking hip all the way from my teens well into my twenties and perhaps my thirties to extreme tightness along my psoas and IT band to hip bursitis. I understand (and have known for quite some time) that we store a lot of emotion in our hips—particularly emotion related to sexual trauma. I learned this years ago in my twenties when I had some rolfing done. The rolfer pointed out to me that I was equally tense in my shoulders but showed no emotion when he worked on them. Meanwhile, all he had to do was touch my hips, and I burst into tears. He told me then, and I have read and been told countless times since then, that the hips are a hotbed of repressed emotions, especially surrounding sex. I have often felt this in yoga—particularly in any pose that opens the groin intensely, like horse or squats—where I just suddenly cannot take the pain anymore; it is never the physical pain, but a deep emotional pain like I am about to completely fall to pieces.

Lately, I have been a bit preoccupied with the rape culture in America. The rape in Steubenville really got to me, and I have been reading lots of articles about how we support a rape culture—how the rapists are given free passes or receive empathy while the raped live lives of shame. I have read about how media and advertising and just general attitudes support the belief that women are "asking for it" and that rape is a completely excusable act since "boys will be boys." I have been so angry and hurt and, frankly, outraged. I cannot stand the thought of anything like that ever happening to my daughter or for either of my children to ever question any nonconsensual sex act to be anything but violent and wrong.

And, so, finally, driving to the osteopath Saturday morning, my hip and my preoccupation with rape collided, and I realized that in order for my hip to heal, I must let go of my shame and confess. This is extremely difficult for me to do. I believe I may have told some people tiny parts of these stories, but never any one person the whole thing. I am quite certain there are whole pieces of the stories that I completely left out. I feel like my complaints are not really legitimate because what happened to me was so minor compared to what happens to so many others. Yet, over twenty years later, these incidents still gnaw at me, and so it is time to let them be known—if for no other reason than I do not want to feel shame. I do not want others to feel shame. We must unite and stand up and not be ashamed together. And to all those women to whom so much worse has happened, I apologize for complaining about so minor of events.

I partied a lot in my teens. I was also a very sexual person. I always felt a bit awkward about my sexuality because girls were not supposed to want to have sex. Girls were sluts if they wanted to have sex, but I really liked it. I lost my virginity at far too young an age under very stupid circumstances to a dumb boy. For whatever reason, a while after the event, although the boy was no longer my boyfriend and we parted under not such great terms, we were again speaking on the phone regularly. You see, I have always had this compulsive need to make everything be all right, to let go of everything, and to show everyone how "cool" I was. I can forgive; I can forget. Plus, I figured we already had sex, so maybe we could again.

One night, when I was about sixteen, I got really drunk and called this guy very late at night for a booty call. He lived all the way across town; I was at one extreme end of the crappy 22 Fillmore bus route, and he was at the other. Nevertheless, he was game, and I got on the 22 in the middle of the night to go out to his house. When I got there, I think he and his friend were on acid. I don't remember all the details, but my ex- and I proceeded to have sex, and everything was perfectly fine. But then, his friend came in and climbed on top of me, expecting it to be his turn. I told him no and tried to push him off of me. I called out to my ex- repeatedly, begging him to help me. He did nothing. He sat in a chair nearby looking away; he would not even turn his head. This friend of his kept trying to force himself on me. Luckily, I am fairly strong and kept pushing him away. Finally, I pinched his back really hard, and he was in great pain. He kept telling me to let go, and I kept saying "no, get off of me!" This went on for quite some time, when finally he got off of me. Rape averted. Complete cowardice and sheer assholeness of my ex-boyfriend confirmed.

So, what did I do then?  Did I get up and call a cab and leave? It was too late to take the bus. Did I beat the shit out of my ex-boyfriend? No. I did none of those things. Instead, I made nice with my would-be rapist and slept in the same bed as him for the night. To be clear, we absolutely did not have sex, but I did share a bed with him. The next morning, we left together, and I took the bus with him part way until he got off. I even gave him my phone number. I think I partly did this to piss off my ex-boyfriend, with whom I was definitely not happy. I also could tell the guy was totally freaked out by me, and I just did not feel him as a threat anymore. But really, what was up with that? Why did I give him my number? Thankfully, he never called. I have always been so ashamed that I did not go completely crazy on them both and yell and scream and call the cops. I did nothing. I pretended nothing happened. I have always felt that since I was young and drunk and clearly wanted sex by taking the fucking 22 Fillmore from one end of town to the other in the middle of the night that people would assume I was asking for it.

A friend recently posted this Buddhist Prayer of Forgiveness on Facebook:

If I have harmed anyone in any way either knowingly or unknowingly through my own confusions I ask their forgiveness.
If anyone has harmed me in any way either knowingly or unknowingly through their own confusions I forgive them.
And if there is a situation I am not yet ready to forgive I forgive myself for that.
For all the ways that I harm myself, negate, doubt, belittle myself, judge or be unkind to myself through my own confusions, I forgive myself.

I can forgive my would-be-rapist. I do not even give a shit about him. I do hope that I scared the crap out of him though, and he never touched another woman against her will. My ex-boyfriend, however, I could rip the head off of. The feeling of calling out again and again and him doing nothing is almost too much to bear. I have always felt silent and invisible and calling out in distress in my time of need to be met with nothing is a nightmare come true. So, for him, I invoke this line: "And if there is a situation I am not yet ready to forgive, I forgive myself for that." I know at some point, for my own sake, I will have to forgive that situation, but in the meantime, he can go to hell, and I will work on forgiving myself.