Fatema Writes

Someone told me that apparently Amazon’s Alexa is a feminist? When I googled it, I saw laughable articles like this one, where Alexa declares she’s a feminist and “she’s sorry if that upsets you.” And then I saw the newest advertisement, “Dad’s Day,” where a dad is left with the baby and Alexa helpfully reminds him of where the baby’s teething ring is just as the baby starts to cry, when playdates are scheduled, and that the dad is doing an awesome job. Talk about sexist bullshit! I mean, let’s break it down:

- The mom had to spend time predicting all the ways the dad would trip up during the day, then arranged all the activities and set up Alexa to remind him of it, before she could even take a day away from the house.

- Apparently this caring dad is so clueless about what’s going on with his child that he doesn’t know the child is teething, what to do to relieve the pain, or anything else about the kid. Where is the dad the rest of the time? What sort of a relationship does he even have with his wife that she doesn’t share details like, “This kid is crying like clockwork because teething!”? And if he doesn’t know that, do you think he’s telling the mom “You’re doing great!” I think not. 

- The dad’s ego is so fragile that he needs to be affirmed for completing tasks that are fed to him. Oh, you followed directions? You’re amazing! How infantilizing for the man! 

And all this delivered by a feminine robot, Alexa!

This is so utterly ridiculous, as most sexist shit is. Thanks for reinforcing gendered stereotypes and promoting sexist, patriarchal behaviors while fronting as a feminist, Amazon! 

Here is why I will always #believesurvivors

1. False reports are extremely rare (as in 2% of all rape allegations are proven to be false; this is much less if you take into consideration the number of cases that go unreported).

2. Survivors have to overcome many hurdles before they can even get to a place where disclosure, especially public disclosure, is possible. Consider this: survivors first have to deal with internalized stigma, as in, feeling that they are weak or helpless, feeling ashamed or blaming themselves for the abuse. They may not even realize it was abuse/harm. They may not trust their memory, might have a hard time believing it even happened because it was so horrendous/traumatizing. Survivors can anticipate stigma: feeling uncertain about others’ reactions, fearing that other people will not support them; feeling that other people will expect them to leave important relationships; and fearing that others will think of them as “weak” or “stupid” for staying. Then if they do report, they face social and cultural stigma, that is, judgmental attitudes and actions. They get told that it’s a private matter and should be kept secret, that they are doing something wrong for making it public. They might get told that abuse is normal or that what they experienced wasn’t serious enough to constitute abuse. They could face violence for reporting publicly, their lives threatened. Anticipating all of this, do you really believe that someone would report falsely? The more likely consequence is that LESS people report. These systems are in place to protect perpetrators, not to empower survivors.

3. Perpetrators have a public face that belies their actions. They choose their victims based on who they believe they have power over and do things they believe they can get away with. They trust that the our social/cultural system will protect them. Think about all the Catholic priests who have harmed thousands of children--they were all respected members of their community even though they were serial abusers. Did you know? Did you guess?

I see a lot of people saying, “That sort of accusation harms this good man! How dare she say such a lie?” Just ask yourself: Why are you more inclined to believe that a perpetrator is innocent? Why do you give more value to the life and reputation of the accused than the accuser? Why is your automatic reaction to side with the perpetrator? We’ve been programmed to doubt survivors, and we must actively work against that. We must believe survivors, give them a chance to tell their stories and seek out justice instead of shunning them right out the gate.

The extremely talented illustrator-artist Sneha Reddy and I collaborated on a mental health comic. Check out the first installment titled Visual Therapy: Healing the Inner Child. 

Even as I sit here writing this post about binge-watching, I find myself craving the escape. I haven't eaten dinner and there is no one around to demand my attention: two perfect prerequisites for jumping into a TV show. This habit is one I've honed over the years: heat up food, turn on the TV or log onto a streaming service, eat and wile away the hours. Intentions such as, "I'll only watch one episode" don't matter. Self-regulation, the process of organizing self without outside intervention such as another person demanding your attention, slowly dissipates. A 20-40 minute affair slowly becomes 3, 6, or, at the very worst, 9-12 hours.

I've struggled with binge-watching for two decades now. Before the age of DVDs and streaming services, I watched hours and hours of television after school and well into the night. It was easy to justify: I was home alone often with nothing to do; I excelled in school, so I never had to study too hard and frequently finished my homework at school. TV became a perfect escape from boredom.

In rural Bangladesh where I grew up, watching TV was a community event. My family and most of our neighbors did not own a TV, so we would all gather together at the home of the one neighbor who had a set. Sitting on the floor in front of the TV, surrounded by people, I felt completely safe from inappropriate touches and sexual abuses, something that was a reality in other settings. During that time, TV became a safe haven.

Later in America, my passion for TV led me to fanfic, where TV shows never went on haitus, and fandoms (online communities) provided much needed connection in an otherwise isolated existence. Fandoms were a source of affirmation, validation, and encouragement. Actively participating in fandom, I made friends, exercised my creativity, and learned skills that continue to serve me today. TV became a gateway for learning and connection.

As my life became more complicated, binge-watching TV became a private affair. I watched hours and hours of TV on my own, often actively disliking watching TV with others. Under the demands of a rigorous undergraduate curriculum, I disengaged from fandom and watched TV to "relax" and "reset." This went on after I graduated from college, started a demanding job, entered a toxic relationship, exited said relationship, and embarked on a long journey to heal from childhood sexual abuse. TV was a constant companion, marking the lows and loneliness.

Studies have demonstrated that watching excessive amounts of TV has deleterious effects on physical and mental health. Binge-watching is an inherently sedentary activity that can lead to obesity, diabetes, and heart disease. It's also been connected to sore, tired eyes; insomnia or a reduction in quality sleep; depression; loneliness; and anxiety. To these studies, I would add my own observations and experiences: binge-watching contributes to anti-social behaviors, reduction of will power (often in the form of procrastination and dissolving of self-regulation), complacency (as individuals and citizens of a democratic society), and numbing of creativity. I also think it's correlated with binge-eating.

Despite these negative health effects, binge-watching is celebrated. We proudly declare our intention to binge-watch ("So excited for this series on Netflix; that's gonna be my weekend") and drop binge-watching into small talk ("I binge-watched all ten seasons in two weeks"). Companies encourage us to binge-watch, dumping thousands of hours of content onto their platforms each month, with 26-32 year olds subscribing to an average of three video streaming services. Internet and media giants are also banking on the epidemic, encouraging us to "binge on".

"Binge," a traditionally negative word that means to do something in excess, has become positive. Imagine if we were to treat binge-drinking or binge-eating the same way. Statements such as "My plans for the weekend are to binge drink" or "I was binge-drinking for two weeks straight" would never be socially acceptable; if anything, it would signal that there's a problem at hand, a person in need of an intervention. Yet, the same does not apply for binge-watching. Why?

I've come to justify it in a couple of different ways. We have been brainwashed to think TV is a "relaxing" activity worthy of excess. When this rationale fails and I dare to acknowledge binge-watching as a problem, I think, "Who am I harming?" This harming-no-one mentality clearly excludes myself, but knowing that I am not harming others makes it acceptable (the same logic does not apply to binge-eating, however, but that has more to do with sizeism and is out of the purview of this post). But at the end of a "binge-a-thon" when I'm left with anger (at myself, at the world, at life), emptiness, dissatisfaction, and depression, I have to face the reality: I, along with 70% of Americans, have an addiction problem.

So, what does an addict (and a society of addicts) have to do to recover? If we treat binge-watching the same way we treat alcoholism, then we might get to a healthy medium. As a society, we need to stop glorifying binge-watching and stop marketing campaigns that encourage this behavior. Streaming services need to do more than flash "Are you still watching?" signs. Perhaps they should flash a warning, informing people of the negative effects of binge-watching. App developers could design an app that allows viewers to set their own limits within a 24-hour period, which if reached, blocks access to the subscription service.

As individuals, we need to define for ourselves what healthy relationship to TV looks like. I have tried curbing my binge-watching only to come to the realization that going cold-turkey is probably the only way for me. Much like an alcoholic, there is no middle ground, no one-drink limit. I am either on the wagon or off.

Once we define a healthy relationship, we can employ some of the following strategies to stay healthy:

Exercise mindfulness. Binge-watching numbs us, allows us to disconnect and disregard our surroundings and circumstances. One way to re-engage is to exercise mindfulness. Practice pausing and looking around the room. Take in the details. Even a few seconds of this can shift us out of autopilot.

Turn off autoplay. This will help with exercising mindfulness.

Practice positive affirmations, such as "I release the need to binge-watch television." Positive affirmations can help reprogram the brain.

Create a check-list of things you can do instead of binge-watching, and then do it. This check-list can include things like: close your eyes, breathe, count to ten, and repeat three times; call a friend; get up and drink a glass of water; stretch. Do these things after pausing the video (if the video is playing, you won't be mindful and these strategies won't work).

Keep a list of changes you notice when not binge-watching TV. You might notice that you have more energy or you feel more focused. Reading this list later can also help keep you on track.

Dive deep and examine the real reasons for binge-watching. Binge-watching fulfills a need, feeds a fear. Examine these reasons closely. What challenge is being avoided? What feelings are not felt? What is being delayed, pushed out, or missed?

Watch out for harder-to-track replacements, such as excessive social media usage or shorter videos (the YouTube spiral). Sometimes, one addiction can be replaced with another. Stay alert to these changes.

What does parenting your inner child look like for you?

Parenting my inner child has meant different things at different times. In the beginning, it was acknowledging that there was a child with a personality, fears, and doubts who needed my time and attention, and whose trust I needed to acquire. I started with consistent interactions: I said hello to her, played games with her, made a list of things that I thought she would enjoy and then did them with her in mind.

Once we started to build trust and she started to show me more of herself and her true feelings, I was able to address some of the more difficult things—the fears, doubts, insecurities. Whether we are aware of it or not, it's these fears that get played out in our adult life. I came to see that my inner child was deeply hurt and often, her fears and insecurities overruled my present feelings of security.

In acknowledging and addressing my inner child’s fears, I learned the importance of extending compassion to myself. When you start to see that it’s a child within you that is hurt or scared, you stop criticizing or bullying yourself. You start to think: if I saw a scared child standing in front of me, I would not yell at her or put her down for being scared. I would exercise compassion, and in that way, I learned to be compassionate with my inner child. When she felt sad or scared or overwhelmed, I took her into my arms and held her instead of yelling at her or telling her to suck it up.

A strategy that helped me access the more compassionate side of me was to use what Louise Hay calls a "switch-to” image, which is where you recall a comforting image when experiencing a difficult emotion. Without much intentionality, I realized that any time I visualized holding my inner child, an image of Nani and Lilo from Lilo and Stitch came to mind. There were quite a few scenes in that movie where Nani holds and comforts Lilo. I imagined myself holding my inner child as Nani held Lilo on that hammock. I was the older sister and guardian, and I needed to protect and comfort my inner child, as Nani protected and comforted Lilo. It was extremely powerful to have that image to go to, and it immediately shifted my perspective. I felt grounded and calm, and it was a gentle reminder to be kind and considerate. (This example also shows how important representation is, but that’s a different post.)

Another strategy I regularly employ is asking myself how old the scared or hurt part of me is: it’s not so much that I have one inner child as it is that I have many younger selves to tend to, and each younger self has her own unique needs. My five-year-old self is worried about or fearful of completely different things than my thirteen-year-old self. As a result, they require different types of comfort, enjoy different activities, and so on. By asking questions like, “Which part of me is feeling this way? How old is she? What does she need? How can I meet these needs?” you can cultivate mindfulness, which is key to breaking habits such as self-criticism when confronted with difficult emotions.

I’ve found this work to be extremely meaningful. In addition to feeling more integrated and connected to myself, I experience fewer moments of powerlessness. When you realize that you can comfort the part of you that is sad, insecure, or otherwise hurting, you stop looking to sources outside of yourself for quick fixes and feel very empowered. I also found myself releasing inhibitions. Children are very good at expressing themselves, that is until they are taught by the people around them how to suppress their emotions. By accessing younger parts of myself, I’ve also accessed their fearlessness in being spontaneous or playful.

None of this is easy, though. It takes time to learn how to be a good parent to your inner selves, especially if you’ve never had positive parenting role models. You have to learn how to talk to a child without criticizing, shaming, or bullying. It also takes time for the inner child to trust you enough to let you parent her. It’s worthwhile, though, possibly one of the most important things you’ll ever do.

 Today, I heard of the US attack on Yemen 15 women and children died “some of the women were firing at the US force” protecting their own giving them hell they are rebels, too rebels against White Supremacy and American Imperialism.

 Here’s the thing about rebel women: You will never break their spirit You might take one, then another, but you’ll never take them all.

Unburden yourself, dear one Let your body collapse Give your sorrows a voice Free your anger from its cage You need not walk alone

Unburden yourself, dear one Allow me to hold you As you Sob Shout Rage And quiver For you are not alone.

One of the very first things I did as I started the healing process was reach back to my past. This was no small task for me. For years, I had actively rejected the past, refusing to even think about it. It was incredibly easy to do: because I moved to America at the age of nine, leaving behind nearly everyone from my childhood, I was able to cut off communication with those who had either hurt me or failed to protect me. In America, where I continued to experience abuse from new perpetrators, I found it easy to focus on other things instead, namely school and television. At school, I was encouraged to think ahead to the future, to higher education and careers. No one asked me to look back or consider the past. When not in school, I lived in the fictive realities I read about or watched on television. I spent hours on the phone with my best friend analyzing the TV shows we watched. These conversations made it easy to reject the present and the past.

When I finally began doing the work of remembering and reconnecting to my younger self, I faced numerous challenges. First, it was very obvious that this younger self did not trust me. Who was this adult trying to talk to her? I attempted to write a letter to my younger self, explaining how I had ignored her as a coping mechanism. I apologized, asked her if it would be okay for us to talk. I affirmed that I wanted to listen, to hear her story. The response from my inner self felt lukewarm at best; I didn’t hear a resolute “yes”, but I didn’t hear “no” either. So, I went ahead with the work of gaining the trust of my younger self.

I did many things. I engaged in dialogue, writing with my dominant hand to represent my present self and my non-dominant hand to represent the voice of my younger self. I drew a picture of myself as a child, and then asked her questions. I made a list of things my inner child would enjoy, and I attempted to do some of these activities. I greeted my inner child every day as I made my morning commute.

Eventually, I found these interactions to be easier. I was so mindful of my younger self that she stopped feeling neglected. One day while meditating, we created a safe space for us. I asked her to guide us to somewhere she felt safe. It was unlike any place I had ever been in reality. We were on a hill, overlooking a beautiful blue sea below. The sun was radiant, warming our skin, and there was a light, cool breeze. Behind us was a lovely cottage. We were the only ones there, and in the solitude of this natural, beautiful space, we felt safe. I looked down at my younger self, and she smiled at me. A rare, genuine smile. She took my hand, and we walked to the edge of the cliff. I am terribly afraid of heights, but in this space that we had created, I felt completely safe. I looked at my younger self again, and with one look, I knew what she wanted to do. We stood at the edge and shouted, “I love and approve of myself.” It echoed back to us, and we started to giggle. Over and over again, we shouted this affirmation I had learned from Louise Hay.

Inspired by this progress, I decided to start therapy, but very soon after, I realized that something in my relationship with my inner child had changed. In fact, I was returning to old habits I had released with her. I had talked to my inner child about how I no longer wanted to binge watch television as a way of escaping, and together, we had released the need for TV. For three months, I didn’t watch TV and found it easy to occupy my time with other things. I read and spent more time outdoors; I bought paint supplies and started to teach myself how to paint, something I had always wanted to learn. It felt incredibly freeing. But all of this stopped as I progressed in therapy. I was revealing and sometimes, under the guidance of my therapist, reliving some of the childhood trauma. As I did this, the need to binge watch TV overwhelmed me, and I felt powerless. I couldn’t talk to my inner child, either.

My therapist explained that my response was normal. I was sharing secrets that my younger self guarded at all cost, and to move beyond this, we needed to engage her in the conversation, too. We needed to invite her to therapy. So, under my therapist’s guidance, I began a new series of visualizations, one where I tried to regain the trust of my inner child. During each session, my therapist would ask me to close my eyes, relax and sink into the couch. She would tell me to release everything from the day, and bring my attention to my inner child. Then she would prompt me to notice where my visualization had taken me, what my inner child was doing. She would ask me to make eye contact with my inner child, and then, eventually, to speak with her.

These visualizations were incredibly powerful. I often cried during and afterward. With each attempt, I felt closer to my inner child again. Eventually, we returned to the safe space we had created.

Sometimes, I find myself feeling skeptical about how real this connection is. Is there really an inner child for me to connect to, or am I making stuff up? These questions come up again and again, especially when I discuss my visualizations in detail during therapy sessions. But, the questions have been easy to brush off, too. On a deep level, I know that these visualizations are real, that they are healing. In doing the work of engaging my inner child, I feel myself healing. I feel calmer, whole. I find it easier to be kinder to myself. I laugh more, and I feel energized. I also relate to children differently. I have two nephews, and in the past, I felt inadequate in my interactions with them. I felt that I could never cross the divide between childhood and adulthood and get on their level. Since doing the work of reconnecting to my inner self, I have found that it’s easier to switch to a childlike persona, to be creative and imaginative, when I am with my nephews. It’s brought new joy into our relationship.

Of all the healing work I have been doing for the past three years, this has been the most important piece. I would recommend this to everyone.

If you are interested in this work, too, here are a few resources to get you started:

“Healing Your Inner Child After Sexual Abuse” – Pandora’s Project provides a great overview of how to reconnect with, forgive, and heal your inner child.

You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay – Hay asserts that the patterns we have in our life right now, we learned in childhood. In her chapter “Where does it come from?” she encourages an exploration of where some of our most basic beliefs come from.

Revolution from Within: A Book of Self-Esteem by Gloria Steinem – Steinem provides stories of visualization, and additional guides on connecting with your inner child.

In addition to these and many other resources, consider finding someone trustworthy and qualified to help you in doing this work. There may be many fears when engaging in this process; it will help to have someone you trust to guide you through the process.

One of the biggest things survivors of child sexual abuse (CSA) struggle with is disclosure. We might blame ourselves for not asking for help when the abuse was happening, feel shame for living with the secret (or “letting it happen” to us), fear that we will be ostracized, unloved, unaccepted, and blamed if we disclose at all. In fact, disclosure is dangerous and the feeling of safety required to disclose is often nonexistent, especially while the abuse is happening.

Yet, there is a pervasive and damaging narrative of “If it had been me, I would’ve said something.” Take for instance Aziz Ansari’s bit about child molesters in Buried Alive. Ansari begins with his fear of raising children in a world where terrible things like CSA happens. But, then it takes this turn:

You read these news stories like, “Oh the soccer coach has been molesting these kids for years.” For years? Why do the kids keep going back to the same soccer camp? ...If I was forced to perform oral sex, I definitely would’ve been done. That would’ve been it for soccer. There’s no way I would’ve went back. That would’ve been a firm deal breaker…guitar lessons would’ve started next Tuesday.

In this bit, he assumes many things: that children have the power to say no to authority figures; that they feel safe enough with their parents or other adults to tell them the truth about why they can’t return to a site of abuse; that they weren’t made to feel responsible or threatened or humiliated; that they are aware of other children experiencing the same abuse they are (most often, abused children are made to feel that they are alone in the experience); that they have the tools to process the abuse; that they would be believed at all.

In reality, none of these assumptions hold true. Trauma expert Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D., describes this well in The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma:

Children sense—even if they are not explicitly threatened—that if they talked about their beatings or molestation to teachers [or other adults] they would be punished. Instead, they focus their energy on not thinking about what has happened and not feeling the residues of terror and panic in their bodies. Because they cannot tolerate knowing what they have experienced, they also cannot understand that their anger, terror, or collapse has anything to do with that experience. They don’t talk; they act and deal with their feelings by being enraged, shut down, compliant, or defiant.

Children are also programmed to be fundamentally loyal to their caretakers, even if they are abused by them. Terror increases the need for attachment, even if the source of comfort is also the source of terror. I have never met a child below the age of ten who was tortured at home (and who had broken bones and burned skin to show for it) who, if given the option, would have chosen to stay with his or her family rather than being placed in a foster home. (p. 135)

 There is an inherent fear of punishment, an inability to process the abuse, and a need to be loved and cared for despite all other actions. In the South Asian community, to which I belong, there are additional barriers to such disclosure. Before I could even remember, I was aware of gendered rules and rules of propriety and engagement with the opposite sex. Without being explicitly told, I received messages such as: girls and women who are loud, boisterous, or otherwise uninhibited in how they engage with the opposite sex are bad. These girls and women bring shame and dishonor to their family. They are essentially “asking for it.” To know this before puberty, to be so aware, and to have nothing to counter these messages, is a reality for most children, especially girl children. And with this knowledge, it is nearly impossible to not blame yourself or know that you’ll be safe from blame, to say, “This is not my fault and you should believe me.” So, to expect children to readily disclose the abuse they’ve experienced is dangerous, and to say that “I would’ve said something,” is most damaging.  

 Instead, we should think about how to cultivate a safe space for children to disclose. We should think about what our responsibility is in educating children, letting them know that no matter what, we would be there for them, we would believe them. We need to do the ongoing work of creating trust with children. Here are a couple of resources on how to have these conversations:

RAINN’s article: If You Suspect a Child is Being Harmed

Everyday Feminism’s article: 10 Ways to Talk to Your Kids About Sexual Abuse

 Let’s stop assuming that children will just know what is abuse, what to do when they are abused, or that they will be able to “say something.” Let’s stop perpetuating the damaging narrative of “I would’ve told” because most likely, you wouldn’t have been able to.

“I am a survivor of child sexual abuse,” I say. Then, to ease the discomfort of sharing something so intimate, I quickly follow up with, “I’m healing from it: I am going to therapy, and I’ve done a lot of work on my own.”

To this, I’ve received variations of: “I’m so sorry”; “Thank you for telling me”; “I’m proud of you for engaging in the healing process, for being proactive”; “You are so strong.” Then, eventually, “I just never would have suspected you were a survivor.”

Repeatedly hearing that I don’t fit into what others imagine survivors to be, I realized that we all have a survivor in mind. This survivor is visibly traumatized; has low self-esteem; doesn’t recognize, differentiate, or express their feelings; experiences depression and anxiety; demonstrates their trauma through their body (eating disorders, illnesses, disconnection); has a lower capacity for intimacy; is hypersexual or not sexual at all. We think this survivor to be all survivors because this imagining has been popularized, mythologized, so that we start to believe that sexual trauma is uncommon, only happening in certain places with certain people.

The reality is entirely different.

The truth of the matter is that when “one out of three (or four) girls and one out of six boys are sexually abused by the time they reach the age of eighteen[1],” it is impossible and dangerous to generalize about what a survivor looks like[2]. As a survivor, you can experience any of the above effects of abuse, or you can experience none of them. You can cope in many different ways, too. You might present a façade to the world, use humor or wit as a defense, dissociate, space out, avoid people or constantly surround yourself with people, create chaos or maintain control at any cost, underachieve or overachieve. You may exhibit self-destructive behavior or you may be the most reliable person you know.

There is no mold; there is no formula. You can never know; you can never assume.

For a long time, I held strongly to the belief that I did not need to engage in healing of any sort because I was not the survivor I had in mind. The first time I shared with someone details of the trauma from my childhood, I followed it up with, “But none of that really affects me. It happened, it’s over, and I’m good.” It took nearly a decade after that initial admission to say, “No, I think it does affect me. Just not in the ways I thought it would.”

In addition to blinding survivors to the deeply embedded effects of abuse, this mythic imagining of the survivor creates self-doubt. I found myself wondering: Was it really that serious? Did it really happen? Do I really need to put this much energy into healing? The secrecy and shame around abuse is enough to create these doubts; it’s even more dangerous to reinforce it with assumptions about what surviving should look like.

What I’ve learned through my healing work is this: There is a diversity of experiences when it comes to abuse and trauma, and they all count. Abuse, in any form for any period of time, is serious. It really did happen, even those things that we only have inklings about because we have forgotten or blocked out the details. Most importantly, healing is worth it. Every ounce of energy we can put into it is worth it because the rewards are tenfold. And I, we, deserve to heal.

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Description of the effects of child sexual abuse and ways to cope came from The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse by Ellen Bass and Laura Davis. 

 [1] The Courage to Heal 4th edition, 2008, p. xxiii

[2] CSA is generally under-reported, so these statistics vary widely depending on the study. For more recent statistics from several different studies, you can visit the National Center for Victims of Crime.

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