Finding Ashley

But I can’t.

I wish I could tell you that all my life I’ve been expected to starve myself. But you use my body, my boobs to market your cheeseburgers.

I wish I could express what it feels like to be in the room with a man who says personality is more important than looks but turns around and says “she doesn’t meet my standards” when a girl doesn’t meet the made up opinion of beauty. News flash: We see through you.

I wish that you knew how many times I’ve been told no. No, I’m not good enough. No, I’m not worth an explanation. No, I don’t even deserve the decent human respect that you get just for being a man.

I wish I could tell you how many times I’ve been told to shut up. By being ignored. By being told I’m too dramatic. By being told my opinion doesn’t matter so often that there were times I was convinced.

I wish I could tell you what it feels like to be torn from the inside while lying lifeless. But more importantly- I wish you really, really cared. I know you wish it didn’t happen but it does.. and I wish you thought about it more than you do. Even the best of you. I wish you cared as much as you think you do just because you’ve never raped someone. As if that’s some kind of solution to the problem. 

And I wish I could convince you that all of your excuses to not fight for me are louder than your meaning well.

I wish I could prove to you that even the men with the best intentions objectify me every single day by silently comparing me to the woman on their Instagram feed. I hate hearing you moan when you see her picture as if she’s food. When did licking your lips become some kind of term of endearment? Don’t lick your lips when you look at her. Don’t lick your lips when you look at me. I’m not your dinner and I’m not yours.

My heart aches and head hurts trying to find ways to convince you to be on my side.

And not by defending me in private. But by standing loud and proud for us. 

I wish you would fight for me when a man nudges you, looks at her and says “wish I could hit that ass”. Or when your friend makes the comment like, “man, that’d be worse than a dick in the ass” as if rape is something that could ever, ever be compared to anything else. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve heard these sentiments more than I care to count.

I do not know how to get to you. I don’t know how to convince you that we are not equal to you.

One day, I will feel safe in a room full of you. One day, I will be able to walk down the sidewalk in broad daylight without being yelled or whistled at. One day the girl who isn’t catcalled won’t feel like she’s somehow less than the girl who is because that’s what our society has made her believe is normal and flattering. One day, I will be defined not by what is in the mirror but by my passions, compassion, beliefs, and opinions. One day, I will be taken as seriously as you and will be able to have conversations without your thoughtless, perverted, and offensive jokes. One day- if you stand for me.

I know you are scared to admit that you have done this to me for so long. I know you are scared to admit that this is a culture and not just my problem- but yours too.

Has your being ever been pushed down so far that you feel beneath everyone around you?

Mine has. Hers has too. Whoever your her is, be it your sister or daughter, she has felt this way.

Please know that I don’t wish these societal tragedies and targets on you. I just want you to see me. Will you fight for me? Will you fight for her? What can I do to convince you that we need you in this? My heart is so heavy as I beg of you to fight against the things you have been conditioned to believe are normal behavior. Don’t fall into the same trap as those before you and convince yourself that “boys will be boys”.. be better.

Dear Mr. President,

I hope this letter finds you well. I like the new golden curtains decorating the Oval Office- I wasn’t an avid fan of the red so it was a welcomed change.

Let’s start by doing introductions.

I am sure you have met me. You have met me in protests and you have seen me on social media. You have seen me use foul language to get my point across. You have watched me use any opportune platform to viciously, atrociously, with all of my might and as loud as my voice can muster oppose you. You have heard of me hurting people’s feelings by so verbally violently opposing your policies.

And I have met you. In my own life, I have known you. I have been preyed upon by rich, older, powerful men who felt that they could “move on me like a bitch” and “grab me by the pussy”. I have been introduced to you in my acquaintances who felt that “laziness is a trait in blacks”. I have witnessed you as the stone cold authority figure standing in a room full of immigrant students that are afraid they will never survive or see their family again.

I want you to know that despite all of our differences, I see you. After months of searching for answers, I’ve come to realize that you are, in fact, my president and the least I can do is try to understand you. I see that you want jobs for Americans and only Americans. I see that you want terrorism out of our country. I see that you currently (I say currently because this hasn’t always been your stance) are passionate about not “killing unborn children”. There are a lot of things that you do and say that I see and even understand.

I am not here to talk about your policies- we could argue those back and forth. I am just here to let you know that I see where you’re coming from. I see your perspective.

I am writing this letter to request one thing of you: Please be my president too.

 I know that maybe that’s asking a lot of you after all we’ve said about each other. After all of the vivid nightmares your administration has given me and after all the pounding headaches I (we) have given you. In our own ways, in our own words, we have been confident vocal advocates opposing each other.

Please hear me. Please see me. Please see us- All of us, men and women, who did not vote for your policies. I plead of you to look past your twitter feed and popularity to understand why women across the country are so hurt by your words. Sexual assault victims are trembling at the thought of you revoking grants that support the end to Violence Against Women. Please don’t make excuses for your comments that have hurt and scared us- you are our president now. Please take responsibility for your comments and work to see us as we are working to see you. Please see our passion for women’s health. Please see our concern for gun control reform. Please see our heart for refugees who are fleeing for their life.

 I know I am asking you to be the bigger man. I know I am asking you to let down your wall of being tough on tough issues and I know what that means to your popularity with fans. I’m asking for you to not be defensive and hear us. Be the best man. Be the man who can hear both sides. Be the man who does better than those before you and is fair.

Don’t let my voice be silenced for four years.

I get it.

I understand why this election doesn’t matter to you. I understand why you can sit back and pretend racism isn’t a real problem, why prejudice isn’t the most important issue right now. Because when you shut yourself out from everything but your world- it’s so, so easy to see society through rose colored glasses. I understand with things like Isis and deleted emails (because who deletes their emails, right?), feminism isn’t so important. I understand that raising taxes if you make over 250,000 dollars year (yes, only if you make more than 250,000 dollars a year) is a little scary. You work hard for your money.

But go to a shelter. See women and men with two jobs still not be able to afford to make it on their own. Not everyone who “milks welfare” is sitting on a couch playing with a free iPhones. I also encourage you to actually research how much of your paycheck goes into helping others. It’s a lot less than you think. Don’t turn a blind eye.

Go to a middle school. See black kids sit at their own table. See discrimination so evident that it’s as if segregation still exists. Turn on something other than Fox News. Get out of your privileged white world long enough to see an innocent black man get shot while reaching for his drivers license.

Visit a crisis center. Look at women seeking help because no one gives a SHIT about sexual assault. Don’t believe that? A kid raped an unconscious girl behind a dumpster and got six months in jail. But.. It’s just boys being boys, right? It’s just “locker room talk”.

Educate yourself on what life was like for women before abortion was legal. It’s ignorant to believe that pro-choice citizens are “pro killing babies”. I don’t want to go back to the “good ole days” where women would die from trying to perform their own abortions in alleyways with coat hangers. Sorry that us “socialist” that you are afraid are trying to take all your rights away don’t believe that the GOVERNMENT should have any say in what we can do with our bodies. If they can make abortion illegal they can make abortions mandatory. I kid you not when I say that I was in a teen pregnancy prevention coalition meeting a month ago when a conservative said that abortions should be mandatory for teenage girls that haven’t finished high school. And by the way, if you’ve never adopted a child- don’t start talking to me about being “pro life”.

Hang out in a neighborhood full of immigrants. Watch as they try to function in a new place where they are outcast and spat on. Watch as a father tries to protect his family while trying to learn English. Watch as they are considered rebellious for being cultured but not cultured like you. Watch how hard it is. Understand that most times they don’t want to be here but most have fled for their life.

Of course, about gun control. It’s unreasonable for democrats to think that only sane and people not questioned by the FBI should be allowed to have guns. How ludicrous is that?

Hey, Tumblr.

From my unwavering opinion on feminism to my unquestionable faith, so much has changed in my time away from writing all over you. Though it’s happened a trillion times over the course of my time here- I am constantly surprised at how time has the power to develop us (even without our consent). Each time I think I can’t process anymore, life hands me more information and I am flattered it believes me strong enough to handle it. I have come to the hard + humble realization that the wiser I become, the less I know. And maybe that was the secret this whole time.

In my time away, I’ve accepted that I am not strong in my faith. 
For I have so many questions without answers. I am not here trying to inspire anyone anymore. I’ve quit lying to myself. I am here to be transparent and hopefully help someone along the way. The God I once believed in has become foreign to me and though not for a moment do I question His existence, I accept that He is not who I thought He was. He is much kinder and more patient than my previous illusion portrayed Him to be. I don’t know His agenda and sometimes I doubt I know His truth but neither here nor there- I am most content in accepting Him as I’ve come to know Him without all the messy intrusions produced by others invasive perspectives. I am content to know Him in my everyday life and hopefully my character alone will prove I have been changed because of my need for grace and not just because of grace itself.

In my time away I have also discovered a beautiful truth- the truth that I have been a virgin to actual love. 
I have learned to make love in the middle of the night when I reach for him. And I learned how to make love in the evenings when I can’t keep my eyes off him in the kitchen. I learned while waking up late on Sunday morning or throughout eating doughnuts and drinking coffee. Love is made when I stand outside the bathroom just to hear him sing in the shower. Or when I clock in a minute late because of it. I make love to him in my day dreams where I make him feel safe and wanted and on my lunch breaks where our kisses are timed. I make love to him in the moments during the day that we choose each other despite the boredom. 
For every time the world has told me I’ve made love, I know now that they were wrong.

Further on that note: 
I make love when I say “thank you” for the small things + when I choose forgiveness. I make love when I choose to see the good in the person who only sees the worst in me. We make love by opting to see the suffering of others instead of avoiding it. And by opening doors for the elderly and waving to complete strangers. We make love to the world by being kind to those who don’t deserve it and by embracing the oppressor as much as we do the oppressed. Sometimes we are so distracted by love for the broken that we forget the one doing the breaking. We make love by creating an environment around us that welcomes and warms those whom are considered undesirable. 
In a world where we have to intentionally work hard to see past the exterior and into the identity of a person, I hope I always try to be an exception.

I see undeniable changes in myself.
I see people differently. I see life differently. I see the ones I love, the things I love- I see it all differently now. I know it isn’t because the whole world has changed but because I, myself, have changed. Without trying to convince myself, I see life as it truly is. It’s a rush of catastrophic events that shape us. It is a rush of people trying to be happy. We’re trying to be happy while simultaneously making the ones we love happy as well. Of all my goals and dreams, I desire most to slow down and enjoy the journey. I hope to not stress so much about the end results or be too concerned about how the world is going to end. I am working hard to accept things as they come, accept me as I am and accept circumstances as they knock on my door.

I am nowhere near who I want to be. I am working as hard ever to become that person. With practice, who I’ve always wanted to be is becoming more natural on my skin. I’ve spent quite some time developing her. This is just a blog post to say thanks to those who have loved, supported and been patient with me through all my transitions. I also wanted to give Tumblr an update given its been around through some crazy times as well.

People constantly ask me why I’m so passionate about sex trafficking. My answers have ranged from statistics (those alone are pretty terrible) to my general opinions on the subject. I finally want to brave sharing a tiny part of my story.

Many people are unaware of the fact that I was sexually abused as a young adult. 

I remember it so vividly- picture perfectly. I was a complete person- safe. whole. original. I was so pure- innocent that morning when I walked out my front door. I came home late that February night feeling completely stripped of everything I was. I felt I was no longer my dad’s princess. I was filthy. I was sick. The thoughts in my head ranged from “no one will ever want you” to “you can’t even look in the mirror”. I considered swerving off the road that night. In one instant, I felt my whole identity had been severely altered. I hadn’t cried yet. I couldn’t let him know how much it had broke me. My mom couldn’t know. It would choke her. She would blame herself. I was too busy shouldering the blame to try and share it with someone else. With my chin high, I remained calm until I was positive my sweet mother and strong dad were asleep. I smiled until I was positive it wouldn’t affect anyone around me. Then I crashed. I vomited. I sobbed. I didn’t sleep that night and I would have random hours where I was completely convinced it hadn’t happened. Then I would vomit again as the whole thing replayed in my mind as if it were still happening. I remember thinking the next morning when I was out of tears and had no more liquid in my body, “you can’t let this win. If you can use this to help one other girl, it will have all been worth it”.

Of course, looking back on it none of those things were true. That event did not change who I was. I was still beautiful. I was still deserving of love. It just took me a long time to accept those things. If you’re reading this and feel the way I felt before, know that you are so perfect just the way you are. You may never share your story with another soul- and that’s ok! Just know that you are not weak. You are powerful! You are loved! You. have. purpose. 

For two years, however, it did win- I pretended it never happened for two years. I didn’t cry another tear for two years. I finally shared it with a dear friend and received help. Unfortunately, no amount of help or hugs can piece you back together. For six months, I struggled through the nightmares and constant suicide contemplations. It takes determination to beat abuse. It takes deciding you are stronger. For me, my saving grace was knowing that my healing or bitterness would determine my ability to help others. When I finally made peace with myself and him, I was more determined than ever to use my pain for good.

Looking back, it was so worth it. I feel I am privileged. My desire in life is to help.. and what better way than to empathize? Ah. Now I’m crying. And smiling. I feel I have been able to help so many girls and women alike because of that event. It has been so worth it. 

And this. This is why I am passionate about sex trafficking. These women and children, face much larger demons than I have. Who will cry for them? Who will speak for them? Modern day slavery is alive. My heart aches for the little one who was touched inappropriately as much as it does for the girl who has been locked in a closet for six months. These things are real.. Who will help raise awareness of their reality? I will. 

Find something you love. I am personally very passionate about suicide prevention as well as sex trafficking. I’m constantly trying to find more ways to get more involved and become more knowledgable of symptoms that aren’t so obvious. Be it the homeless community, abused women, wounded veterans, human trafficking, suicide prevention- find something you care about and get involved. You are worth so much and people need your loving hands, broken heart and strong voice.