a few late p.m. thoughts on forgiveness…

Despite reminding other women not to blame themselves, I struggled for over a year to follow my own advice.

Despite knowing clothing isn’t an invitation for sexual activity, I still replay in my mind what I was wearing- a loose fitting dress that reached my ankles with flats and a cardigan.

I still beat myself up now and then about my entrapment… How did I not know that the child lock was on the passenger door and escape was impossible?

I scold myself for freezing up. I should have fought back… I have successfully fought off wannabe muggers and robbers. I have always been a fighter and yet, in that instance, I failed myself.

I still struggle to forgive myself. I have felt more anger at myself than a culture that has left generations believing that fabric or its absence is the cornerstone of what makes one person rape and another person not.

It’s fucked up. The world isn’t just black and white or shades of grey. It’s all of the aforementioned and then some.