CELIA McBRIDE

Dearest Readers,

This is not going to be an easy post to write, or to read, but I feel it’s a necessary one. Speaking up about such matters as I am about to is the surest way to freedom from shame.

By “such matters” I mean sexual improprieties of all kinds, from the most innocent to the most vicious. Of course, the word “impropriety” is not the best one for the more hideous of sexual crimes but it suits well the situation I’m about to describe.

On a bus from New Orleans to Baton Rouge a young man whom I’d seen in the New Orleans station sat in front of me and covered himself with a big blanket. I thought nothing of this as the buses are air-conditioned to the max and loads of folks bring blankets and even coats with which to keep warm. Ludicrous when you think about it. The temperature outside is generally sweltering.

I’d noticed this particular young man for a number of reasons.  He had a paper bag for a suitcase, which can often mean a person has just been released from some kind of correctional facility, and he was being escorted by a scholarly-looking white guy who appeared to be acting as his guardian.

I also noticed him because he was beautiful. His black skin glowed with the freshness of youth and his eyes were extremely pretty for a male. He looked like a model.

In the seat in front of me, he made a sudden exaggerated motion underneath his blanket, appearing to make some kind of a joke about beating off. I took it to be an act of machismo but moments later he was really going at it and he turned his head to watch me through the space between his double seats. His guardian was sitting on the opposite side, one seat forward.

My first response was to experience real panic. I was sexually molested by a stranger when I was a child and I recognized right away the powerlessness, the feeling of fear that comes from being trapped. It resurfaced in seconds.

But I am no longer a victim. I have done the Healing necessary to overcome the shame and I continue to do the work whenever the situation calls for it. I suit up and show up so that I may live free, empowered by Higher Guidance and a fierce willingness to stare situations like this in the face and say, “This is unacceptable.”

Which is what I did. I met that man-boy’s intimidating gaze, meant to frighten and immobilize me, and spoke to him directly.

“I’ll tell the driver.” My panic response. No reaction but a trace of smugness in his pretty eyes.

Stronger now. I asked him to stop, saying something like, “Please don’t do this in front of me.  It’s disrespectful.” I was calm and I was compassionate. I showed no fear.

Amazingly, he did stop. He turned from me, sheepishly, with a look on his face that said, “It is not,” but, clearly, with a sense in his heart that it was.

Now what? Tell the driver? Tell his guardian? I imagined getting up and doing one or the other and saw an image of the young man charging at me with murderous rage. Was he dangerous?

How long I sat there pondering my next steps I do not know. Should I remain silent? After all, he obeyed me. What good would it do to tell on him?

Strangely enough (or, not-so-strangely, if you, like me, believe that coincidence is Divine), a similar incident occurred just last week when I was on the yoga ashram in the Bahamas. A local man running wild on the beach displayed his erection to a couple of the female guests, amusing at least one of them and tremendously disturbing the others.

At my urging, one of the women who was troubled by the incident spoke up about it, announcing what had happened to the staff and other guests. I supported her because, as I mentioned, I believe we need to speak up and speak out as a way of disarming the shame that these kinds of situations create.

The response on behalf of the authorities was less than satisfactory but this is nothing new. When I was molested I couldn’t figure out why all of the grown-ups around me were acting like nothing happened. Years later my mother told me they’d been asked not to make a big deal of it lest it worsen the trauma.

Twisted.

Finally, I decided I would write the scholarly guardian a note and pass it to him without being seen by his charge.

Here is what I wrote:

“Hello. The young man in your charge began to masturbate while watching me through the seats. I told him this was disrespectful and asked him to stop, which he did, but I thought you should know. Thank you.”

When I handed him the note he looked confused and even a little scared. What must he have imagined in that moment? I watched him from where I sat, unable to see his face. Moments later he popped his head up quickly, mouthed a rapid-fire “thank-you” and popped back down. Embarrassed? Afraid? Ashamed? All of the above? The man-boy slept soundly in front of me.

When we got off the bus in Baton Rouge neither of them looked at me. When I entered the restaurant where they sat eating french fries I did not look at them. They did not re-board the bus as I did, continuing on as I am to San Antonio. Thanks God for small mercies.

What does all of this mean? True Freedom lies in our own hands. No one can take it from us and therefore no one can give it back. We must claim it for ourselves.

Overcoming shame is an ongoing process, a call-to-arms against the minor and major injustices of this world. We have the Power to overcome our powerlessness by speaking up and speaking out. There is nothing, I repeat nothing, to be ashamed of.

Inspiring Message of the Day: I will defuse the bomb of shame by speaking up and speaking out. “Secrets grow in the dark and die in the Light of exposure.”