Voiceless
On some things
I feel
my voice is
silence
silenced?
Silence my voice
voice my silence

Sometimes
silence
is the voice of grace
grace the voice
in silence
Is silence sometimes
the greater grace?

I’m not sure what sense this little collection of words makes, and I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say.
What I know is this: I’m feeling voiceless, and from my voiceless feeling comes the question, Is silence sometimes the greater grace? Or, when is silence the greater grace?

Why am I feeling voiceless?
Because in the matter of traumatic sexual experiences, I too have a story/stories. One I can tell, one(s) I cannot.

My first sexual experience with a woman – really, my first true sexual experience – involved deceit, manipulation, and a lack of consent. 21 and I had never been drunk before, but a couple coworkers thought being 21 should be celebrated. One of them took me to her home later. The experience itself was unsettling in its emptiness, but it was the aftermath of harassment that was truly chilling – having the two of them confront me at work “We knew you were gay, you can’t hide it,” the two of them waiting for me outside my apartment when I got off work at 3 am, or the time I came home to find the yard decorated with toilet paper and apparently stolen road signs. It felt evil.

It also left me wondering, what does a consensual, joyful, soulful sexual experience feel like? Will I ever know?
When I went into celibate ministry later, I figured I’d never know and that would be okay.

But there’s another story, too.

It’s not that I lack courage to tell this story. I do have a voice, I know my voice, and I have lifted my voice to share other parts of my story – spirituality, sexuality, identity, the journey toward becoming a whole, beloved person.
There are other parts of my whole story I have left in silence, especially aspects of distressing sexual experiences – at least online silence. Because is it always the highest good, the most right thing, to bare deeply intimate things to the light of the [online] world? Does it always help with healing? No …
Do I entirely feel the liberty to share those intimate bits of my story, which is intermingled with another’s story, and in considering reverberations it could bring into my life or my children’s life? No …
But – do I want to be heard? Yes, absolutely.
And I have been heard. Heard by friends, heard in private conversations. Heard in even the stillness of my meditations  – the Spirit has heard me. And so there has been healing.

The main reason I’m writing is for myself, to process my thoughts and feelings, to wrestle with nuances. Perhaps another reason I’m writing is to put a little light on why some stories may not get told, some voices remain silent, or why this silence is sometimes a valid choice. These things deserve voice and understanding too …

All the stories and experiences matter. All the voices matter; all our voices matter!

I do think it’s important to consider that there are many forms and contexts in which traumatizing sexual experiences can occur, and there are demoralizing, dehumanizing sexual experiences women – anyone – go through that may not necessarily arise to the level of criminality or legal reckoning. That doesn’t mean there isn’t, or shouldn’t be, a spiritual, social, or moral reckoning of some kind.

Perhaps these experiences could or should be called assault or rape; perhaps in the technical legal definition, some would be considered neither rape nor assault. But where there was not consent, or consent was coerced, what should it be called? These experiences fall into a psychologically – as well as physically and physiologically – valid experience of being raped, feeling and being deeply, humiliatingly violated and intimately disrespected. Emotionally and spiritually raped.

All the stories and experiences matter!

All the voices matter, whether they roar or whisper, or are veiled in a fierce silence of grace or a fearful, shamed silence.

And sometimes, perhaps there’s genuinely a lack of intent to have caused someone to feel sexually degraded or demoralized, or a terrible awakening and striking pain when realizing this has been the other person’s experience. Lack of intention, lack of awareness, does not absolve the need for accountability, however, in whatever form.  In my situation, something about understanding this lack of intention has absolved me from carrying the weight of blame and shame, and created space for compassion (and self-compassion) that has ultimately been so healing for me.

To return to the question, I think sometimes [public] silence can be an act of grace that preserves peace in interactions that must continue – I feel that way for myself, anyway. Yet, while it’s okay for me to be [publically] silent about this piece of my story, and valid for me to feel that this kind of silence is grace in my experience, I feel that the greater grace in general now is the breaking of the silence, the outpouring of stories, the undoing of shame.

Indeed, it is well beyond the time for silence on sexual violence and the structures that enable it to be broken, the time for things that have been hidden, cloaked in unjust shame, to be unveiled – truths should be seen and heard and known. For the sake of women and the sake of all human beings who have experienced sexual violence.

After all, does change ever happen without stories, uplifted voices, narrating it?

But yet – though it’s okay to choose privacy on pieces of my story, and let others speak who can speak freely and whom the Spirit is moving to speak –
Something in me still feels voiceless. But at least I’ve given the voiceless feeling I’ve struggled with a voice here … it helps.
It’s been sharply uncomfortable. I want to have a voice, and I want it to roar and be heard, with fierce grace and belovedness!

But it helps to remember that I’m not truly voiceless … because my voice is joined with my sisters’ voices. And their voices are rising strong, perhaps shaking and perhaps with tears, but rising strong.
My spirit is joined with their spirit, our collective spirit rising strong – Spirit rising strong through us, through many.

Together, we all rise.