Your Words About Teen Girls Matter

Several schools in my area celebrated Homecoming this weekend, and my social media feeds were full of photos posted by proud parents and excited kids.  It was so much fun to see kids expressing their style and confidence in the clothing choices they made.  I saw pictures of fancy strappy heels and Converse sneakers.  There were bow ties and suspenders and patterned sports jackets.  There was an AMAZING pink faux fur jacket and solid and floral dresses.  Young women chose everything from little black dresses to longer formals.  Some girls chose high necklines, and other girls chose low necklines.  Some girls chose form-fitting dresses, and other girls chose dresses that poofed out in tulle.  I loved them all.  Dances are such a fun part of high school.  It's a chance for students to dress up, try different styles, and practice at some aspects of adulthood.

Unfortunately, my feed was also full of comments about the girls' clothing choices.  In the last three days, I've seen adults (usually moms) using phrases like "slutty," "that dress is an open invitation," "she doesn't have the right body for that," "reminds me of a hooker," "reminds me of a strip club," and "clearly asking for something."  I'd like to take some time to address these comments, try to explain why these comments are harmful to young women, and offer alternative ways for adult women to share their beliefs without causing harm.

First, we live in a culture that too often excuses sex crimes based on women's clothing choices.  This display at the University of Kansas shows that pretty clearly.  When we use what a woman is wearing as an excuse for devaluing her as a human being, we are perpetuating rape culture.  When our sons and our daughters hear us say things like "it was an open invitation," and "clearly asking for something," we are TEACHING them that we believe it is okay for sex crimes to happen.  When we throw around words like "hooker" and "slutty" in reference to girls' clothing, we are taking a human being and demeaning them to something perceived as "less than" and as someone who doesn't deserve the same common courtesies other humans deserve.

Next, it's clear that it it doesn't matter what girls wear when we talk about inappropriate sexual comments and contact.  The girl in the project linked here is clearly not wearing what most of these moms would consider "slutty," yet she had daily unwanted contact from men who felt it was their right to comment on her body, follow her, and sometimes touch her.  When we make comments about what girls are wearing, we are using it as an excuse for this kind of unwanted behavior, somehow making it seem like it's the girl's fault.   The reality is it doesn't matter what a girl wears.  My daughter is catcalled wearing pretty casual (and what most would deem modest) clothing.  Here are some examples of clothing she's worn that has drawn unwanted sexual commentary, attention, and unwanted touch from men:

The top picture shows her in a favorite casual outfit, the second is her ready to head to work as a busser at a restaurant, and the bottom is her in typical casual work-out clothing.  All three outfits are examples of clothing that drew unwanted sexual comments and attention from men.  The third drew unwanted physical touch when a man she didn't know stopped her while she was jogging and grabbed her in a "hug," making sure she noticed his erection.  I think even the moms who disapprove of the homecoming dresses on their Facebook feeds would agree there is nothing revealing about any of these outfits.  MEN DON'T BEHAVE BADLY BECAUSE OF THE CLOTHES WOMEN WEAR.  They behave badly because they believe they have a right to.  When they are caught, they defend themselves by making comments about the woman's clothing.

Finally, every woman, young and old, should be able to feel confident and beautiful, including girls who wear larger sizes.  If a size 16 girl wants to wear a short dress that shows off her legs, or cap sleeves because she likes the style, she gets to.  If a large-busted girl wants to wear something that is form fitting because the idea of a wearing a baggy sweatshirt is unappealing to her, she gets to.  Why on earth do we as moms believe it is our job (or even our right) to tell other people's daughters what they should wear?  We have a mental health crisis amongst teens in America.  They need to feel confident about who they are, and they should be able to stand tall in the clothing choices they make.  There is absolutely no reason girls should be getting unsolicited "advice" about what they are wearing.  Frankly, it's just plain mean.  As the mother of a curvy girl, I get that there are some moms who would likely be unimpressed with my daughter's senior year homecoming dress: 

Yes, it's short.  And yes, it shows off cleavage.  But look at her face.  What do you see?  I see a beautiful, confident young woman who is having a wonderful night.  And you know what?  NO ONE catcalled her.  No one followed her.  No one grabbed her.  This dress would likely be classified as "an open invitation," or "slutty" by some moms, but she was treated respectfully and kindly all night. That's probably because her date was a respectful young man.   What women wear is not the problem.  The problem is men thinking they have rights they don't have.

When we as a society continue to blame clothing for inappropriate sexual behavior, we are supporting that behavior. 

Moms, you get to decide how to coach your daughters in their clothing choices.  You can decide whether or not you are comfortable with clothing that is tight, or clothing that is low cut in the front, or clothing reveals a midriff.  Those are all choices you get to make for and with your kid.  And that's totally okay.  And, when you post a picture of your daughter dressed up for Homecoming in a dress that she obviously feels beautiful and confident in, I'm going to "love" it, because every girl should feel beautiful and confident.  You can even say on social media that you prefer your daughter to wear clothing that doesn't have a low cut top, or doesn't reveal her midriff, or isn't tight.  That's your right.  But when you start using words and phrases that put blame for unwanted sexual comments and contact on what girls are wearing, that's just not okay.  You are teaching your kids and their friends unwanted sexual contact and assault are the girl's fault because of what she's chosen to wear.  You are making the problem worse.  You are giving sex offenders a free pass, and you are telling girls that whether or not they are harassed or assaulted is on them.  That makes coming forward after a sex crime all the more difficult. 

Girls, you rocked your homecoming dresses. It was SO MUCH FUN to see your style shine through, and I can't wait to see what you decide to wear for Prom.

My Mom Broke Up With Me Last Week

She sent me an email telling me she wouldn't be contacting me again. 

You wouldn't think from looking at the family in this picture that a disaster was on the horizon.  That baby in the picture is me, in my mom's lap. 

It's been a long time coming, really.  When I was very young, she and my dad got a divorce.  She spent all of my growing up years putting all of her efforts into finding a man, and it didn't seem to matter what kind of man she found.  She went from one abusive relationship to another, putting my brother and I in a constant state of crazy circumstances and, frankly, dangerous ones. 

As an adult with some life and professional experience under my belt, it's easy now to see the mental illness and dysfunction.  As a child, however, I thought our lives were normal.  Leaving home in the middle of the night to pick up the latest guy from jail?  Normal.  Watching dishes fly through the kitchen while adults screamed at each other?  Normal.  A child calling in sick for her mother because she was heartbroken over the latest breakup?  Normal.   It's honestly remarkable I'm not crazy myself.

There were moments of joy, for sure.  She got my brother and me a Nintendo game, and together we conquered Mario's quest.  We watched family movies together on Sunday nights on the TV.  Sometimes, on paydays, we'd get to go to Taco Bell for dinner.

Mostly, though, it felt like navigating a minefield.  If I was good enough, got perfect grades, and didn't mess up, maybe I could escape the yuck.

There were plenty of adults in my life who noticed what was going on and stepped up and in to try to fill the obvious gap.  My grandparents did what they could on summers and breaks.  We lived with them for sporadic periods of time when she couldn't keep housing or jobs.  Teachers were especially supportive during middle school and high school, noticing my drive for excellence and baby-stepping me into college.  Family members, including my brother and dad, did what they could to mitigate the fallout of having a mom who was constantly in a state of crisis.  In college, my roommates and their parents took me under their wings and introduced me to experiences I would have never had otherwise.

Once I reached adulthood, I thought I had things figured out.  I recognized my mom's strengths and weaknesses and was able to work with them so we could maintain a relationship.  She was terribly jealous of Mike and any friends I had, making it difficult to juggle relationships, but I made it work.  Sometime in my mid-twenties, she cut off contact with my brother completely.  Again, he protected me and didn't bring me into that drama. 

Then seven years ago, we had a major family crisis.  Mike was deployed and  something terrible happened, and I NEEDED my mom.  I needed her to choose to stand by me and my family.  She didn't.  In fact, she stood in direct opposition of what we needed and then disappeared.  To be fair, she was in the midst of crisis as well, but the betrayal was huge, and real, and awful.

We didn't talk except for terse conversations via phone and email for a year.  After that, Mike and I went to her in the spirit of reconciliation, hoping to set things back on a path to a relationship.  After meeting with her for nearly two hours, we left, hopeful that we could make things work.  When I got home there was an email from her waiting for me telling me we hadn't even tried and how disappointed she was.

The next five years followed the same pattern:  a push-pull scenario where Mike and I made our best efforts to reconcile and our attempts were never good enough. In order to protect the kids because real safety issues were involved, I told her she wouldn't have access to them until she was able to first fix her relationship with me.  I offered to go to a counselor with her.  I offered to talk to a pastor with her.  I offered to meet again.  She didn't like those options.  She wanted full unrestricted access to our kids, and we weren't allowing her that.  She didn't talk to me for nearly a year.  Then, last December she sent me a multi-paragraph email with instructions to "forward this to Mike."  In it, she detailed to Mike every wrong she felt I had committed against her.  I replied, telling her that I wasn't forwarding the email to Mike, but that if she wanted to discuss the issues she'd brought up with me, I was willing to do that.  She never replied.

Last week I got the break-up email.  She told me that she loved me, but that she would never contact me again.  She gave that weird apology people give when they aren't really sorry:  "I'm sorry if I did anything to hurt you," and then told me she forgave ME.  She quoted a Bible verse.

I've chosen not to reply. I'm not sure what else there is to say.  Short of allowing her to be unsafe around my family, there's nothing I can do at this point to please her.

It's weird losing a mother in this way.  There's no death date I can mourn.  I can't visit a gravesite and leave flowers.  No one talks about having crappy mothers, because mothers aren't supposed to be crappy.  They are supposed to be strong.  And brave.  And present.  And trustworthy. It's strange and uncomfy to admit you have a terrible mother, because it makes you worry that people will think it's your fault for some reason, or that there's something wrong with you.

That's why I'm sharing my mom break-up story with you.  I KNOW her problems are not my problems.  I KNOW I can't be responsible for her happiness.  And I KNOW that my decisions have been made based on what's best for my family, paired with a genuine effort for reconciliation.  There is truly nothing else I can do at this point.  I feel bad that my kids have lost a grandmother.  I feel bad that my mother will likely spend her last years without family.  I feel bad that I don't have a mom to call with questions only moms can answer.  But none of those things are on me, and I know that.

I am so blessed by other women who have come alongside me to support me as I grow in my marriage, my role as mom, my career, and my spiritual life.  There are several older women who recognize that I am motherless and have stepped in to mother me.  One dear friend made us meals during a particularly trying time.  Another is always ready to step in at a moment's notice for emergencies.  Other women who are closer to my age have been a sounding board for hairy parenting, career, and marriage situations.

Friends, many of you have mothers that are mentally ill or disengaged or just plain crappy.  Please know that my heart hurts for you and I get it. To be motherless without a death is a seriously sad thing. But know also that there are people in your life who are ready and willing to stand with you and for you.  We can help fill the gap and make sure you are not alone as you walk this road we are all on together.

One last thought:  it was only because people saw the situation I was in as a child and stepped in to do something that I am able to be a successful wife, mother, and teacher today.  There are kids in your life in this same situation.  You can't take them home with you, but you can fill in the gap.  You can point to a better future.  You can help procure resources.  You can be a cheerleader.  It was people like you who literally gave a girl like me a future.  Don't be discouraged when you come across kids with absent or crappy parents.  Instead, be encouraged that the time you invest in them can make a huge difference in their lives.  It definitely did for me.

A Dipper Full of Love

As a military family, we are no strangers to being separated from each other.  In fact, of Chelsea's eighteen birthdays, Mike has missed eight of them due to deployments and trainings.  That can be hard on a kid, and hard on a dad.  Chelsea and Mike have always had an exceptionally close relationship.  They have such similar personalities that he has historically been the person she goes to for advice on a variety of topics.

While Micah and I always looked forward to phone calls from Mike when he was gone, Chelsea just couldn't do them.  It wasn't that she didn't miss her Daddy, or that she didn't want to talk to him, it's that hearing his voice and not being able to see him was just too much grief, too much missing, too much everything.  Mike had to figure out other ways to connect with Chelsea during deployments.  They'd write letters to each other, and she'd send him pictures of their favorite things.  When she was older, they'd email each other and/or send messages via social media. 

Eight years ago, before a deployment, we got a children's book about a little boy who's dad was going to Iraq.  The father and son decided they would play catch each night with the north star, giving them a chance to feel connected before bedtime each night.  This gave Mike an idea.  He took Chelsea and Micah outside and showed them how to find the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.  He explained to them that he would be able to see these same stars from where he was on the other side of the world.  He promised that each night before he went to bed, he'd look up at the stars and he'd fill those dippers up with love, hugs, and kisses for each of them:  the Big Dipper for Chelsea, and the Little Dipper for Micah.  He asked them to look for the constellations at bedtime and take out his gift and replace it with their own love, hugs, and kisses for him.

Each clear night during that deployment, we'd look outside and think of him.  Chelsea really got into it.  That Big Dipper meant everything to her.  I remember one night I sent her out to the back yard to do a quick chore.  When she didn't come right back in the house, I started to worry about her and peeked out to see what was up.  There was my little girl, standing in the middle of the back yard, eyes to the sky, and blowing kiss after kiss and hug after hug up.  I watched her "catch" kisses from the air and put them on her cheeks, and hug herself with Daddy's hugs.  I can feel tears in my eyes now as I write this.

Graduation is tomorrow, and Chelsea will be leaving home to go to a school eight hours away in the fall.  We'll go through at least two military-related separations during her four years in undergraduate school. Tonight he gave her the most special of gifts:  a pendant with the Big Dipper on it, designed to remind her that no matter where she is or where he is, they will always have each other.  He had an identical piece made into a keychain for himself, so he has that reminder as well.

Being a military family can be challenging, but it also offers an opportunity to grow relationships in special ways that strengthen bonds.  I'm so grateful for the gifts this life has given our little family, and am so proud we've served our country while maintaining such love and unity.

That Kid

Tonight, I saw "that kid."
You know the one.

Just a note to say, this guy ISN'T "that kid."

He just humored me with a picture.

The kid with hair in his eyes.
The kid who is late to class. Every day.
The kid who vandalized the bathroom.
The kid who completes no work.
Occasionally he turns in something with profanity or a vulgar picture on it,
just to keep you guessing.


The kid who laughs as he bullies another student.
The kid who claims his goal is to get suspended.
The kid who, by this time of year, is REALLY hard to have in class.
You're tired.
And this kid has never tried.
And it is really really hard to keep looking for good.
To give him a fresh start every day.

I saw THAT kid tonight.

Except that he was a man.
And he had a job that he was doing well.
And his hair was cut neatly.
And he made eye contact and spoke politely.


And he wasn't using his kid nickname any more. He had a man's name.
And I had to ask him, because I just wasn't sure: "Are you THAT kid?!?!"


And he was someone who looked successful. And happy. And different.
I saw that kid tonight, friends, and I remembered the hours you and I put into him.

I remembered the meetings.
The frustration.
The sheer annoyance.
The desire to give up. 
But we didn't. Even when he pushed hard against us, daring us to give up.
We didn't.
We did our jobs.
We tried new tricks.
We supported each other.
We kept on.
And we told that kid, "You matter."

And somehow, somewhere along the line, something worked. 
Because I saw that kid.
And he's a man you'd be proud of.

It's May.
And it's hard.
And that kid is making you crazy.
And it would be so much easier to throw in the towel.
Don't.


That kid needs you.
And what you are doing is important.
And someday you'll be blessed to see him as an adult and it will be AWESOME.
You've got this.
You are exactly what that kid needs.
You. Are. Exactly. What. He. Needs.

Why #Imwithyou

By now you may have seen my Facebook post, in which I share the victim's statement I read on behalf of my daughter back in March.  Despite being longer than a typical social media story, the post was shared 250 times by people all over the United States.  We know, based on the comments on the post itself, messages we received from moms and young girls in similar situations, and the number of people who unfriended and blocked me on social media, that we struck a nerve.

If you don't have time to read the statement now, here's a two sentence summary:  In August of 2015 our daughter was the victim of a felony sex crime in which two local young men planned and succeeded in filming, and then sharing, her having sex with one of them without her knowledge or consent.  In an effort to support the young men following their arrest, many in our community openly attacked and slandered our daughter, creating a huge fallout for her.

I said in those very first days that our goal was to make our daughter the #verylastgirl that this kind of thing happens to, and I intend work hard towards that end.  It's annoyed a bunch of people in my life.  Some of them think that we are lying (which is crazy because our account is based completely on police reports, not our daughter's account).  Some of them think we're overdoing it, and that we should let the matter drop so the young men can get on with their lives (which is crazy, because we've gone above and beyond to protect their identities when they made sure that everyone who saw the videos knew it was my daughter).  Some of them still believe my daughter was at fault (which is just plain crazy).

People have asked me recently WHY I'm insisting on keeping this *incident* in the front of people's minds.  I thought I'd use my new blog to explain.

#Imwithyou because JUST A COUPLE WEEKS AGO my daughter lamented to me that she'll never be able to run for public office.  Even though the young men assured us and the court it wasn't uploaded to any websites, there's no way to verify that.  And since they lied about basically every other part of the story at some point, we have no reason to believe them.  Really, the running for public office worry is a symbol for all the worries my daughter has related to this crime.

#Imwithyou because of the young woman who messaged me, telling me a story that sounded too similar.  As she and her family attempted to stand up against a sex crime, they were outright attacked by her community.  Someone put barbed wire over their driveway.  She was assaulted in her school cafeteria.

#Imwithyou because even after hearing about my daughter's story, I learned that a young person close to me attempted to sexually exploit a young woman.

#Imwithyou because in the wake of a story coming out of Eugene, Oregon, in which THOUSANDS of sexually explicit photos were found in the possession of teen boys, the VERY FIRST social media responses I saw involved blaming the girls, claiming they weren't victims, and stating "boys will be boys."

#Imwithyou because of the young woman who messaged me, telling me she was raped and basically run out of town when her family tried to take a stand for her.

#Imwithyou because my daughter deserves more.  And so do the defendants' female teen family members.  And so does the little girl down the street.  Our girls deserve adults who will teach them they are precious and of great value and stand with them.

#Imwithyou because our boys deserve more.  They deserve adults who will TEACH them and hold them accountable and not chalk up harmful, disgusting, and  criminal behavior as "silly juvenile mistakes."

#Imwithyou because in response to a local peeping tom case, people LAUGHED.  They joked about it.  They made light of it because the girls "weren't raped," a sentiment that was also directed at my daughter.  No man, regardless of his age, should EVER feel entitled to view a woman's body without her full knowledge and consent.

#Imwithyou because of the young woman who went out of her way to attack my daughter following the crime.  In the process, she disclosed that she had also been the victim of a sex crime.  I can't help but wonder how things would have been different if she'd had adults standing with her and for her.

#Imwithyou because of the sweet sweet girl I know who was the victim of prolonged and horrific sexual abuse.  She did not choose to share her story--it was shared for her.  And while she tries to heal, she is openly attacked and blamed.  For her own abuse.

#Imwithyou because we've experienced firsthand what victim shaming looks like and feels like.  It's ugly.  And awful.  And absolutely not okay.

I'm with you.  I'm so with you.  I'll always be with you.

Whelp, That Didn't Work

Goats are notorious for escaping fences, and our goats are no exception.  Those darlings have four plus acres of great foraging options, but seem to prefer whatever's on the other side of the fence.  Since we've had goats, it has been a constant battle to keep them contained.  We're getting better at it--the escape routes are dwindling and the herd stays in more than out, but it requires time on our part to find and close up holes and weak areas of the fence.

A couple years ago, Micah and I were determined to end the escaping once and for all.  We walked the fence line with our supplies:  a bucket filled with fence nails, zip ties, wire, wire cutters, a hammer, and snacks.  (The snacks were particularly important.  One cannot mend fences without snacks.)  The goats followed along, looking panicked whenever we came to a spot they'd been escaping.

Using the supplies in our bucket, along with random sticks and some ingenuity, we patched the holes and gave each other high fives in congratulations.  The whole experience turned into an enjoyable mother-son bonding time, complete with snacks.

Our fixes worked!  For a little bit.  Soon after, we saw the hooligans shenaniganizing (I'm determined to make this a word!) outside of their approved boundaries.  "Whelp, that didn't work," we said to each other.  Out we went again, noting the NEW escape routes, repairing them using our sticks and wits, and enjoying snacks. 

And so it went.  We'd have days, or weeks, or (when we were lucky) months of contained goats, followed by escapee goats, followed by repair work by the "Sticks and Wits Fencing Company," followed by, "Whelp, that didn't work."

Today was another such day.  We walked the entire fence line and found two obvious escape routes.  We "repaired" them, congratulated each other, and headed inside.  Several hours later we had goats in our front yard. 

Some people might get angry and frustrated, but we've learned not to.  It's one of my favorite things about my kid and our relationship.  Through the Sticks and Wits Fencing Company, we've learned the value of hard work, that it can be fun, and that sometimes you've got to go back to the drawing board.  Maybe someday we'll have the muscle and money to install a proper goat-proof fence, but in the meantime, our sticks and wits seem to do the job well enough.

As for me, I'm enjoying time with my favorite guy.  It's remarkable, really, to watch a boy transform into a man, and I'm getting a front row seat.