The Art of Plausible Deniability

Sometimes, what it looks like is all anyone (not looking too closely) will see.

Oh look, the wise benevolent docotor is helping so many girls. As I listend to one of Larry Nassar’s vicitm’s describe her repeated violations by him, with her mother often present in the room, I was equally comforted and distraught by the familiarity of her trauma. If your mother or the person you count on to protect you, does not protest or question a thing which compromises you, repeatedly…then it must be ok. Right?

I can now see why my female sibling would believe in the rightness of what she does/did, to me and to those who dare to inconvenience or challenge her. I am owning, claiming the things that I had been required to disown about myself and my lived experience. My authenticity and my voice are my win– fuck assimilation! I am actively learning about non-violent communication: when implemented– winning an argument at the expense of a realtionship is seen as a loss. My sister proudly brings out the biggest of guns to protect her identity. I am just now attempting to retrieve mine–all of it. I am taking extreme ownership over my story and my life. By her code, once you make certian people (primarily her (as an extension of my mother), my uncle, my grandmother) uncomfortable, your belonging is in jeopardy— You are a Jezebel and will be dealt with accordingly – a cautionary tale.

I finally comprehend that skillful use of rhetoric to dominate, out-maneuver, and even dismantle a person is not equivalent to being right, does not render your/my argument better, more true, or more correct. In fact…that type of behavior, those means of “winning” are abusive- even if done while dressed only in white and with your face arranged into a smile.

Let’s just say…. “I am a vile piece of shit”. I am willing to be wrong here, but I feel nearly certain that even if THAT were the case—-that– My sons nor I, nor even their father, deserved what was actively done to wreck and divide us, all.

I am not a POS— though for my first 30, I was a hot mess– raised with distorted beliefs about what is right, true, and just–and possessing little to no healthy relationship or coping skills. Thank gawd my most unwholesome behavior is more than two decades behind me. I am ever grateful that recovery and motherhood have prevented many instances of me saying or doing the thing that can never be taken back. The temptation has been immense.

Ugh- the anger and sadness are exhausting- but natural and required for healing. Healing takes work and time, so much time. Deep sigh.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

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