Answer Addiction

Tag: sexual assault

  • Professors Accused Of Selling Drugs, Sexual Misconduct On College Campus

    Professors Accused Of Selling Drugs, Sexual Misconduct On College Campus

    Female students allege that the professors tried to get them to “sexually service professors at other colleges.”

    Several professors at John Jay College of Criminal Justice are under criminal investigation for sexual assault and drug dealing.

    Four of the accused professors are on administrative leave, while more are named in the accusers’ complaints. They are being investigated by the New York State inspector general and Manhattan district attorney.

    The complaints allege that the professors used and sold drugs on the New York City campus. As the New York Times reported, “Drug use and sex were said to be common in the offices of some professors and in an area known as ‘the Swamp’ in one of the school’s buildings.”

    Anthropology professor Ric Curtis, 64, was the ringleader of the alleged misconduct. The accusers and eyewitnesses claim Curtis frequently used and sold drugs in his office at John Jay. They recalled seeing drug paraphernalia in his office, including a pipe, a grinder and needles.

    Curtis, former chair of the sociology, anthropology, and law and police science departments, has been at the school for 30 years.

    One accuser, 24-year-old recent graduate Naomi Haber, told the New York Post that Curtis convinced her to go off her medications, including antidepressants, for bipolar disorder—and “introduced weed into my life, instead.”

    Haber also claimed that Curtis held on to his “devotees” by hooking them with drugs. “Ric supplied weed to his devotees, several times a day, which made it even harder for [‘swamp’ devotees] to leave once they had become dependent on the drugs and by extension, him.”

    The women also accused the men of sexual assault, and attempting to have them “sexually service professors at other colleges,” as well as rape, according to the Post.

    John Jay was apparently aware of the allegations since at least May, the Times reports, and found significant quantities of drugs and drug paraphernalia in an internal investigation.

    However, the school did not alert police until September—and when it did, John Jay did not disclose the “circumstances under which [the evidence was] recovered.”

    Another accuser, 39-year-old Claudia Cojocaru, a former student who is now an adjunct professor at John Jay, criticized the school’s handling of the allegations.

    “They were incredibly rude and victim-degrading. They made us perform like circus animals, distorted the facts, and distorted what we talked about,” she said. “They tried to brush the whole thing under the rug, so to speak. They re-traumatized us by making us relive all sorts of traumatic experiences.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Alcohol, Drugs, and Rape

    Alcohol, Drugs, and Rape

    “We all know right from wrong. Yeah, maybe alcohol inhibits a person. But at the end of the evening, the little monster of shame, regret, or guilt is gonna be in your head saying ‘You really messed up, that was wrong.’”

    Alcohol and drugs are inextricably linked to a large part of rape culture. And that applies to both perpetrators and victims—before, during and after sexual assaults. Anyone who has battled alcohol or drugs knows that substances impair judgment and create an astounding lack of impulse control. Memories can be unreliable or absent entirely.

    For those of us who have limped our way out of blackouts and staggered in and out of recovery, we know the shame of finding out what we’ve done in a drunken stupor. Often, the only thing between me and a relapse are the all-too-vivid memories of wretched consequences. I’m no longer afraid to open my eyes in the mornings. When I don’t get high, I don’t awaken with a pounding headache and discover a stranger in my bed.

    Roll Red Roll is a documentary about a high school in the hard drinking, football-obsessed town of Steubenville, Ohio. The film premiered to sold-out audiences at Tribeca Film Festival 2018. It has hit numerous venues since then, including Michael Moore’s Traverse City fest. It will continue to make the rounds throughout August and into October.

    The doc is about “Jane Doe,” a 16-year-old from West Virginia. She’d attended a series of pre-season football Steubenville parties on the night of August 11, 2012. After downing too much liquor, she passed out. While unconscious, Doe was raped and carried around to more parties by several members of the football team. All evening the boys took photos and videos on their cell phones, then casually shared them on social media. Two of the youths—Trent Mays, 17, and Ma’Lik Richmond, 16—were found guilty. Mays was sentenced to two years and Richmond got only one. They did their time in a juvenile facility. Neither boy is on a sex registry due to their age. Both are now playing college football.

    After watching Roll Red Roll, I reached out to crime blogger Alexandria Goddard, who is the heroine of the Steubenville rape story. After only a brief mention of the rape in a local media outlet, Goddard found the horrifying tweets and videos that had been posted. She shared them on social media. When she posted the Instagram photo of Jane Doe being carried by the boys, it caught the attention of the local community and the social justice hacker group, Anonymous.

    In our exclusive interview for The Fix, Goddard began with a question: “Would the perpetrators have behaved that way if they weren’t drunk? No, probably not. But the alcohol in no way absolves what they did.”

    Goddard described Steubenville as “a sports town known for putting down women, talking about them like they’re meat. They show off for each other. Didn’t any of them have sisters? Mothers? The way they talked about her it was as if they forgot she was a human being. That was learned machismo.”

    Goddard added, “We all know right from wrong. Yeah, maybe alcohol inhibits a person. But at the end of the evening, the little monster of shame, regret, or guilt is gonna be in your head saying ‘You really messed up, that was wrong.’”

    Boys laughed on the video while talking about peeing on Jane Doe’s unconscious body. “But the girls in town were vicious, too,” Goddard said. “And the school staff. Coach Reno questioned whether it was even rape. You can see it in the film. He said, ‘Did they rape her? Or did they fuck her?’” (Warning: the linked video contains graphic content released by hacker group Anonymous)

    Another booze-saturated rape case, People vs Turner (aka The Stanford Rape Case), is back in the news this summer. The victim was a 22-year-old woman (referred to as “Emily Doe”). In January 2015 she attended a few parties, consumed too much liquor and passed out. The defendant was Stanford University swimmer and Olympic-hopeful, Brock Turner, 20. He too had spent the night drinking. Turner was caught humping Emily Doe’s naked body behind a dumpster.

    After he was convicted on three felonies of sexual assault with intent to rape, the not-so-Honorable Aaron Persky sentenced Turner to only six months. He was out in three. There was a public outcry that built over time. By June 2016, over one million people had signed the petition to remove Persky. In June of this year Persky was ousted from his judicial bench.

    And that’s not all…

    On July 26, The New York Times wrote about Brock Turner’s lawyer, Eric Multhaup, who had argued that Turner should never have been convicted of “intending to commit rape” because the Stanford swimmer had only sought to have outercourse with “Emily Doe.”

    I don’t know how Multhaup said that with a straight face. Twitter, of course, went wild over this outrageous claim. Thankfully, that appeal didn’t fly. The original decision still stands: Turner was guilty of assault with the intent to rape an unconscious woman. He was found guilty of using a foreign object to penetrate the victim. The definition of rape is: “The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.” Rape with an object can be equally as traumatic as penile violation.

    Amber Tamblyn and Jodi Kantor

    Recently, I went to hear author-director-actress-activist Amber Tamblyn and reporter Jodi Kantor at Manhattan’s 92nd Street Y. The two discussed Time’s Up, a legal defense fund organization Tamblyn co-founded soon after the #MeToo movement showed the world how many women are sexually harassed on the job. On TimesUpNow.com, the tagline reads: “The clock has run out on sexual assault, harassment and inequality in the workplace. It’s time to do something about it.”

    Employers are changing work policies. Companies are doing away with holiday work parties because serving alcohol practically ensures that boundaries will be crossed. Unlike in old movies, we’ve learned that there’s nothing funny about a tipsy coworker patting a woman on the butt or grabbing her for a kiss.

    “Sorry I got so drunk last night” is no longer a viable excuse and companies want to avoid problems—especially lawsuits. Frequently workplace sexual harassment claims are linked to events where alcohol was available. In a recent article for The American Lawyer, reporter Meghan Tribe wrote that many big law firms are quashing boozy summer events. Behavioral health consultant Patrick Krill told Tribe, “In light of [the] #MeToo movement, an open bar at a summer associate event is potentially a tinderbox of liability.”

    Other companies are trading open bar parties with drink ticket systems. Employees are limited to two drinks to avoid the sloshed sexual harassment issues. I also find it encouraging to see so many changes in New York State laws for employers that go into effect this year, such as sexual harassment prevention policies including training for employees.

    My own #MeToo story predates my work life. At age 13, while I was high on liquor and pot, I was sexually assaulted by local kids in my hometown, Port Washington, Long Island. Consumed by shame, I spent the following 13 years on a drug and alcohol-soaked binge. At age 26, I came out of a cocaine and rum induced blackout locked in a detox ward with no memory of how I had gotten there.

    Currently, I’m working on a series about women who became addicted to drugs and alcohol after they were raped. One of the women I’ve interviewed—let’s call her “Navy Girl”—was not a drinker but, both times she was attacked, the men had been drinking. After the rapes, like so many of us, Navy Girl didn’t tell anyone. She developed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and chronic insomnia.

    After years of not sleeping, Navy Girl saw a doctor. He prescribed 5mg of Ambien, the lowest dose. Already in her 30s, she’d never been addicted to anything but, within six months, she was hooked. Doctor-shopping worked for years. Then, when prescriptions went digital, she couldn’t game the system anymore and her doctors began cutting her off. Desperate to stave off withdrawal symptoms, she resorted to buying it from dealers but could not get enough for her habit. After attempting to stop for years, she finally found help in a 30-day drug rehab and has been sober for three years now.

    Where will Jane and Emily Doe be 30 years from now? Will they be lost to addictions? I’d bet money that they will suffer for years with PTSD. Perhaps in the future perps will be held accountable and sentences will fit the violence of a rape crime. I pray pussy grabbers will no longer be eligible for political office and lawyers will be banned from asking survivors how much they drank. I look forward to the day when enablers won’t shrug and say, “Boys will be boys.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • I’m Open and Willing, Dear Sponsor, but Wait a Minute!

    I’m Open and Willing, Dear Sponsor, but Wait a Minute!

    We know “our best thinking got us here,” but that doesn’t mean we need to be open and willing to take abuse or be manipulated.

    When you first came into the program, you might have heard your “best thinking got you here.”

    You’re told since your way hasn’t been working, maybe it’s time to try something else.

    You’re told you need to surrender.

    You’re told you need to start listening and follow directions.

    Well, if you were like me (gung ho!), and made the decision to be “open and willing,” I’ll bet you gave the program your best shot: you took the suggestions readily; you went to 90 meetings in 90 days; you read the Big Book daily; you got a sponsor; you did the steps. And hopefully, you started to see some progress. Your life began to improve. You cleaned up the wreckage of your past, mended relationships, got involved in service work, and really started to feel better about yourself.

    If the “your best thinking got you here” aphorism played like an endless loop in your brain, you might have felt that you’d lost the ability to think rationally for yourself and that you needed guidance. Should I break up with my addict boyfriend who just happens to be violent?  Well, um, yea . . . but you might have been so enmeshed in codependence while simultaneously combatting your addiction that you honestly didn’t know what to do.

    If you were like me—with some crazy, delusional thinking going on—and you were put on a six-month waiting list by your insurance to see a therapist, you’d need some help, and fast, and that help might have come by way of a sponsor. And if she was a good one, she’d listen, be empathetic, and gently suggest healthier ways of coping with your problems.

    Some people will say that a sponsor’s job is solely to lead a newcomer through the steps—not be a counselor, therapist or life coach. And while some sponsors may stick to this definition, most of the ones I’ve met take a much more involved role. My peers in recovery say they call their sponsors when they want to drink, when their ass is falling off, when they need help! The many times I discussed a problem with a fellow member after the meeting, I invariably heard, “Have you run this by your sponsor?” Or “Call your sponsor, that what she’s there for.”

    Sponsors can be unquestionable lifesavers. Through the years, I’ve had sponsors who have really saved my ass. One time, I was dealing with a relative who had a meth addiction and bipolar disorder. She was delusional but also cruel and selfish. But because she was “blood,” I enabled her. After one particularly trying event with her, I remember calling my sponsor and telling her I didn’t know what to do. She told me to do nothing—walk away. And not feel guilty. It ended up being the smartest thing: my relative got much better learning how to cope and take care of her problems herself instead of manipulating me into doing her bidding.

    But be careful. Not all sponsors should be sponsors. They may only recruit potential sponsees because their sponsor told them it was their turn to get one, not because they are qualified. And if you get with one who isn’t right for you, she could cause you some damage. As a newcomer, you’re incredibly, nakedly vulnerable—and impressionable. So can you see the conundrum here? You want to be open and willing, you want to start following suggestions and take direction—but you still have to listen to your gut and not confuse vulnerability with gullibility.

    When I first met this particular sponsor, I was blown away by her enthusiasm for the program. She was very bright, seemed very together, articulate, funny, educated, empathetic, kind, the whole enchilada. She told me she had tried myriad ways to recover because she’d always been searching for that thing that would fill her up that wasn’t drink drugs food men money or status, and after searching far and wide, she finally surrendered to AA. She claimed it was the best decision she’d ever made. Since she seemed to have what I wanted, I asked her to be my sponsor. I was sure she’d say she was way too busy, because at the time she had six sponsees and was working. But to my delighted surprise, she said “Oh, my of course I can.”

    I was wildly excited and hopeful. I was not working at the time and was willing to do just about anything asked of me. She could see I was clearly broken, my life practically in ruins, and assured me she would help me get through these very trying times of early sobriety.

    We dived right into the steps. She also instructed me to do 90 meetings in 90 days and get a coffee commitment. But gradually—almost imperceptibly—I discovered something else: She wanted to mold me. At first there were mild corrections of my speech or attitude, but it got to the point that I felt oppressively censored. If I ever said “should” or “have to” she’d immediately correct me and say, “not ‘should,’ not ‘have to’” it’s “I ‘get to’” do blah blah blah. In hindsight, I would have told her “Look, ‘should’ is an intrinsic word of the English language, it means something needs to be done. I think I know the difference of when I ‘get to’ do something and when I ‘should’ do something.”

    Another thing she’d do when I told her of a problem I was having with someone, was immediately cut me offbefore I could even finish. She’d interrupt and say, “I want you to think of three good things about this person. Remember, they are doing the best they know how. Find your compassion.” Which is good spiritual advice, but when the shoe was on the other foot and she was pissed at someone, she’d get downright eviscerating, nary mentioning three good qualities of the victim of her rant.

    But her all time fave platitude was: “If you spot it you got it!” said immediately to moi every time I complained to her about a person I felt was being unfair, selfish or mean. And she did have a point: sometimes, when we see something we don’t like in a person it’s because we recognize it in ourselves. But not always! For example, do we renounce the bully because we are bullies ourselves? Maybe, but usually not. Then she’d get into mystical stuff and go on about karma and say, “Everybody gets what they deserve because it’s all karma.” When I asked, “So the old lady that gets raped by a stranger, how did her karma cause that?” Her reply, “Well maybe she did something to deserve it. Now, personally, I’ve never been raped.” Whaaatt?

    But what put me over the edge was something she said that I knew, even with my broken brain, was incontestably wrong. I didn’t have to chide myself this time for thinking that I wasn’t being open and willing enough to learn, or was being controlled by my ego.

    While we were taking a walk, I confided in her about a doctor who had sexually assaulted me when I went in for a pelvic exam.

    She responded: “Well, you aren’t going to like this, but can I say something to you?”

    “Well, sure, I guess.”

    She took a dramatic big breath, squared her shoulders and said, “Okay here goes. I think, that maybe you asked for it.”

    I was dumbfounded. At the time, I explained to her, I was 19 and alone in New York City. I’d gotten my first bladder infection, couldn’t pee and could barely walk straight I was in so much pain. All I wanted was some antibiotics.

    “What do you mean I was asking for it?” I asked, frightfully confused.

    “Well, I didn’t want to bring this up, but now is as good of time as any. I see the way you talk to the men in the meetings. You’re very sexual, you know.”

    “What?” I boomed. “Are you fucking kidding me? I try to treat everyone, men and women alike, with respect, and hopefully, kindness.”

    “Well that is not how it is being perceived. People talk you know. I’m hearing all kinds of things, like ‘God, I can’t believe Margaret is married! The way she talks to the guys.’”

    Now I was pissed. I am an incredibly happily married woman. I adore my husband dearly. I would never, ever, go out on him. I am not even remotely attracted to other men.

    I realized then that her thinking was irrevocably off and I had to cut bait. I finally got the courage to fire her but it took time; she wielded a lot of power at the meetings and she intimidated me. It was an incredibly painful experience. I was already so vulnerable and sensitive, and totally confused. To have my sponsor, the one I’d done my steps with, the one who knew my deepest darkest secrets, become something slightly resembling, well, delusional, was demoralizing to say the least!

    It took me a while to get back to my homegroup. I was so shattered. I really thought of everyone as family there: they were so nice and kind, it was easy to be friendly back. But . . . but, what if my sponsor was right? Could I have been so wrong, so delusional? Was I flirting and were dudes coming on to me and I just didn’t see it? Eventually I went back and shared what she told me to a couple of trusted AA pals. They told me they’d never heard or seen any of the behavior she was reporting about me. 

    The reason I’m sharing this story is not to criticize AA, or gossip about members, or diss sponsors. I’m sharing my story because I don’t want the same thing to happen to another vulnerable newcomer, a newcomer who knows her thinking is off and is willing and open to change, but may be confused about the accuracy and validity of some of her sponsor’s suggestions, opinions, or directions.

    Listen to your intuitions, and your higher power. If you’re having problems with your sponsor, share your experiences—without using names—with other trusted members in order to get some perspective. Because we are scared and alone when we come into the rooms. We know “our best thinking got us here,” but that doesn’t mean we need to be open and willing to take abuse or be manipulated.

    Most of the time, sponsorship is a wonderful example of people helping other people. Sponsors can help talk you out of a drink, and because they’re drunks like you, they usually get where you’re coming from. But just because someone is a sponsor or old-timer doesn’t mean they are perfect.

    Face it, we are all deeply flawed in some way. But sponsors have a very serious job to do, and they should be doing it out of altruism, not as way to assuage their own ego by lording over vulnerable newcomers who they can control, manipulate or abuse. So be careful. Be open and willing but keep your boundaries firmly in place. And if things get creepy, don’t spend too much time being resentful (like I did!). Instead, break it off with him/her before you develop another codependent, dysfunctional relationship, and chalk it up as an invaluable learning experience.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • When My “Give a F**k” Broke

    When My “Give a F**k” Broke

    I stood on the edge of this abyss and began my free fall to find healthy. I had nothing left to lose.

    “I am fine,” was my go to response for years. When anyone would ask, I would answer with that canned response, and if the typical follow up question was “Really?”, I was prepared. I would look them square in the eye and state firmly, “There is no other option.”

    During my almost three-year sexual assault investigation and prosecution, this was my warrior’s response. If someone was brave enough to follow up with that second question and meet my eyes for the response, typically they took a step back or walked away. Even my therapists tried to break through that façade, but my walls were thick, my stilettos were high, and my eyes were piercing. I was not for the faint of heart and no one was getting in.

    I was a mom first, a single mom. A single mom operating as both Mom and Dad to two beautiful girls. That man was so disengaged, he moved to Dubai but continued to send—not child support—but rather criticizing emails on how I should raise our children. Thank God for email filters – his crap went straight to a file I almost never opened.

    I was a sexual assault survivor who learned a life lesson that I could rely on no one and safety did not exist. Life taught me how to use my presence and my voice to keep people at bay, and also how to motivate people to act. Safety was not real, so I had to make it so. But my triggers were substantial and regular, and the constant awareness that what happened to me could happen to my daughters often paralyzed me.

    Those two daughters were my everything. I became a warrior on their behalf. When the school administration failed to protect my daughter from bullies, I fought them, and then finally moved. When my daughter was struck in a hit and run that was so severe it totaled my new car, I allowed my mother bear instinct to come out but limited my rage so I would not be put in prison.

    I carried a mortgage, student loan debt, and at one time allowed a homeless family of four to live with us in our home until the pregnant mother could give birth and they could get on their feet. Meanwhile, professionally, I endured a passive-aggressive boss who enjoyed playing head games for sport. I supervised (and truly enjoyed) over 60 adjunct professors who taught amazing students at a graduate school. With what little personal time I had, any attempts at dating were laughable; the caliber of men available was lower than I could settle for and the unavailable men who attempted to gain my affection repulsed me. I was hard, I was strong, and I was lonely – but it worked. I didn’t have a choice. I did not have the luxury of time to handle hurt or to feel more than what was necessary to be functional. I was safe if I exposed myself to nothing and no one. I was this way unintentionally most of the time, but knew how to call upon it when necessary. Still, I was absolutely perplexed when I was given feedback that I was intimidating. I just wanted to survive and I was doing it the only way I knew how.

    When my daughter was committed to a mental health facility twice for attempting suicide and given the diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder with PTSD, I finally broke. The realization that I really could not protect my children from all the unknowns absolutely unraveled me. I sat in the emergency room, sobbing. All my deepest fears and suppressed anguish came to the surface. The reality that I could not keep my children from hurt translated into absolute failure as their mother. When the emergency room doctor came over for my statement, I was crying so hard that I could not talk. She asked me that dreaded question, “Are you okay?” I finally answered honestly, and it was the only word I could get out, “No.” That simple and honest answer broke through years of protective walls and it was devastating.

    During the months that followed, my newfound vulnerability did not settle well. I needed back in the driver’s seat; it was a non-stop internal battle. I hustled myself back into therapy, where, at one point, I told my amazing therapist that I could not talk to him unless I laid flat on the floor of his office. I was convinced I was losing my mind. He assured me I was not but I did not believe him.

    I was broken. My “Give A F**k” was now in a constant state of zero and my moral compass was constantly spinning. I felt exposed and vulnerable and very, very confused. The belief system I had created to make sense of the violence that had happened to me and to generate an environment of safety for my daughters was an illusion that had been destroyed. I had perfected this for years and it was gone in an instant. I was drowning. I could not breathe.

    What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was a gift. The dam wall had broken and all of the harbored pain was released and it forced me to process it. A healthy, accepting mindset was as foreign to me as Egyptian hieroglyphics and I had to change. My mental health and my ability to be a good mother and human depended on it. I stood on the edge of this abyss and began my free fall to find healthy. I had nothing left to lose.

    Fresh eyes saw the world for all its flaws and beauty. I learned to address flaws as a simple ingredient of life and not as a threat; I began to accept people and situations for who they were, and it was freeing. Another key step to my freedom was learning to listen to my gut and unapologetically responding as such. If I did not feel comfortable in the presence of someone, I simply removed myself gracefully and did not look back. My gut owed no one an explanation, and that was empowering. Kindness was no longer seen as weakness and connecting with people was no longer dangerous. The world was not a field of landmines but rather an adventure with twists and turns.

    I felt like I was breathing fresh air for the first time. I laughed freely without hesitation, I smiled boldly without fear, and I slept so well. I loved with all of me and I loved ME. Everything in me relaxed for the first time in over a dozen years and my mental health was good, for REAL. I was no longer simply “fine,” I was “good,” teetering on great.

    Unhealthy people in my life were not so supportive of my new healthy lifestyle, but healthy people supported me with fervor. My manipulative boss was the least supportive because she would no longer get the intended response. She was a daily practice for me though, providing regular situations that allowed me to implement healthy responses. She eventually began ignoring me. Unhealthy friendships fell to the wayside. My youngest daughter, who was working on her own demons, did not understand my choices and decided to go live with her father overseas. I mourned her decision, but the friends and loved ones who accepted me, even when I went into my Xena: Warrior Princess mode, kept me grounded.

    Shortly after reconnecting with my emotions and releasing my fear, I met a man who changed my life. He was so healthy and good, kind and unconditionally accepting. Jumping into the abyss landed me in the arms of someone who did not see me as broken and on the mend. I was also able to connect with my oldest daughter on a level that I cannot explain other than she is one of my best friends. She accepts my flaws as I accept hers, and we connect almost every day.

    I left my stressful position in that unhealthy working environment and began working as an independent contractor, providing trainings to first responders on how to communicate with victims of trauma. I began writing educational materials and speaking at conferences, utilizing my rape and prosecution experience as an educational opportunity for those who work within the criminal justice, mental health and medical professions. This work is sometimes emotional and tiring, but highly rewarding. It gives me purpose and satisfaction to know that I can make a difference.

    My “Give a F**k” may have broken, but I didn’t, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Importance of Women’s Recovery Spaces

    The Importance of Women’s Recovery Spaces

    Women’s meetings gave me the space to talk about the unspeakable, allowing me to move closer to becoming free from the fear that has kept me shackled.[Content Note: Discussions of IPV]

    I started my sobriety journey in a foreign city where there was one English speaking 12-step meeting daily, and a relatively small number of attendees. During part of the year, there were few travelers coming through the city, which meant fewer attendees. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to be the only female in the room. I was struggling to accept the gendered language of the literature we read, and had difficulty relating to the stories of the men in that space. I appreciated their support and camaraderie, but I didn’t see myself often reflected in their experiences. I didn’t know it at the time, but what I needed was to connect with other women in sobriety.

    When a recovery meeting for women was suggested by a few ladies who had recently moved to the area, it was met with some resistance. The same happened when I later moved and suggested a women’s meeting in the new city where I was living. The resistance wasn’t a force in numbers, but there was a strength of conviction in the small number of people who had a problem with it. I’ve been told that a women’s-only meeting (that is also open to all non-binary, gender non-conforming, and trans identifying folks) can’t possibly be considered part of a [insert 12-step group name here] program because Tradition Three states, “The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop [drinking/using/overeating/etc].”

    When it comes to recovery from addiction, gender-aware spaces are important and there has been a long history of them within 12-step programs. Identity-focused groups have existed for decades, including men’s meetings. The first meeting for Black folks began in the 1940s in Washington DC. In 1971, the first gay and lesbian AA meeting began in the same city. While some binary-gender-specific meetings are open to trans folks, there are many that are not. The transgender community still struggles to find a place to recover safely, but there are some meetings in some large cities that are specifically for people who identify as trans.

    The first women in Alcoholics Anonymous (AA)–the first and most common of the 12-step programs–didn’t have other women in recovery to guide them and would receive support and sponsorship from non-alcoholic women. The founders originally disagreed on whether or not to admit women into the fellowship, at all. The first women-only AA meeting began in 1941 in Cleveland, Ohio. By 1947 there were more than a dozen women-only groups throughout country and that number has since grown exponentially, worldwide. In 1965 the first forum for women alcoholics was held as the National AA Women’s Conference. Every February since, the International AA Women’s Conference has held a conference “just for women in AA.”

    The gender we identify with and the gender we were assigned at birth both play major roles in how we are socialized growing up and how society treats us as adults. Our experiences and choices are, without a doubt, guided and influenced by these societal gender norms. Men and women (generally) benefit in different ways from participation in 12-step programs. According to a paper published in the journal Addiction which looked at AA specifically, women seem to benefit the most from “improved confidence in their ability to abstain during times when they were sad or depressed.” Men tend to benefit more from an increased “confidence in the ability to cope with high-risk drinking situations and [an increased] number of social contacts who supported recovery efforts.” In this study, men benefited from experiencing less depression and having fewer drinking buddies hanging around. Women needed the confidence to experience depression and still not drink.

    Women’s meetings can foster validation for feelings of sorrow, and women share their experiences on not drinking despite those feelings. Men, on the other hand, frequently cite the need to combat “self-pity” and credit tough love for their early success in sobriety. For women, it’s often about learning to abstain while in the dark feelings, not escaping from the dark feelings altogether.

    The majority of people entering into treatment for addiction are victims of trauma and they present trauma-related symptoms to a significant degree. It’s a vicious cycle: trauma increases the risk of developing a substance use disorder and substance use disorders increase the risk of experiencing trauma. Johanna O’Flaherty, a psychologist specializing in trauma, says that over the course of her career she’s seen people admitted for addiction treatment and “80 to 90 percent in the case of women, have experienced trauma.” Most of the trauma is related to physical and sexual abuse.

    The most common trauma in the world is sexual violence and intimate partner violence. Active substance use disorders are positively correlated with an increased risk of domestic violence. Alcohol does not cause domestic violence, but someone who is controlling and abusive is more likely to carry out violence when under the influence. The interconnections of violence, traumatic disorders, and addictions are profound.

    The truth is, most sexual violence is carried out by men. A 2010 National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey found that “90 percent of perpetrators of sexual violence against women are men” and 93 percent of perpetrators of sexual violence against men are also men and overall “men perpetrate 78 percent of reported assaults.” Asking women to talk about their sexual traumas in front of men is a violent act. Yet, trauma must be worked through or it will never heal. The only way to do that is to provide safe options for people to talk about things they wouldn’t otherwise feel comfortable discussing.

    Google “women in AA” and the results are heavily saturated with critiques of the program. There are suggestions for alternatives and articles on predators in the rooms of AA and NA (Narcotics Anonymous). It happens, 12 step groups are not utopias and the people in the rooms aren’t there because their lives have always been amazing and their choices ethical. It is possible to meet manipulative and abusive predators there. Strong connections between women can be a buffer and a safety net for other women who might become entangled in an unhealthy or abusive relationship in early recovery.

    As a paper written by Jolene Sanders in the Journal of Groups in Addiction & Recovery explains, “Women also feel more comfortable speaking about issues not directly related to their immediate concern of alcoholism. For example, women may talk about childhood abuse, sexual abuse or harassment, and other forms of assault. Similarly, women speak more candidly than men about their relationships with significant others and tend to focus on emotions more than men. Finally, women tend to discuss mental health issues, such as depression, more than men and focus more on building self-esteem, rather than deflating pride or ego, which are primary concerns for men in AA.”

    When the women’s 12-step meeting began in the city where I got sober, it was a game changer for me. I had been in a state of traumatic symptom overload. I was experiencing intrusive and vivid recollections of my traumas. I was being triggered all the time about the emotional, psychological, and physical abuse in my past. There are some things my body will not allow me to speak about in certain scenarios. It’s a physical reaction, neurological in origin, and uncontrollable. My body becomes hell bent on protecting me from past danger, literally preventing me from talking.

    If I attempt to speak when my body wants to protect me, I begin stuttering and tripping over each utterance. Unbeknownst to me, what I needed was the company of people who were not men. Women’s meetings gave me the space to talk about the unspeakable, allowing me to move closer to becoming free from the fear that has kept me shackled to the past.

    Women’s only spaces in recovery from trauma and addiction can help people to express things they may have been taught to not talk about in front of people outside of their gender. Or about events that they have gone through or acts they have carried out or things that have been done to them in relation to their gender identity. I’ve heard rumors suggesting that women’s meetings are not good because they’re just “man-bashing.” This is unequivocally false; just because something isn’t for you doesn’t mean it is against you.

    Victims of domestic violence often stay in their situations for financial reasons. To help with this issue, Credit Cards created a guide to help victims gain the financial independence needed to get away from their abusers safely and effectively.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Owning My Space as a Woman in 12-Step Programs

    Owning My Space as a Woman in 12-Step Programs

    I am totally within my rights if I say no, you may not sit there, and no, I don’t want a hug and I don’t want a cup of coffee and just back the fuck off because I have mace in my purse.

    Several days after I took my last drink, I was detoxing at home (note: this is not a good idea) when my mother came over to check on me.

    “You should go to AA,” she said, not judgmentally but kindly, from her perch on the sofa in our playroom. I was sweating, sprawled on the other couch, ignoring the toys strewn around me, and her suggestion hit me like a crack of lightning. I sat upright.

    “Absolutely NOT,” I replied. “I’m not going to sit in a room full of people who have problems.”

    I laugh about it now, looking back. Alcoholics Anonymous is exactly where I belonged then, and it’s where I belong today, but finding the courage to take that first step is not easy by any stretch of the imagination. I was terrified, physically and emotionally sick, and as vulnerable as a baby animal left in the woods. Truthfully, I belonged in rehab, but our insurance would require us to pay thousands of dollars out of pocket if we chose that route, and we simply could not afford it.

    People fresh out of the mire of addiction or alcoholism, are, in a word, weak. I waffled between wanting to die and experiencing bursts of euphoria. I had moments where I would have done any drug offered to me, just to make the unfamiliar experience of feeling raw emotions stop. I was fortunate enough to have a fortress of strong friends and family around me to hold me accountable and keep me on track long enough for sobriety to really take hold, but I can honestly say that I’ve never been as vulnerable as I was in early recovery.

    And that is why I am so pissed off at the men who tried, unsuccessfully, to take advantage of my weakened state.

    I don’t hate men; I think they’re pretty great. Men have, in general, always treated me well. I have two sons, an amazing husband, a wonderful dad, and multiple examples of loving, emotionally healthy male figures in my life. My life experiences have shown me that men are not only perfectly capable of treating women like human beings, but also that they should be expected to do so. Maybe I’m naïve, or sheltered, or simply have out of whack expectations, but when I began attending 12-step programs, I was quickly reminded that not all men are decent, and it PISSED ME OFF.

    I’m not going to bore you with descriptions of how some of the dirty old-timers treat me before they realize I don’t play the 13th stepper game. Some of these people are very slow learners, and others may never get it. If I had not been pushed, encouraged, and sometimes accompanied by my badass girlfriends, the energy it took to ward off the creeps would have been enough to allow me to talk myself into just staying home. It was the perfect excuse, really – telling myself that it wasn’t worth the trouble, or that a women’s only meeting wasn’t until tomorrow, so I could just skip out for today.

    Fuck that.

    “There will always be assholes,” my sponsor said at the time. “You can’t let that stop you from staying sober.” That was the day I decided not to allow someone else’s sickness interfere with my own recovery.

    Fuck that.

    I had no idea that I am terrible with boundaries until I started practicing saying “no” when a creeper tried to hold my hand or sit next to me. I learned that nothing terrible happens when I stand up in the middle of a meeting and switch seats, or if I say “this seat is taken,” even when it’s not. I learned that I can simply say no without offering an explanation. I am totally within my rights if I say no, you may not sit there, and no, I don’t want a hug and I don’t want a cup of coffee and just back the fuck off because I have mace in my purse.

    Fuck that.

    When a known predator walked right up to me and tried to give me a kiss, I stepped away and said “NOPE” as loudly as I could. As time went on and the fogginess of early sobriety began to clear, I forced myself to speak up in meetings, even with multiple pairs of eyes boring into me, mouthing words to me, and generally making me uncomfortable.

    Fuck that.

    My husband suggested that I start looking rough on purpose; at the beginning, I didn’t have to try. I looked like shit 24/7. But honestly, I don’t think it matters. Creepers gonna creep, no matter what a newcomer looks like.

    I refuse to be crowded out of the only place I can go to for safety. I am in a happy marriage, I’m not looking for a sugar daddy or a fuck buddy or even a friend. I can get my own coffee and throw away my own garbage and get my own chair, and don’t you dare follow me to my car. I am in the rooms because I’m sick and I want to get better, and when I watch the newer newcomer get preyed upon like they tried to do to me, it fills me with a quiet rage. All I can do is give her my phone number and encourage her to find her boundaries and more importantly, her voice.

    So now, nearly 18 months in, I force myself to look the men loitering around outside of the meeting in the eye; I don’t scurry by, allowing them to stare without any acknowledgement from me. I’m here, I’m taking up space, and I don’t owe you anything – not even a smile, not unless I fucking feel like it.

    View the original article at thefix.com