Established 2001. Discovered 2021.

 By Makayla Palm

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I remember the feeling I had the first time I was in the Aeropostale fitting rooms, trying on what was supposed to be the trendiest clothes for the latest fashion season. I remember wanting to fit in, but also the conflicting feeling of wanting to be myself. 

I’ve been a tomboy since I can remember. Skimming the aisles of the Justice store (I’m sure I’m dating myself here) made me cringe, with the sparkly unicorns and neon pink layered skirts. Aero wasn’t much better, with everything feeling too tight. I’m not a fashionista by any means, but damn, it all screamed at me. It screamed “NOT me.”  I remember feeling discouraged that I didn’t see many clothing items in the girl’s section that I felt comfortable with, anywhere. I also had grown more quickly than most girls in my class, so I felt that I was bigger than most of them. I was a competitive athlete for most of middle and high school. I knew I was fit but comparing myself to others still didn’t feel good.

I know how far the comparison game gets me now but having an outward expression of an internal feeling as a part of your everyday life can make that hard to remember. Not only did I outwardly look different, but I also internally felt different. A lot of the girls I saw in the halls were entitled, sassy, and bossy. I later learned the adult word for that is “bitch.” Seeing that example taught me something that would mold how I perceived emotions: girls have too many emotions, so they are bad. Flaunting your emotions outwardly and using them to get your way in life was what I saw at school, day in and day out. I hated that example, so I decided to do the exact opposite. I kept most of my inward feelings to myself.

I found most of my friends to be boys, they were easier to hang out with, and they actually wanted to play outside. I liked the same things as they did: Star Wars, sharks, and dinosaurs. I remember sitting in the bleachers for an assembly when one of my friends told me I didn’t have cooties like the other girls did. I wore that endorsement as a badge for years. Boys didn’t worry about what I wore or what my hair looked like that day. They (usually) wouldn’t start fights with one another over petty things, to then pretend to be best friends the next day. I saw girls (and implicitly emotions) as complicated, kind of dumb, and increasingly immature, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

My struggles with girls continued, and only intensified through middle and high school. Things just got more awkward as I realized that boys could be more than friends, too. To this day, I have more boy (space) friends than girl (space) friends. As I continued to grow in mind and body, my battle with my own emotions got more difficult. I didn’t really know what to do with all the hormones from puberty and years’ worth of stuffed emotions. Nobody really knows what to do with it all, but it’s easy to feel isolated in such a time of awkwardness. I also was growing out my bangs and had braces. Not my best years by any means.

I remember arguing with my mom about what to wear for family pictures. Almost anything considered ‘acceptable’ had to be ‘feminine’. Feminine meant to young me, dresses and skirts, ruffles and bright colors, animal print and sequins. No thank you! I was usually wearing boy’s shorts and graphic T-shirts, with a color palate that didn’t drift far from black and navy blue. I don’t hold it against her now, and I will begrudgingly admit I needed help to be pushed out of my fashion comfort zone every once in a while.

What I was going through then without realizing it was a struggle with self-acceptance and expression. I think a lot of us can relate to this these days. I (thought) I was content with my guy friends, burying my emotions because I saw them as weak. This led to few but far in between outbursts, fueled by the stress of high school. I thought it was normal, to stuff it like that.

I remember going through an emotionally taxing and confusing time of trying to determine between two boys: my “boyfriend” and my best guy friend. Let’s call my boyfriend K and my best friend G. Because of my stuffed emotions, at this point I couldn’t keep much to myself. I needed “my person” to vent with and share my days with. K was not the best communicator, so he and I were not doing well. But I always knew my G was there when I needed it, so my feelings drifted toward him. It felt wrong, to have feelings for G while being with K. It was a difficult time, because we were all learning ourselves, and a big part of that confusion was me not listening to myself. I remember sitting in a pile of emotional goo, and not having a clue of what to do with any of it. I think back on that now and realize how shutting out my feelings hurt me way more than it helped. (In case you’re wondering, I’m not with either one of those boys, but G is still an important part of my life.)

There were more messy and complicated parts of my life than these instances I’ve chosen to share. I’m sure we all have moments like these we remember from childhood as we discover our preferences and passions in life. I know growing up is learning to deal with a lot of emotional goo, so what is the point I am making here? The point I am making is that I learned, albeit later in life, that femininity has more than one look, more than one personality.

I knew early on I would be a science major, geology to be specific. While most STEM fields in the workforce are male dominated, because of my childhood this was not intimidating to me. That was a good thing from my experience. Working and interacting with men was not something foreign or weird to me. It was the women I was more intimidated by.  I did not really look for women in my field, mainly because it wasn’t a concern of mine. I still believed, up until I was a junior or senior in high school, that I would be okay continuing to stuff the emotional part of myself that I continued to wage war with.

Until I cracked.

Fast forward to March of 2020. Everyone’s world shattered with the news of COVID-19, but my world was cracked to its core. My boyfriend of a year and a half had become my lifeline, and not knowing how long I would be apart from him launched a journey of anxiety and mental health mess. With the stress of wrapping up high school and starting college, the years of emotional repression finally caught up with me. I know by Spring of 2021 I had begun a journey towards the door of depression. But the pandemic forced me to face my emotional mess.

I remember scheduling what was called a spiritual direction session with someone I knew and trusted. She is a sweet lady who lives with her husband on a peaceful organic farm in a farm town full of corn fields. She helped me put names to the emotions I was feeling, which was something I wasn’t good at. I was discouraged, frustrated, and desired change. I prayed a lot that day, sitting in the renovated milk house and crying. It felt vulnerable: terrible yet relieving. That was the beginning of embracing my emotions, but also my femininity.

I have learned, not that long ago, how to name, express and validate my emotions. Over time, the idea that these emotions were labeling me as something less than I desired to be, that femininity was something less than I wanted to be, faded. I have come to realize, after counseling, growth, and more prayer, there is a true strength in emotional expression. To be able to look inside of yourself, to be willing to be vulnerable with yourself and to recognize what is going well and what is not is harder than ignoring it. This was when I discovered the power of femininity. The ability to be brave enough to see my raw self, to experience the emotion, and to keep life rolling. This is a strength often attributed to femininity, but I argue we could all use a little more of it, especially these days.

I think I have had this potential my whole life, the potential to harness my emotional strength and lend it to others. I have had some tough times; I’ve been the victim of sexual harassment more than once. I’ve been through friendship breakups, relationship breakups, and mental health struggle. So have many other women, and I do not claim to be more victimized than anyone else. Even in times when it was hard for me to process these things on my own, I was willing to share these struggles as an olive branch to build a connection with someone else. If I thought that someone would benefit from sharing in a common experience, I would share. There were isolated moments like these where I was able to recognize that inner strength.

I ‘ve always wanted to be the hero in my own story, to be the bad ass who would change the world. To not let fear (emotions, really is what I meant) get in my way and conquer all. I had a certain picture in my head of how I could do that. I couldn’t tell you what exactly what that picture was, but it banked on me continuing to ignore my emotions and denying a huge part of myself. But I realized over the years, that I am not built that way. I do not run off of just action and logic, intelligence and athleticism. All of those things need motivation, whether I wanted to realize that or not. It has taken me far too long to realize that I can possess the same strength I’ve always wanted, but not in a way that shut off a vital part of who I am.

Recently in a writing class of mine someone wrote a story with all of us going on a mission together. This was written based on the author’s early perceptions of us as people. I was portrayed as the support system for the leader, the wing-man the badass hero cannot make it through the mission without. At first, I was insulted, but then I realized, several months later, both characters are essential to tell the story. All those years, I did a huge disservice to myself, trying to cut out a part of myself that I felt was wrong. The problem wasn’t really with me, it was what I thought femininity was supposed to be. Strength comes in all shapes and sizes.

I am more than content with myself now. I can express myself clearly (although not concisely, as I’m sure you were aware of 500 words ago). I have discovered I can be feminine and not wear a dress. I can enjoy fashion, shop sustainably and find clothes that fit well and feel good in my own style. I can embrace my womanhood and femininity, even if it’s a little nontraditional. Just because I do not feel comfortable in a pre-destined social standard does not mean I am unacceptable. I love the way I am made, and I am continuing to learn how to appreciate my unique composition of mind, heart and body. I am happy to be a woman in STEM. I am happy to be in a thriving relationship with a dashing man who won my heart long before I knew it. And I am happy to be in a place of better mental health.

My hope is that these words will resonate with you in some way. I want you to know that you can be you. And to keep looking for ways to express yourself, and to fight the beast of emotions. It can be hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. If you learn something about yourself by reading a bit of my journey, go write it down. Even a year ago, I would have considered this kind of reflection impossible. I sit here now and breathe with lighter lungs and sit with relaxed shoulders as I type through this. Do yourself a favor and embrace your journey, even the messy, emotional parts. I hope it doesn’t take you almost 20 years to discover yourself, as it did me.

 

About the Author
Makayla Palm majored in Geology. She is looking forward to a career of science writing, but her first love is creative writing. She typically writes short stories and fiction that focus on character development and those that exemplify different aspects of the human experience and the complexity of relationships. She is passionate about mental health advocacy, which inspire the themes of her writing. “Est 2001, Discovered 2021.” is her first personal essay.

My Truth

By Carmeta Webster-Sims

I am from Kingston, Jamaica W.I. I am the 4th child and youngest girl of five kids (2 sisters, 2 brothers). In 1993 at the age of six, my mother brought us all to the US. In '99 it all changed for me because at the age of 12, my dad almost took my mom away from us. My dad ended up getting deported back to Jamaica for what he did to my mother and because I was a daddy's girl, it impacted me the most. After my dad was sent back, it really messed me up. It was never easy for me growing up after that because my mother and I always bumped heads. I felt like the black sheep of the family. I always felt as if I didn't belong, as if my mother didn’t want me or love me the way she loved my sisters and brothers. She would always make it harder for me than she did for my siblings. As I got older, I started to look for the love that I never felt from my mom and couldn't get from my dad. My mother and I had a very strained relationship, but when I told her that I was pregnant, everything changed drastically. I started dating men older than me and kept it from my mom and my family while sneaking around cutting classes, and that's how I ended up with my first baby. I dropped out of school four months before graduating but went back to school after I had my daughter, and that's when my life really started.

I am from homelessness. At the age of 17 I was pregnant with my son whom I had at 18, then a year later at 19 I had my baby girl. At that point in my life, I had already moved out of my mother’s home and was living alone as a single mom going to school, working, and struggling to make ends meet. As my kids were getting older, things started to get harder. In 2014, we eventually ended up staying in a shelter after I lost my apartment the first time. Then there was another bump in the road when someone stole my rent money, and I was evicted from my second apartment. As a mother, I made sure that my children were safe with a roof over their heads. I myself was sleeping in my car and bouncing from home to home living with people I never knew beforehand. During that time in my life, I was severely depressed, and my thoughts were very much suicidal at this point, and I felt that my kids would be better off without me. A year later, in 2015, I ended up in the hospital for a few days because I was thinking about doing the worst thing possible and that was leaving my kids without a mother. After my time in the hospital, I took my children and moved to Pennsylvania with my best friend where we ended up staying for a year and a half. Within that time, I met someone who I thought would treat me right, but instead turned around and became my abuser.

I am from a domestic violence relationship. In 2017, I packed up my kids and moved here to Peoria, Illinois, and from the day we made it here to stay with my partner at the time, it was crazy. She was someone that thought she was "god," that she was so much better than everyone else, when she was really just as bad. While in the relationship, I was been beaten with a 5th of vodka bottle that left me with scars on my face, head, and body. I was cut with a pocketknife, had a DVD player busted up on my back, had the tip of my nose bitten off, burnt with boiling hot water, spit on, and treated like dirt. It was the worst I've ever been through in my life. My kids were affected in a major way because they had to witness the abuse and cruelty that I had to endure in front of them. It broke my heart as a mother to listen to the verbal abuse toward my children and being scared of someone that is supposed to love you. Eventually, I left and stayed in the shelters out here, but because I was basically by myself out here, I kept going back to this person. I kept putting my children back in a position that I knew was wrong, but again we were new here and didn't know where else to go. After two years of dealing with the mental, physical, and verbal abuse, I was blessed with a call from my current residence, and by the next week, me and my kids were in our own safe haven. It took one last incident with my ex a few months later for me to realize that I didn't have to accept her abuse anymore, and that gave me the strength I needed to say enough was enough. Even though I left her alone, I was still nervous whenever I left my home to go to the store or anywhere else. It took therapy for myself and my kids to even begin to get through everything that happened to us; I mean, she almost took my life twice, and they witnessed it all. The worst feeling in the world was having my kids experience what they did and feeling like the worst parent because of what they had to go through.

I am from SURVIVAL. Getting over the abuse and all the obstacles in my life was the hardest thing to do, especially as a single parent raising two kids. There are plenty of times in my life when I've wanted to end it, when I wanted to give up and just say "fuck it," but my angels always saved me. Before my kids, I felt unwanted and didn't know my purpose in this world, but after I had my kids, I had a bigger outlook on life. They not only saved me, but they always gave me the love that made me whole again and strong enough to get through whatever came our way. As I got better and started living again, there was no more fear of bumping into my ex or worrying about looking over my shoulder. After being a victim, I rose up and remained the same person that I was and always have been before that part in my life. In July of 2020, I met my other half, my wife. We started dating at the end of August and got married a few weeks later after her birthday on September 22. People might read this and say, "Damn she didn't waste any time," but regardless of what anyone would think or want to say, it was the best decision of my life. I'm very proud to call her my wife. She has shown me nothing but love, respect, acceptance, and she loves my kids. We have been growing together for almost a year now, and I wouldn't trade her for the world. My kids love her, and they are also getting ready to take her last name.

I am happy. I have the greatest family in the world, and even though there are still days where we struggle, the bond that we share is unbreakable. To this day, I still have dreams of the abuse, and it still scares me that one day I might bump into my ex, but I push that thought to the back of my mind because I am stronger now in my faith and my strength. That was a part of my life that was not only horrible, and scary, but it was definitely a lesson learned. I'm a better mother than I was at those points in my life, my kids are much better, happier, and way more comfortable than they have ever been. I'm happily married to the greatest person in the world, next to my kids of course. I'm a full-time student, I was working, but I let my job go so I could focus on school. My goal is to open up my own center where I would be helping the less fortunate to the most fortunate, from kids to adults, anyone in need. My family is my biggest support system, and I do everything that I do for them. But my journey doesn't stop there because I want to make a positive difference in this world, because if I can make it and find peace, I want people to know that anything is possible.

 

 About the Author

My name is Carmeta Webster-Sims. I was born in Kingston, Jamaica W.I. My mother brought my siblings and I to the US in 1993 at the age of 6, where I grew up in Paterson, New Jersey. I'm a wife and a mother of two teenagers. I moved to Peoria, Illinois, in April of 2017, where I'm currently attending ICC for Psychology. I would be honored to tell my story in hopes that it will be a positive reinforcement for the next person whose experiencing or has experienced the things that I've been through. I am a survivor of Domestic Violence, my life struggles, while being a single mother, and I'm still standing strong and will continue to do so. My goal is to build a foundation that will allow me to help others of all ages, races, and status, because I want to make a difference, as well as showing my children that regardless of your struggles there's always a way to get through.

Lightning Never Strikes Twice

 By Alex Arbogast

I’ve only been inside a building that was struck by lightning one time, and it scared me so much, but not for the right reasons. That particular building happened to be a McDonald’s in which I was working that night as a grill closer. I had worked as a McDonald’s employee for almost two years by this point and had never seen anything quite like what happened. No great events occurred there that could have possibly impacted my life. I was scared by the lightning strike but dealing with other people was even worse.

I had just gotten done working an eight-hour shift at the McDonald’s I worked for in Farmington. I was dead tired, but it was Friday, which was my last shift of the week. I got home and began changing out of my work things so I could be more comfortable. Today had been stressful, but I’d worked worse shifts. At the very least, I’d be home and won’t have to work again until Monday.

My phone vibrated, signaling an incoming notification. I picked it up and noticed it was a Facebook Messenger notification. I assumed it was probably just a notification from work in the group chat saying they needed more people for that night. I was not going to go in, but I read it anyway.

It was my general manager, Ashten, asking if anyone could close for Canton tonight because they were in dire need of extra people. I immediately messaged her. “Hey, I am able to work tonight as long as Wes isn’t working tonight,” I typed out at lightning speed. I had always wanted to see what it was like working in Canton. Their store was much larger than the Farmington location.

“Canton’s GM said be there at five,” Ashten typed back almost immediately.

“That must mean he’s not there,” I assured myself. Wes was my ex-boyfriend. We’d dated for nearly seven months before he broke up with me. He claimed he just wasn’t feeling it anymore. We ended it on good terms so that wasn’t the problem. The problem was I still had feelings for him. Working with him would cause unnecessary anxiety.

Now that I knew I wouldn’t be working with him, I started my drive to Canton. I got there at 4:56 and stood in front of the counter to wait for someone to tell me where to go and what I would be doing that night.

“Oh! There’s someone,” I thought to myself. I could only see the feet of the person though. They soon stepped around the corner which turned my elation to dread. “I can’t do this. I have to leave. I can’t be here,” I thought with a sense of pure panic and dread. “It was him. It was Wes. Of course, he was here.” I thought as I started to breathe faster and began to pick at my metallic watchband on my wrist. He saw me and recognition dawned on his face. Instead of greeting me, he blushed and quickly turned around. My heart sunk. I didn’t know what I was expecting.

Did I expect him to be excited to have to work with me? No, but I was hoping for something a little less cold from someone that had dated me for more than half a year, I mused. Another person came around the corner to ask Wes a question, but I could not hear it. If Wes was going to act petty, I could do the same thing.

“Hi!” I exclaimed to this new person, a teenage boy dressed in an entry-level crew uniform, in as cheery and loud of a voice as I could muster without sounding strange. “Hi?” the boy responded, clearly confused.

“I’m the closer from Farmington,” I declared, throwing daggers with my eyes at Wes. “Could you show me where I need to go? I don't think Wesley saw me standing here.”

“Absolutely,” the boy replied, finally showing signs that he understood who I was. The boy led me back to the grill area and explained that I was going to be on grill and fried products that night.

“Normally, we have another person for fried products, but we’re a little short-staffed tonight,” he told me, clearly agitated while he pointed out necessary items such as the spatula, the meat for the grill, and the meat for the fryers.

“In Farmington, the grill person does fried products and grill all the time. This will be easy,” I told them while I paid as much attention as I could. I was proud of my store being able to cope with what looked like an apparent lack of people.

Then the night truly began. The cowbell sound went off, alerting me that a customer had ordered a Quarter Pounder which necessitated my cooking the fresh beef on the grill. I lagged a bit behind the speed I should have been at, not yet used to the different layout of the Canton store.

I fell into a nice rhythm though until I ran out of McChicken patties in the freezer. I didn’t know where they kept their stock of frozen food.

I knew what I had to do, but I wouldn’t say I was enthused to have to do it.

“Wes?” I asked in a meek tone, my earlier anger all but dissipated. He turned quickly, as though he was startled by my voice.

“What is it?” he inquired, his pitch was a little louder and higher than normal.

“I ran out of McChicken, and I’m not sure where you guys keep your frozen products. I’m sorry,” I said quietly while avoiding eye contact.

“It’s fine. I’ll show you where it is,” he told me in a reassuring manner. Though I didn’t know if it was him or me that he was trying to reassure.

After he helped me, I would frequently catch glances of Wes. It was clear he was looking at me because his gaze would quickly shift whenever I looked up and saw him. I got into a very good rhythm. Their appliances were much newer than Farmington’s, so it was even easier than I had assumed it would be. It had started to rain hard, but that didn’t bother me. I loved the rain. I started to hum the song, “Electric Love” while I worked. I used to sing along to it in the car while Wes would hum it.

“BOOM!” I heard. The building shook from the impact which threw me out of my peaceful headspace.

My entire body went stiff.

“What just happened? What is going on? Did part of the town blow up? This had happened a couple of years ago, so could it happen again?” I asked myself. Then it hit me, “Was he okay? Was he hurt?” I had to find out.

“Is everyone okay?” I asked the nearest person. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” they replied loudly, and quickly as though they were afraid. Then the lights started flickering.

“I need to go check the food in the fryers. If it starts to burn, it will only add to the panic,” I said aloud even though no one was listening.

I went to check on the food in the fryer; I realized the timer should have gone off by now. The fryers were completely down. I couldn’t get them to respond whatsoever and using the off and on button had no effect. I pulled the food out to make sure it didn’t burn and went to tell Wes as he was the manager for that particular night. I had no other choice.

“I can do this,” I told myself as I made my way to him. “I will not make a fool of myself by stumbling over my own words or apologizing like last time.”

“Wes?” I asked with anxiety creeping around the edges of my tone.

“Huh?” he replied, clearly startled by my voice.

He was lost in thought, clearly shook to the bone by the giant sound that had happened not that long ago.

“The fryers are all off, and I can’t get them to turn on or off,” I told him, trying to be as confident as I could be.

“Do you see that smoke?” he asked, his face now ghost white, and his voice strained. Something dawned on his face, and he shouted, “Everyone get to the lobby now!” I turned around and looked for myself. Sure enough, the building had been slowly filling with smoke.

“Is it hot in here or is it—” I started to say to lower the tension and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw his face. He was scared, and although I wasn’t happy with how he was dealing with this situation, I needed to protect him and make him think everything was fine. It wasn’t my responsibility, and I had no obligation to make him feel okay, but seeing his face and knowing how afraid he was at that moment, I knew that I had to make him feel better. “It will be okay,” I relayed in as calming a voice as I could muster.

I went to rub his back. It had been something he loved that he would fall asleep to sometimes. He smiled for a short second and then his attention was brought back to the chaos around him.

“Just get to the lobby,” he said, clearly exasperated. His voice was calmer, although it still contained that fright from earlier.

I made my way to the lobby. I knew that I had to let him deal with this. I had helped as much as I could. All the other teenage employees were chattering with fear and anxiety. It was a lot for my nerves. Wes’s best friend, Chase, came up to me. He was a fairly tall, skinny boy who wore large-framed glasses and had black hair.

“Hey Alex,” Chase said. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Yup,” I replied. “I heard I could get overtime if I helped out and I was all in.”

“I feel you there,” he said while laughing, although I could tell it was fake. We weren’t friends. I was always jealous of his relationship with Wes. They were really close friends and would frequently stay the night at each other’s house. I was always so scared Wes would break up with me to date Chase, but Wes always reassured me of his feelings for me. We spoke for a little while until the firefighters arrived. They made quick work of surveying for any possible damage and assured everyone that it was safe, and the smoke wasn’t a worry. I didn’t get an explanation of why the smoke had occurred, though, or what exactly had happened. We were going to close much earlier, though, because the appliances were not okay, which meant we could no longer cook food.

“Can we have a couple people move their cars to block off the entrance so we don’t have people coming through the drive-thru?” Wes asked us.

“I can do it,” I volunteered almost immediately.

He nodded his head and looked away. Another girl and I went outside and positioned our cars, so the entrance was blocked off. We left an exit so employees could still leave. I jogged back inside and got to work on my closing duties. I counted all the food we could no longer serve and threw it away.

Then I was stumped. I didn’t know where any of the cleaning supplies were located. I asked one of the other employees, and they pointed me towards them. I got everything ready and began. There was one problem. Apparently, the fryers weren’t the only thing affected by the electrical problems. The grills were no longer hot. This was going to be a very difficult clean because the chemicals used to clean the grills required heat to get all the residue off the grills. I got the grills as clean as I possibly could with no heat and went to ask Wes what else I could do.

“I think we can handle it from here,” he answered.

“Okay, so I’m good to go?” I inquired.

“Yup,” he answered simply as he turned back, the beginnings of a blush beginning to creep into his cheeks.

I went to the parking lot, and I drove back to Farmington to tell my friends about what had just happened.

I was scared by the lightning strike that day. It was a situation that I had never been in before, but it wasn’t the scariest part of that day. I realized later that if something had gone very wrong, Wes, the crew, or I could have been badly hurt or even had died. I haven’t tried to face the cold truth of mortality and the feebleness of our bodies to this day. While that possibility is terrifying, realizing that I still had feelings for my ex-boyfriend but couldn’t act upon them was the real horror of my day. It was a reality I had no choice but to come to terms with. Our electric love had gone out. It had fizzled away. Perhaps the sparks would always remain, but lightning never strikes the same place twice, does it?

About the Author
Alex Arbogast is a Freshman at ICC who is attending for an associate’s in arts. He enjoys reading YA novels and writing. He hopes you enjoy the story.

Emerging from a Dark Hole

By Malarie Girdler

Nowadays, you can’t turn on the TV or check your social media without an act of violence popping up. Investigators when solving the murder their first suspect is normally a spouse, partner, or someone close to victim. If it does come to light that it was their partner, people tend to wonder if there were signs that this awful tragedy was going to occur. Domestic violence comes in so many forms, and not everyone’s story is the same. Some, unfortunately, end so many lives way too soon. I will be sharing my own personal experience I had with abuse and how I slowly emerged from a dark hole I was so deep in that the light wasn’t even visible.

Let’s go back to spring break 2016. I was so excited as I was getting ready for my vacation to Gulf Shores, Alabama. Recently single and so ready to mingle, I had made a dating profile. Yes, I know, right? Isn’t that the thing to do? While on the road down there, I receive a notification from a blast from the past. His name was Mario. He was more of an acquaintance. I had only ever hung out with him a few times in a group setting. He was a familiar face and that made me comfortable. For the next 10 days we didn’t skip a beat. We texted from morning to night, and I felt like a teenager all over again. Finally, the day came it was time to leave and head back to Illinois. Mario and I already had plans to meet as soon as I made it back. The drive felt like a million miles away and, I didn’t feel we were ever going to make it.

After 10 days of only text messages and calls, finally, we were together. It was love at first sight, literally. The connection we had was different than anything I ever felt. He was so affection and attentive that I whole heartly felt like I was the only girl he saw. I found myself captivated by his charm and attention. To this day, I still haven’t been treated better. There I was, head over heels in love with this man. Mario was the one; I was sure of it. I was never going to ever find anyone like him. From that moment on, my life consisted of making him happy. I was so blinded by love I couldn’t feel myself slipping into this hole that I wasn’t going to be able to get myself out of.

After about 6 months I started to notice small changes in his behavior. It started with the jealously. To me that meant he must really love me then, huh? All the sudden, social media was a problem, so I deleted that to please him. Mario was my world. I wasn’t going to let anything ruin us. The anger and mental abuse started soon after that. So there I was trying to figure out how to make myself better. If I just did this better or didn’t say that, then he wouldn’t have gotten mad and that wouldn’t have happened, right? Mario was a drinker but until that point, I didn’t see any issue with it. Until the night he got physical. Blaming it on the alcohol, he promised me it wouldn’t happen again. I forgave him and we went back to our picture-perfect life like nothing happened until the next time.

That promise he made to me became one of many. Every time was the last time. Every bottle was the last bottle. I felt I needed to save Mario from his demons, but I wasn’t aware that trying to saving him was going to destroy me. I was dealing with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and if alcohol was involved, I could count on it getting psychical. The abuse eventually took its toll on me mentally. I felt defeated. The love for myself was nonexistent. A year had gone by, and then I was pregnant and stuck so far down in that hole, no one could hear me screaming for help.

In my mind I knew all I had to do was leave, but that’s easier said than done. I didn’t know where to even start. I was just living in survival mode. I barely had energy for anything else. The thought of leaving terrified me. As if the threats he made of me leaving weren’t enough, the good times gave me faith that he was going to change. I blamed everything on the alcohol, or that’s what I told myself. Because how could someone that loves you so much say or do any of those things? Embarrassment kept me from telling anyone, so I faked it to make it. Let’s be clear: Makeup works wonders. I even got so creative with my stories to explain the bruises and stiches I almost convinced myself.

It was the beginning of October. I just finished my shift at work. Mind you, every time I was waiting on him, my anxiety was through the roof. Instantly when I got in the car, my heart sank. All I hear is Kodak Black blaring on the speakers. Right then I knew it that tonight was not going to end well. To this day, I have no idea what started the fight. All I remember is it got real bad real fast. The look in his eyes that night was different, and his thought process was all over the place. At this point I knew I needed to get out of this real quick. As I’m being drug down the hallway by my hair into the room, all I can think to do is pray to whoever would listen to get my unborn baby and me out of this alive, and I promise I will really leave this time.

As I’m begging for him to stop before he hurts the baby, he just continues to drag me to the bed. I try to ball myself up the best I can to protect my stomach and head. The only words that I remember through all the chaos were, “I don’t care if I kill you or that baby.” Then all the sudden, I hear a car pull into the driveway and someone coming into the house. It’s my uncle and his girlfriend. So, here is my chance. I somehow mange to make it out of the room and rush downstairs. His girlfriend hurried up and took me to my mom’s. On the drive there, all I could think about is how I promised my child and myself if I made it out that night, I wouldn’t go back.  There was no more fight left in me. I didn’t even know how I even became this woman.

I woke up the next morning with a few bumps and bruises but at least we were both were safe. We did have to call the police to remove him from the house, but he legally had 7 days before he had to leave. Once he finally left, I still was scared to go back home. I knew that he wasn’t going to take me leaving well. He called my phone on so many numbers that my block list was a mile long. Eventually, I had to just change my number. I was fortunate enough to stay at my mom’s until I was able to save enough for my own apartment. So, I threw myself into my work getting as many hours as I possibly could to stay busy to escape from the thoughts and feelings I was suffering.

A few months after I left Mario, my life on the outside couldn’t have been better. Everything started falling into place. In my head was a different story. I was still stuck at the bottom of that hole scared and alone. Everyday was going to be the day he followed me home. I jumped at every loud noise. I was always on edge. Constantly living in fear was draining. Until the day I decided I needed to reach out for help because whatever I was doing wasn’t working. I was so desperate, so I set my pride aside and called the Center of Prevention of Abuse. They set me up with a therapist. That first session was the first time I ever felt understood, and she assured me all my feelings were valid. She was able to teach me the cycle of abuse, what the red flags are, and what a healthy relationship really was. I finally got the courage to stand up off the ground in that hole and start control of my life again.

Slowly but surely, I started to find ways to pull myself up one day at a time. I finally was living for myself. I had to find what I loved about me again. I had to show myself kindness and patience. Understanding it was never my job to save Mario, but knowing that missing him didn’t make something wrong with me, either. I learned to love myself enough to know I deserved more then what he possibly could offer at the time.

 Little by little, I was getting closer to the top of the hole, and the light was visible. Once I was finally able to reach the top, I froze. I almost wanted to jump back down. I was so terrified of what was at the top waiting for me. Thinking to myself on how hard I fought to get to this point, I couldn’t just fall back down. I had to put my faith that whatever is up there must be better than what’s waiting for me back at the bottom. I gathered my strength, and I emerged from that lonely dark hole. Only then is when I found my self-efficacy, my boundaries, and my worth.

About the Author
I'm a 29-year-old who decided to go back to school, so I can follow my passion to help others. I'm currently enrolled in the Drug and Alcohol program with ICC and plan to continue my education to become a Domestic Violence Therapist. My story showed my resilience to rise up, and I hope it will encourage others to always know their worth in this world!

Middle School Dress Code

 By Sidney Contoni

I experienced public embarrassment at a young age due to my middle school’s dress code. I received an in-school detention over wearing joggers, a loose kind of sweatpants. Everything I owned at the time my mother bought me. She only bought me things that fit me the correct way, nothing baggy, nothing tight, and nothing short. When I got dress coded, it was a shock to me because, at the time, only leggings were banned to wear to school. I learned so much from this experience; it’s changed my views on the use of authority. If we don’t learn from our mistakes, how will we ever face tomorrow’s problems? Mistakes help us learn, so we can make the right choices for ourselves later down the road. 

            On October 10, 2015, I got told by the principal in front of my whole eighth-grade class that I was getting dress coded because I was showing too much, and it was distracting the boys in my class from learning. I got up from my seat walked out of the classroom and calmly asked her why I was being dress coded because nothing I was wearing was tight nor was it revealing. Mrs. Baker, my principal, grabbed the back of my joggers and told me I was wrong, and I shouldn’t be arguing with her because she was the adult, and I was the child, and I didn’t know what I was talking about. She pulled me from the hallway to the office and told me to call my mother. I called my mother and asked her if she could come to school immediately and bring a different pair of pants with her. When my mom got to school, she was confused. Why was she bringing me a different pair of pants? She walked into the office and noticed I was sitting outside of the principal’s office with my head down. She asked me what happened and noticed I was upset. I told her what had happened. I could tell in her eyes she was angry. I told her I was sorry for making her drive to school to give me a different pair of pants. She looked at me and smiled. “That’s okay honey I’m happy to do it, but you really shouldn’t have to change. You look wonderful,” she said. My mother went into the principal’s office and talked to Mrs. Baker. Mrs. Baker told me I needed to go change my clothes, and when I came back, she handed me an in-school detention.

            The lesson I learned from this is that a person in a position of power over you will do and say anything in a situation even when they are in the wrong just to make you feel bad or uncomfortable. I believe my principal called me out in front of my peers because she knew she had the upper hand, and there was nothing I could do. When you’re in trouble and you don’t agree with why it is you are in trouble, the adult in charge isn’t going to hear you out. They see you as a child and them as an adult and they can take advantage of that instead of approaching it the correct way. Before this incident, I had previous issues with my principal. To this day, I am insecure and never feel that I can approach another adult without being criticized. As an adult now, I know what is appropriate to wear and how to handle situations that are simply out of my control. As sad as I was at the time, I am glad I can say I learned an important life lesson. 

            In the future, I would like to see the dress code changed because I learned people can be sexist about what young girls wear. I feel I was targeted, and I would like to see the dress code change because I feel that girls are sexualized and the rules don’t apply to the boys. If I was the one dress coding, I would try and see it from their point of view, but if I felt they were wrong, I would try to address it the correct way and have them understand it’s not their fault. If I was being dress coded, I would want a valid reason on why I am being dress coded not just centering the boys by saying, “You’re revealing too much,” or “You’re distracting boys from learning.” I hope other young girls learn the same lesson but learn without going through the same hardships that I did. 

 

About the Author
My name is Sidney Contoni, and I am a graduate of Limestone Community High School. I am currently a student at Illinois Central College planning to further my education at Illinois State University. I am majoring in Early Elementary education. I find myself most interested in writing about personal experiences and sharing them.