#mdsa

[kissmamagoodnight]

“[Just] because no penis is involved does not make it “less than” male/female incest.”

The Last Secret: Daughters sexually abused by mothers, Bobbie Rosencrans, 1997

[doliminuz]

My mothers obsession with being naked and sometimes wanting to see me naked was actually insane looking back

Girl why did you constantly have your hooha out you've got a dressing gown on tie the damn thing up you've got 3 kids in the house AND you're right across from your sons' room. And often times I was in the room with her naked, I SLEPT with her while she was naked.

"We're both girls" Okay and cover up woman. I dont care I'm you're daughter I didn't want to see that.

Then she'd say the same when she'd watch me change after I repeatedly asked her to leave/turn around or when she came into the bathroom to go to the toilet while I was showering, so I hid behind the curtain and she YANKED IT BACK?? What was the reason.

And all those times she'd make me hug her while naked? Hell I still remember trying to sleep only for her to be hugging me from behind while naked and I could FEEL the hairs pressed against me and EW EW EW EWWW it's gross and weird and creepy WHY was she like that

Shes so weird.

[lockeddoor]

Potter, L. (2002). How Does Childhood Incest Affect the Interpersonal Relationships of Adult Females.

[sae-something]

I hate how little snippets of memory feel more fake if I get less flooded/overwhelmed? Because that's literally just progress because of the work we've been doing in therapy but now I sometimes manage to remain more present as stuck fragments share their stories and it all just feels deeply fake because surely I should be overwhelmed, right? But I'm not. I end up just softly crying because how the fuck does a mom-

anyway, I hate how it just feels more fake. I hate it.

[goofylilfishy]

MDSA

“ oh but im your mother im allowed to” no, forcing me to sleep with you or just break open my door to sleep with me. touching me inappropriately, sexualizes me. Took pictures of my butt at a young age. One time force me to take shower with you in it. Like woman . Please do better 🫩 still love you. But do better

[himewarlock]

the absolute worst thing that happens often is when you’re going over your sexual abuse in your mind and your body starts acting as though you’re aroused

last night (i think it was last night at least) i was on the verge of tears thinking about the times my mom has sexually assaulted me (yes, groping your child’s thighs or slapping their butt as a joke is sexual assault. its no different than if a stranger did it) and i started getting an erection, which only made me feel worse, like i was some sort of sick pervert who wanted my mother to assault me

i know its a common trauma response. i have plenty of friends who have shared similar experiences. it still sucks

[these-wings-are-porcelain]

After years of looking for resources on mdsa and having a hell of a time finding anything specific I'm now looking for resources on father-daughter sexual abuse. I'm a bit shocked to find that the resources are just as scarce. I think the problem is likely a widespread taboo around acknowledging and confronting incest.

[meikuree]

There have been attempts to read the facts of the abuse backward into [Alice] Munro’s fiction, pointing out all of the ways the stories are about repression and thwarted confession and the abuse and maiming of children. What I find remarkable is that what so many of us love in Munro’s fiction is the way she reveals how common and small we all are, how at bottom, we are capable of true ugliness and viciousness, that this is not the province of sneering villains but the woman on the corner or the man in the fast car or the quiet old lady in her house in the woods—what amazes me is that we can acknowledge this and yet be confused when confronted with a real-world example of someone who seemed remarkable but who is simply selfish and small. I have read a lot of confused tweets and articles, trying to figure out “how could she do this?” as though it is some grand mystery. It is not. At least not to me. She had a choice to believe and protect her daughter in the face of the revelations, even after her daughter, decades later, took [Gerald] Fremlin [Alice Munro's second husband] to court and won, but she chose to stay. And people seem amazed by that. What kind of mother? What kind of person? What kind of woman? etc. Well, any kind of mother. Any kind of person. Any kind of woman. She made a choice and justified it to herself through any number of inversions or self-delusions, who can say. But is this really so shocking? People do this every day. My own family did this. I saw it play out first hand. People are capable of justifying anything. Being a brilliant writer does not elevate one above the common smallness of being a person. To grasp for some justification as though there must be some brilliant dark inner turning of the mind that will explain it as opposed to accepting it as the everyday course of life, I mean…that, to me, betrays a lack of understanding of human nature, particularly the one advanced by Munro’s work. Undoubtedly in the weeks and months to come, people will say “it’s complicated” and “it’s complex” and “separate the artist from the art.” I disagree. It is not complicated. It is not complex. Alice Munro stayed with the man who molested her daughter. Not only that, but she stayed with a man who, when confronted with his information, wrote the family letters explaining how the child victim was in fact a “homewrecker” and seducer. Not only that, but she expressed a justification in choosing her own happiness because after all, what had been done had been done. This is the most characteristic thing Munro could have said. In her stories, epiphany and revelation often take the form of accepting the crude and brutal terrain of the past for what it is and setting one’s shoulder to wheel to get on with living. What I love about her stories is that they come with an aftermath. They dare to offer the reader a glimpse into that rarely seen world to come. When the choice has been made and one has to get on with it. I was told too late. I loved him too much. Is that not the most Alice Munro thing you have ever read? Furthermore, it’s a kind of thinking I was raised among. It’s how I got through much of the abuse and trauma of my own life. Well, that’s that. Anyway. Not a shrug. But a setting the shoulder against the stone and pushing onward. It is a kind of thinking common to the rural poor and the working poor, among whom and by whom I was raised. I have struggled for a long time in trying to explain it. It is a world without history. Not a world without a past. But a world without a history, which is a story we tell ourselves about the past. Among my people, the rural and working poor, to make a history out of the past is taboo. To speak of a thing done is to make too much of it. To be fishing for sympathy, and for what, when there’s nothing to be done about it anyway.

— Brandon Taylor, what i'm doing about alice munro: why i hate art monster discourse (10 July 2024)