Open Letter To MP Rodney Weston re: Abortion

"Good day MP Rodney Weston,

I am 24 years old. I can tell you in all sincerity that I have grown a great deal since I was born. Physically, to be sure, but also in every other sense of the word. 24 years is a very long time. I have learned to tie my shoes and get along with my mother and earn two degrees. I have seen the birth of the internet and social media. I have heard news covering Hurricane Sandy and Sandy Hook. I have watched Gretzky retire and Crosby take the NHL by storm. I have learned about compassion and justice and responsibility. I have evolved.

24 years ago 14 women were murdered in what is known now as the Montreal Massacre. I believe that since then, we have made great strides in educating the country on gender equality. We have more and more women graduating university, working in male-dominated vocations and entering politics (though admittedly only one of our ten MPs is female). We have evolved.

24 years ago the Frank McKenna government put in place the regulations we still use today to monitor abortion. In 24 years, that regulation (which conflicts with the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms) has not changed. It has not been altered, redefined or reassessed. It has remained stagnant. It has not evolved.

The definition of stagnant is as follows: a body of water or atmosphere having no current or flow and often having an unpleasant smell as a consequence. I am writing this letter to state unequivocally that Regulation 84-20 of the Medical Services Payment Act stinks. Please do right by your constituents and break the dam that has been holding us in place for a quarter century. We need some fresh air. We need to evolve.

Thank you,

Rachael Grant"

Please join the writing campaign here: SART will SEND and add your voice to the cause. 

Take Back The Night - Song for Rehtaeh and thousands more

Rachael Grant - Take Back The Night

This is the live version of the song I wrote for the countless victims of sexual assault. 

Take Back The Night March 2013, Saint John NB

A Real American Horror Story

Spoiler Alert: This is going to reveal stuff about season 3, episode 1 of American Horror Story: Coven.

This is coming to you live from actively watching the rape scene from American Horror Story. Literally it's still on as I watch this.

Okay, yes, this show is about magic and witches and crazy alien stuff and haunted houses. That stuff is (HOPEFULLY) not real, but the scene that they just showed is about as real as it gets.

Emma Roberts' character goes to a party with a friend. They get separated and she gets roofied. The next scenes are flashes of frat boys moving on top of her paired with sounds of a very distressed and drugged woman. It's honestly gut-wrenching. It's painful to see the boys, faces after faces, hovering over her. Grunting, thrusting, grinning like they're the smartest guys in the world, and the first to think of drugging an unsuspecting girl and gang raping her.

They're not smart. They're disgusting. They deserve the worst kind of punishment. Unfortunately for most women, they're not witches who can flip the bus that the boys escape on and murder the shit out of those rapists. I sometimes wish that were an option. But you know what? A few minutes later in the episode, after Emma's character exacts her revenge, we find her curled up in the shower, trying to hold herself together.

Because the fact is that even with powers and covens and all the other excellent things that come with being a witch, rape is rape. Trauma is trauma. There's no escaping those feelings.



When the scene first popped on, I was horrified that they were showing it. And then I realized what a favour they were doing for those of us who know that that stuff goes on every day. That scene? It's a reality. It happens every weekend. People need to see it. They need to see it happening to an American sweetheart. Kudos to you FX.

You actually showed a true American Horror Story.

Y'all got any more of them definitions?

Notice the hole in the middle: the anus of stupidity

Feminist Rachael here coming to you live from a hurricane of bullshit. We're hearing reports of misinterpreted quotes and winds of ignorance up to 100 km/h. A downpour of misunderstanding is on the horizon, and it seems like it will be a long time until it settles to a light drivel...sorry, that's drizzle. Back to you Internet.

Why the frustration? Why the small tirade? Why the prolonged metaphorical analogy to a weather report?

Photo: Merriam Webster.
(just kidding she's not a real woman)

Because of people actively choosing to not educate themselves on what feminism is. I want to clarify this big mystery for everyone. You know when you picture that woman who hates men and thinks people with vaginas are superior and blah blah blah? Yeah, they're not feminists. They're MISANDRISTS. Look it up. No, you know what? How about you sit back and relax and I'll look it up for you. Let's take it to our dear old friend Merriam Webster. What does she have to say about it? Oh look: A hatred of men. Yeah. That. Nothing there about wanting equality for genders, because that is FEMINISM. Don't believe me? Let's find out what good ol Merriam has to say about that. You are not going to believe this! Here we go: The belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities. Damn, those feminist bitches be cray, wanting women to have equal wages and the rights to their own bodies and the ability to become CEO without someone asking who she slept with.

So next time you're going to dismiss feminism as some radical activist group akin to Reformed Neo Buddhism (Pierce Hawthorne - Community, anyone?), try and remember that super small and easy definition. Equal rights and opportunities. The same stuff that abolitionists fought for. The same stuff that gay rights activists fight for. The only radical thing in my mind is why there's such a massive push-back to these concepts.

To the men out there who say feminism is stupid: If you are okay with your mother making less money than your father solely because she had the capability of birthing you, then feminism is not for you. If you're down with your wife someday being fired because she's pregnant then feminism is not for you. If you're cool with your sister being sexually assaulted and then being called a slut for "giving it up", feminism is not for you. If you think it's rad that your daughter is more likely to end up with depression, eating disorders, anxiety disorders and self esteem problems because she's got a vagina, then feminism is not for you. Otherwise, join the fight before you have to fight for someone you love.

To the women out there who say feminism is stupid: You're stupid. (just kidding). If you think everything is going great for you and things in your life are totally equal and you aren't scared walking home alone and your salary is on par with the men you went to high school with, then I am so happy for you. Let's zoom out. Let's take a look at countries where female newborns are murdered in droves because they're not boys. Or countries where armies come into town and rape women in front of their fathers and husbands. Or cultures where women aren't allowed to go to school. Or villages where women are considered property of men. Or communities where a woman is forced to marry her rapist to preserve her honour. Please, after understanding all of this, try and tell me why feminism is stupid.


Misandry is stupid (if you disagree, I'd love to hear why). Feminism is not. Feminism is a just, necessary and worthy cause. If you're not for it, then your stance as an ignorant and compliant bystander places you against it. Keep that in mind the next time you try and laugh it off.

Ignorance Is Not Bliss

Because of my line of work and the direction I've chosen to steer my career, I end up discussing sexual assault and rape culture with people who do not necessarily agree with my viewpoint. I struggle with maintaining my composure and with calmly stating my opinion. I continually remind myself that their biases against victims and their reluctance to blame perpetrators could come from anywhere. They could be victims themselves, coping by convincing themselves that they deserved it. They could be of a different generation, where ignorance was acceptable (as opposed to now?). They could be on a high horse because since they've avoided sexual assault, any woman should be able to. There are many reasons behind the vitriol dripping from these people' mouths. I do my best to ensure that my message is heard, and I've learned that pushing or forcing the issue appears to literally harden one's eardrum, and so I am gentle (against all natural inclinations).

I have heard so many disheartening statements, but a few readily spring to mind when I look over especially the past year of my life. I wanted to share some with you and hopefully to shed light on why these statements are fundamentally hurtful and ultimately wrong.

(DISCLAIMER: I use "she" for survivors and "he" for perpetrators for ease of discussion. I am aware that every possible pairing occurs with sexual assault.)

1. "If you're going to have drinks with a group of guys, what do you expect would happen? You've basically inviting sexual assault."
If this were the case, I would owe the boys I went to high school with a huge thank you for not raping me on spyglass hill or in the infamous Love Shack (a semi-rotting chicken coop behind my old house). But I think that they would be repulsed by the idea of hurting me. They were my friends and they respected me. We had great times together and I never felt endangered simply by possessing the sole vagina in the group.

2. "Rapists are psychotic." "Rapists are perverts." "Rapists deserve to die."
I understand the inclination to believe these statements, or statements similar to these. Unfortunately rapists are not slogging out of sewers at night with red glowing eyes and snatching up our women and children. They are your brothers, who were goaded into "banging the hottie" who passed out. They are your sons, who were never taught that their "body's nobody's body but mine". They are your uncles and fathers and cousins who were themselves abused as children and never received help. It's a cop-out to imagine monsters, when in fact the culprit is men. I would take it one step further and say that the culprit is culture. If you need to make generalizing statements, make these: "Our culture is psychotic." "Our culture is perverted." "Our culture deserves to die." We need to forge a new culture where systematic, blatant and subtle sexism are as repulsive as cannibalism (Yes, I know some cultures still practice this, but I think we can agree consuming human flesh is generally a pretty looked-down-upon practice).

3. "Women shouldn't be walking home alone at night."
The fact is that since statistically you are far more likely to be sexually assaulted by someone you know, accepting "protection" during your walk home is far more likely to result in assault than walking alone. I will reiterate a statement made in a previous post where I said that I am not recommending you walk home alone. In fact, I will not recommend any safety tips as I believe women have the right to choose the way they want to live, and asking someone to adhere to rules is a subtle way of inflicting guilt if they are assaulted whilst breaking one.

4. "There are so many grey areas though."
In telling the story of a sexual assault, it can indeed sound grey. The details surrounding the event can create a rather compelling tale which our society has labelled "He said, she said". When we dig into the finer points, we can indeed feel like we're swimming in grey-ness. We get bogged down. But pull back for a moment. If you've ever had sex or a sexual experience before, can you not remember trying to sense the feelings of your partner? Can you not remember them trying to figure out if you're enjoying it, or if they're doing everything right? You know. You know what I'm talking about. With these "he said, she said" stories, that gets lost. You end up with two parallel stories documenting the same event but with drastically different language. She says "he hurt me" while he says "she likes it rough". She says "I tried to get away" and he says "she was playing hard to get". She says "I was too scared to say no" and he says "well she never said no". There is a difference between rough sex and rape. There is a difference between attempted teasing and attempted escape. There is a difference between a lack of refusal and enthusiastic consent. The courts may not be able to figure it out, the police may not be able to find the evidence necessary. But that rapist? He knows. He either knows something was off, or he consciously chose to ignore all the signs. But he knows.

5. "What was she wearing?" "How much did she drink?"
Can you, in all honesty, tell me that this matters? I stated previously that when someone tried to break into my apartment, no one asked me either of these questions. I also want to provide a link to this incredible Buzzfeed Article that deals with the idea that all of the victims were strutting about in stilettos and little black dresses. And if they did happen to be wearing that, they were not asking for rape. Perhaps they were asking for a one night stand or a romp with a friend-with-benefits or some hot bar washroom sex with their partner. These are some things that women ask for. WE DO NOT ASK FOR RAPE.
Please pay special attention to the tweets in the article stating that they were in their flower pajamas being tucked into bed at age 6. Does it matter what that little girl was wearing?

Some of these statements are not said with malicious intent. That does not make them less harmful. Telling a victim that she was raped in a "grey area" will not make it easier. Asking a victim what she was wearing will not make her any more consenting. Implying guilt because of her actions will not ease her recovery. Ignoring the truth about rapists will not make them go away.

Educate yourself or breed ignorance - those are your only options.

Why International Women's Day Still Exists

False. Media portrayals are not always accurate, fool. 

International Women's Day is coming up on March 8th, and I've seen some compelling arguments about why this day should not exist. I've heard some people reason that feminists are the enemy, that feminists want superiority and hypocritically promote double standards. I've heard that celebrating a day for women isn't equal since men don't have a special day for them. Another popular argument stems from the notion that feminists think all men are rapists and pedophiles. Still another would say that men and women are just naturally different and so should naturally excel in different areas. Others insist that we have, in fact, reached equality and that feminists are beating a dead horse (so to speak).

I could (and probably will someday) argue against each of these points categorically and critically, but for now I just want to drop a tiny bit of knowledge. And it is this: If you know a woman over 85 years of age, she was not born a person.

Just take a minute and let that sink in.

I'm sure this is a thing, but it ain't mine. 

When people argue that we've reached equality because women can vote and work, they are simplifying the issue to the point of ignorance. Humans have existed for tens of thousands of years, and women have only been considered persons since 1929 (in Canada (this varies in other countries...but not by millenia)). That is less than 100 years, and I am to believe that all our issues have been resolved within this century? Such a notion is actually laughable. If humans have been around for 20 000 years (homo erectus (feel free to laugh at this Rachel/Joey style)), then women have been persons for 0.425% of that time span.

Every system we currently operate under was created by a man. Our government, our business infrastructure, our education system. It was created by men with men as the target, the customer, the consumer. The entirety of our culture has catered to men for thousands of years. Feminism is not about succeeding under a patriarchal society - it is about systematically creating a new and unbiased system under the morality of equality of rights and privileges.

My shoveled driveway would beg to differ 

Understand that this means men's rights as well - feminists have been influential in creating paternal leave and rights for the father. They work to undo the stigma stay-at-home dads feel just as they work to undo the stigma a full-time employed mother feels. And yes, they fight for themselves, largely because the vast majority of men are not fighting for women's rights.

Up until the 1983, a husband could legally rape his wife. It was viewed as a marital right, not a crime.

Women are given prescriptions for heart disease and high cholesterol that were only ever tested on men.

A man is a Mr. Whether he is married or unmarried, his title does not change. A woman is dealt the hand of choosing Ms, Mrs, or M and each is saddled with varying stereotypes.

When a man reports a sexual assault or rape, his story is not questioned because as a society we cannot perceive why a man would lie about this.

For centuries, marriage vows ended with "I now pronounce you man and wife". A man is always a man. A woman is a daughter, then a wife, then a mother.

Pornography is largely filmed through the eyes of the man, and ends with a male climax. Men's faces or voices are rarely seen and heard, as the focus is always on the woman's body.

Advertising normalizes objectifying and demeaning women:

Her face doesn't matter, he's getting what he wants

The perfect date: a man's shoe against your jugular

Nothing sexier than gang rape

Glorified clothing rack - good to know women serve two whole purposes

These are just some examples that I can list off the top of my head.

It is not enough for women to survive in a man's world. We are trying to thrive in a new world - not one catered to women but in one that does not oppress.

And that is why we have International Women's Day - educate yourself.

Tales From A Young Female Athlete

When I was younger my mom put me in figure skating (she also put my big brother in figure skating and I believe there's a home video somewhere of him skating around in a dog costume doing the macarena...). I rocked that (read: sucked at it) for a couple of years and then demanded to play hockey like my daddy and brothers. I believe that this may be one of the proudest moments for my dad. Aside from a minor altercation with using a male cup for my female parts and it hurting like a bitch for the first few practices, I transitioned pretty easily. I got myself a sassy lady-cup and played with the boys.

First photo that shows up on Google Image
when you type in: Sporty Girl
I believe this is the standard football uniform?  

It helped, of course, to have my dad coach me for the first few years. I never fully appreciated the difficult choice he made. He had two sons who were good enough to compete at AAA levels and he gave up the chance to coach them so that he could help his daughter transition to a male dominated sport. I was the only girl on my team for the first 3 or 4 years and he treated me just like one of the guys, which is exactly what I wanted. My least favorite moments in hockey were when the other coaches did something that highlighted the fact that I was a girl. It made me feel completely isolated. Sometimes they'd talk slower to me, as if I couldn't understand a concept because I had a vagina, or they'd give me special treatment which was even worse. If I was actually horrible at the sport that would be one thing but I could hold my own out there. It was just demeaning to have to put up with these men who saw me as different even though my only marker as a girl was a tiny blonde ponytail poking out of my helmet.

What gorgeous...sports

I think that being all geared up did help because other than that ponytail I didn't look any different than the boys in grade 3. Overall my memories of early hockey playing were positive. But when I joined lacrosse in middle school I had an entirely negative experience. In true sister fashion, I wanted to play lacrosse because my brothers were getting into it. They'd play in the yard and I would want to join in and then I decided I wanted to be on a team. I had parents who let me try anything I expressed a sincere interest in, so off I went to my first lacrosse practice. What I encountered was a team of pre-pubescent boys who had never played with a girl, only this time I couldn't hide my girlishness behind pounds of gear. With just shorts and a jersey, I set out. At first I didn't even consider this - I'd played sports my whole life and had never run into any issues. I sailed in a bathing suit and played soccer in shorts, but with sailing it was usually with my female best friend (where we had some of our most epic fights, confined to a very small boat) and with soccer I was on an all-girls team.

Couture Soccer 

It was when we got into a circle to stretch that I experienced some of the deepest shame in my life. I was doing the crouch with one leg out to the side, and I noticed that two of the boys beside me were staring up my shorts - and they could see everything. I hadn't realized that my loose shorts - just like what the boys had on - would cause a problem but those boys just stared and stared. I was looking back at them, trying to force eye contact and they just wouldn't look up. It was humiliating. Should I stop the stretch? Should I run away? Then I realized I still needed to stretch out my other leg. I switched sides gratefully, only to see that the boys signaled the group of boys on the other side. I spent that practice knowing that almost half the team had seen a part of me that no one else had ever seen. I was ten years old.

I stuck to it for a little longer and then begged to quit. Even at that age I knew that the dynamic on the team had completely changed. None of those boys ever did look me in the eye. I had been branded "just a girl" from that very first practice. To this day I can still remember their faces, totally unashamed. I couldn't believe they had the confidence to just stare at me like that. A statistic came out recently in a commercial saying that by age 14 girls are dropping out of sports at twice the rate of boys. We're bombarded with images of what women should look like, and none of those images show a girl with dirt on cheeks and sweat on her brow. Another statistic provided by Dove researchers states that 6 out of 10 girls will quit a sport because of how they feel about their looks. That's some heady stuff, knowing that girls are becoming aware of their bodies in a negative way at an earlier and earlier age. But why?

The way I felt about my looks and my place on the team was altered almost completely because of those boys. I wish I could go back and find out why they weren't embarrassed or ashamed of themselves, why they thought their behaviour was acceptable. When we have conversations about why girls quit sports, I don't think that all the emphasis should be placed on the media or their self-esteem. I understand that there's a gendered focus but there needs to be discussion about young boys too. I was sexualized by my teammates before I fully understood what sex even was. There was never an attempt to include me or befriend me. My dad coaching me in hockey was probably the biggest reason I stayed, and I can't imagine how hard he worked to make sure I felt accepted. When I started out in lacrosse I was benched during games by the coaches, ogled by my teammates and felt forced to quit by my resulting insecurities. Maybe there should be training sessions so that coaches don't remain ignorant. Maybe parents should remind their sons that girls are capable of not only keeping up but also whooping their asses from time to time. Maybe boys should be held responsible for isolating their female teammates.

Imagine if my lacrosse coaches had "manned up" for me? I may have stuck with it, and instead I'm just writing a blog about it.

Baseline: Believe.

I've been looking back at the amazing support I've gotten from my family, friends, colleagues and coworkers after someone tried to break into my apartment last Tuesday. I was going over the details in my mind, and I started to think about how lucky I was in the way I was treated post-event. Let's review the facts together.

1. No one blamed me for having transparent curtains. No one told me that maybe I could have prevented the whole thing by having solid curtains, that maybe the guy felt welcomed by the curtains and it was partially my fault.

2. No one questioned my story. Why on earth would anyone make up a story about a person trying to get through her fire escape at 3:30 in the morning? That's just ridiculous...it's extremely rare for any crime to be falsely reported.

3. No one asked if maybe I had actually invited the guy inside and just regretted it afterwards. Perhaps I'd been sleeping provocatively? Perhaps having a night light on was like a signal that I wanted someone to try to enter my home? But no, that's foolish, obviously. 

4. No one told me I should consider his side of the story, that maybe he made an honest mistake and there were some mixed messages about whether or not he could break into my apartment.

5. No one asked me what kind of pajamas I was wearing, or if I'd consumed any alcohol before going to bed. It was very clear that this was not relevant to whether or not someone was trying to get inside my home. Why on earth would that make a difference? After all, someone was committing a crime. The circumstances of my attire or sobriety aren't relevant.

6. No one tried to defend the actions of the guy. No one said he had a right to come in, no one implied that I should have somehow prevented this, or that it wasn't that big of a deal. No one said "boys will be boys".

Are you hearing me? No one said I was "asking for it". No one told me to "be more careful". No one told me to change my life to prevent this sort of thing. Why the hell are we doing this to rape victims? If I had been wasted out of my mind and had passed out naked in bed, would that have been reason enough for someone to break into my apartment? Of course not. Yet every day it's used as justification for rape. And I do mean that literally. Every. Day. 

I don't know how, as a culture, we decided that women are extremely likely to falsify a report of sexual assault but the fact is that false reporting is extremely rare. Even when analyzing false report data on sexual assault we can see that many victims withdrew their claims due to fear, intimidation, or simply trying to forget it or put it behind them (a common stage in recovery from sexual assault). I cannot say this enough: Leave the judgment to the court systems, the police and the lawyers. Baseline: Believe. Do you hear me? That's all you have to do. Extend that courtesy to anyone you know who says that they've been sexually assaulted. No one bat an eye at my claim that someone tried to break in. No one questioned my story. Do not question theirs. It's much harder to come forward about a sexual assault than my situation, so imagine the strength that person has to even tell their story to a single person. Baseline: Believe. That is all I ask.

Tuesday's Gone

This past Tuesday would have been a strange night regardless of what happened to me at 3:30am, because the evening started out with me baking. Anyone who knows me can tell you that me baking is a rarity but, as my boyfriend said "you know it's a crazy night when the weirdest thing that happened wasn't you making an apple crisp".



I actually made three, and after cooking one, freezing one and fridging one I watched a few episodes of a tv show and went to bed. I'll give you the setup. My bedroom has two windows framing the fireplace. One of the windows is actually my fire escape exit, a special door-sized window that cranks open. I have curtains over the windows but they're transparent. My bed is against the opposite wall, and I have a nightlight on near the head of my bed because I've always been scared of the dark. I'm sleeping on my stomach, facing away from my bedroom windows towards the wall. My phone is on the bed in my eyeline, and my dog is asleep at the foot of my bed (where she belongs).

I wake up to the sound of Dani barking more ferociously than I've ever heard her and loud banging coming from outside on my fire escape. I initially think I should move, but realize that whoever is outside is not one of the other people in my house. Not only would they not be awake at that time, but they don't use the fire escape because it's been incredibly icy, and when they do they're never making that much noise. I just lay there with a growing sense of panic because whoever is out there can see me lying in bed. I pretend to sleep even though he's banging on my window and Dani is losing her mind and growling while standing over top of me. I know he can see me because of the night light, but I can't see him because I'm still facing the wall. I can just feel eyes on me. He moves away from my window for a moment and I can hear him banging on my neighbour's door. I grab my phone, jump out of bed and sit in the hallway. Dani's still on the bed but I've gotten her to quiet down. The person comes back to my window and starts banging again. My texts to my boyfriend in that time period read:

"Someone is currently banging around on my fire escape"
"I am so frigging freaked out"
"I can hear breaking glass and stuff being thrown around"
"Now it sounds like they're at (housemate's name)'s apartment"
"I don't have her number in my new phone. I'm too scared to go back in my room or make any noise to call someone"
"I'm sitting on the floor in the dark leaning against the pink side table by the door with no idea what to do"


"Now there's complete silence. I'm too scared to crawl into the bedroom"
"There's no sound at all. But that doesn't mean the person isn't literally staring through my window. Dani is on high alert too, still growling. She lost it initially. (Housemate's name) hasn't been using the fire escape and it was really loud. I've heard people go up and down it before. This is different."
"I used my car keys to lock my door over and over, thought that the noise might freak them out and then they went completely silent for a whole minute before banging around again."
"I'm calling my dad"
"I'm calling 911."

During those texts I sat by my door away from the windows, wondering if my call would be loud enough that whoever was outside would hear me talking. I called my dad's phone and it went straight to voicemail. At this point I may have reached the peak of my fear, because for a second I thought someone could jam my phone. I called my mom's cell, which she doesn't always answer because she's deaf in one ear, but she answered right away and I told them what was happening and my dad told me immediately to call the police. He said "hang up now and dial 911."

I got Dani to come to me and she laid on my lap while I spoke to dispatch and explained what I was hearing. I told her how to get to the parking lot where the fire escape stairs are (the entrance is on a different street from my address). Dispatch asked if I felt comfortable going up to my window and looking out. I said no. She told me they were on their way and hung up. I put my phone on vibrate and just sat there with Dani listening as hard as I could and praying that my housemate was okay. I got a call back from dispatch four minutes later telling me that police were on site, and could I flash my bedroom lights so that they knew which place was mine? Now the noises I heard outside were police, and I feel a huge wave of relief pour over me. I was not going to die. I'm going to be okay.

Now a sense of embarrassment comes over me. I'm this single young girl living on my own calling the police over what could have just been raccoons. Did I really hear breaking glass or was that just ice coming off the stairs? Maybe they weren't banging on my window, maybe they're just a friend of a housemate. As I grow more and more sure of my paranoia, I get my final call from dispatch again asking me to let the police into the apartment. The door to the building is normally locked but for some reason that night it wasn't, so when I open my door to go let them in, they're already coming up the stairs. Dani, having been overstimulated for the past half hour, goes full attack dog and I have to hold her back. To her credit, the 4 police officers coming up the stairs took a collective step back. I told them she was friendly, let her go and she just sniffed them (bark>bite).

They troop inside my place and they say they've taken a look outside and no one is there. Oh. Then they say "do you own a car out back" and I say "yes" and they say "well, someone dropped a cinder block on it from the roof". And there it is. Total validation. I was right. Someone really did try to break in, someone was throwing things, someone vandalized my car and terrorized me for half an hour while I sat in the dark wondering if I would be able to save my dog if he got in and tried to hurt her.

First I make sure that the police check on my housemate, and then I had to go outside and get the insurance out of my car. This is when I see the damage. Someone dropped a pretty big cinder block and it landed square on the roof of my car. The dent is almost a foot deep.  I actually laugh out loud. Validation. We all head back inside and they take my statement again. At this point it's 4:30am. They've found another car with its sunroof smashed out and they think whoever is running around is still out there. I've gotten weirdly giddy, cracking jokes and oversmiling. I think it was a combination of relief and the knowledge that I was right. The police left, I called my parents and my boyfriend, and fell asleep around 7am.

I woke up at 11am and just laid there thinking of what had happened. I kept thinking back not to the sounds I heard but to how absolutely terrified I was. Even now, two days later I'm having trouble coming to grips with it. It could have been so much worse.

Now, in the light of day, I can try and see the situation logically. They caught the person early Wednesday morning (which was still my Tuesday night at that point). It was a 16 year old boy who was already on probation. He was high. For me, this just made the situation sadder. How hard of a childhood does someone have to have that they're already on probation by 16? That no one reports them missing when they're vandalizing the neighbourhood at 4am? It also made it a little scarier. What would have happened if he'd gotten in? Someone making that much noise isn't trying to burglarize. They're not concerned about getting caught. They're doing whatever they want. And he wanted in.

I wrote this post because I wasn't sure how to tell people what happened, but I still wanted people to know. I also wanted them to understand that even though now it may seem like a laughable situation, I legitimately wondered that night if I was going to be raped or killed. I might brush it off if you bring it up in person, but it was the scariest night of my life and I'll carry it with me. I will ask "what if?" for a while. I don't really feel traumatized and I slept just fine last night (although you can bet I'm going to buy new curtains), but I want people to understand. If someone in your life has gone through a traumatic experience, try not to belittle it. Let them talk if they want to or joke about it if they want to, but remain sensitive. I'm okay and I feel this way, so imagine what it feels like for someone who was traumatized by their experience (and by the way, it's not the severity of the situation that dictates trauma but rather the person's reaction to it).

I also want everyone to know that if they think, even for a heartbeat, that they should call the police, DO IT. You never know. If your gut is saying something is off, you're probably right. In that split second that I woke up, I just knew something was wrong, that it wasn't a housemate or a friend. I had a bad feeling and I rolled with that instead of explaining it away.

That's all I really have to say on it. I'm glad I'm okay and that my housemate is okay. I hope that the boy responsible gets help instead of punishment. I'm asking you to be sensitive to the experiences of those around you. I'm asking you to trust your instincts and take yourself seriously.

Stay safe.

(As a side note, the Saint John police officers did an amazing job that night. On site within 5 minutes, thorough check, constant reassurance. I hope we don't lose them to RCMP. I told them I felt a bit stupid calling 911 and they told me repeatedly that they'd rather come to a false alarm than miss a serious situation every single time. They told me to always call. The night was a horrible experience but they were a good one.)

Long Distance Relationships!

I am struggling with my long distance relationship. It's hard being apart, I have trouble keeping in touch and it can be really lonely. And no, I am not talking about the relationship with my boyfriend. He is as close to perfect as a dude can come. I'm talking about my friends. The problem with being my upper/middle class self is that my friends are spread out all over the world. They're not held in place by financial restrictions or obligations and so they've spread their well-feathered wings and flown off to regions unknown. And it blows.

I'm happy where I am ((physically) and also emotionally and all that crap), but I wish my friends were here. I've got a best friend in Australia, Saskatoon, Edmonton, Newfoundland, Ottawa, Ghana...and as happy as I am that they're living out their dreams and I would never begrudge them that, sometimes, in my most selfish of hearts, I wish they were all within a two minute walk.

It's hard not to make subtle hints every once in a while, during conversation, about them maybe moving a bit closer. They say "It's so cold here!" and I say "It's not too bad in Saint John! Now move here!". As you can see, my subtlety needs work. When one of my best friends actually did move here, I think I cried actual tears of joy. It's gotten to the point where I feel a tiny bit like a creepy spider sitting in the middle of my web, trying to reel in juicy flies.

So I've been giving it some thought, and I think I've come up with a few ways that may make long distance friendships a bit easier.


1. Talk about nothing.
Have you ever thought 'I should really get in touch with so-and-so' and you start an email to then and before you know it you've got an essay going on the past 6 months of your life. You send it, and then you get an identical one back a week later, and you tell yourself you'll answer it when you have more time and then it just sits there for the next 6 months? What makes my long distance relationship with my boyfriend work so well is that we never have to do a giant update because we already know the little things, because I send him a text along the lines of, "My office is so cold today I have the shared space heater hiding under my maxi dress" and he answers with "You're an idiot" (or something nicer than that). It's not a big thing, it's barely a blip in my day but now he knows it. So instead of a full-on essay, it might be easier to message my friends along the style of a casual conversation instead of a months-long update.

2. Invest some time.
I put thoughtful effort into my long distance relationship with my boyfriend. I make sure it's a priority because I love him a whole bunch. But I also love my friends a whole bunch (just in a different way except for a few lucky gals during my experimental phase (I kid)). I'm also unorganized and scatterbrained. Keeping track of the one boyfriend is pretty easy. Keeping track of the friends I genuinely want to stay in touch with is a bit more challenging when they're not in my day-to-day life (which can be remedied by #1). So, I made a list. I really did. A list of friends in my life who I want to stay in my life. And I told myself I would make sure to send them at least a little something once a week. If I can text the bf like 20 times a day, I can text my long-distance lady loves once a frigging week. And then I find that the more they're at the foreground of my thinking, the more I'm reminded of them, and the more I message them. For example, one of my friends is terrified of snakes...so I send her creepy snake stuff when I see it. You may choose to be kinder to your friends. I apparently thrive off of exploiting their fears (I may have to find a new angle for this friend).

3. Ask questions.

This seems so simple. I think it could actually help with #1 and #2 as well. We've sort of developed into this ego-centric self-absorbed society. When people have whole albums of just their faces smiling/duck-facing at a camera from an upward angle with a minimally varied hairstyle and background, you've got to wonder how often we focus on the other person. With my boyfriend, I make sure I ask questions, and not just to get information about his day but also to show him that I care about what he's saying, that I'm interested in how his day was or how hard his roommate slipped and fell on his face (great story). So why not use the same method with my buddies? Instead of always updating them about yourself, it's so easy to pay attention to their text and ask another question. So when you get one saying "my day sucks dick", instead of answering "oh me too, my coworker is the worst", you could try "Why the dick-sucking day my friend?" (or something more eloquent). Your friends should be getting something out of the friendship...like your ear. AND YOUR HEART.

4. Travel.
So this spider situation, is there a rule that says that the spider has to reel in the flies? I think the spider could probs go to the flies instead of expecting the flies to come to her. While a lot of my best buds end up here for Christmas because their families are here, some of them are from other provinces or countries and I'd be their sole reason for visiting Saint John. I can't continually expect everyone to come see me and not make any effort to visit them. It's just not really fair to sit here and miss them and expect them to walk through my door. This is a lot easier to accomplish, of course, if you're on the privileged side of the tracks, like me.

5. If 1,2,3 &4 fail, move on.
Friendships run their course. It happens pretty organically in person, but sometimes it's hard to read the signs when your friend is away. This is where I have the most difficulty. Say I've made a huge effort, visited them (even if it was just when they were home for a visit), I message them, I make them more of a priority, I ask questions and make sure I know about their lives. But I sit down one day and see that they don't know much about my job, have no idea what province my boyfriend is in, haven't made an effort to see me when they're in town, and continually keep the focus on themselves. Just like in a romantic relationship, there's got to be a balance in effort and dedication. It's sad when you realize that's not the case. I think maybe the healthiest thing you can do is gently let them go, and if they find their way back to you then that's okay. There's nothing that says you can't grow apart and then back together again. But you can't kill yourself trying to make it work. You shouldn't have to put in 90% only to see your friend barely put in the last 10. You deserve better! I deserve better.

My best friend and I. Photos twenty years apart and friendship still strong

We all have those friends who we don't talk to for months or years and then when you get back together it's like no time has passed. Don't ever lose those people. I'm not saying you should drop them. That's silly. I guess what I'm saying is that if a friendship isn't working for you, it's okay to move on. But you should try your very hardest first before you make that call.