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Lights in the Dark
sadiecallahan

Alphabet Soup

Alphabet soup


A is for apple

B is for the brown bear book that was a favorite in my kindergarten class

C is for crying. The 14-year-old tears you shed in secret when you freshly realize how detrimental it is to be perceived as an emotional woman in your family.


Sometimes, in small moments, it feels like the world makes a little bit of sense. It made sense when I was able to participate in a Title IX investigation 5 years after my assault, that got my perpetrator banned from campus after the slew of other reports that came in about him that same year. That felt like things made sense.

But usually, things just feel like alphabet soup. Sometimes you get a sharp letter that swirls into your proximity and seems to stab the things around it, including your attention. It reminds you of when your mother slammed dishes in the sink or spat ugly words in your face. Sometimes the letters are softer, rounder, like the memory of the first boy you held hands with, the one that was so kind and sweet to you even though he deserved more kindness in return.

Sometimes the letters look less like things of the past, and sometimes they look more like things in the future. Either way, all of the things and all of their shapes and all of their chronology, are a soup. They move, sometimes by our own utensils, and sometimes on their own, but they swirl and change either way.


A few years ago, I became aware of the OUR foundation, and it spoke to me. I listened to Tim’s podcast. I basked in the idea of a world where there were real-life heroes just as tenacious and bold as the bad guys, and that you could trust that someone was doing something to right the wrongs. A B C. It felt structured, it felt good, even if it didn’t quite feel real. This year, when the Sound of Freedom movie came out, so did the accusations of dishonesty and fraud that accompanied Tim and the organization. I listened to people accuse anyone with a critical voice of enabling child abuse. I felt like the actions could still be redeemable, countering the damage with the possible good. Then I heard the accusations from women and children about the sexual violence, and everything got soupy.


A man, believing so strongly in himself, gains influence, and gains a following, so that the very idea of him doing something like that feels unthinkable. Echoes upon echoes upon echoes. This is the pattern of most religious and political leaders who have turned out to be sexual predators. We love them, we trust them. They are so enmeshed in the things we value, or think we value in our culture that we can’t see it when it’s right in front of our faces. They are bringing about change. They are speaking for God. They are fighting human trafficking. My abuser was a religious leader in the community and a physician. He attempted to write companion books to his religious scripture. Most of my experiences and insights come from a Mormon context. So is it Mormonism that’s the issue? No. Religion in general? No. Is it the X or Y political party that’s the issue? No. Is it men as a whole who are the issue? No. Is it tradition? Is it patriarchy? Is it selfishness? Is it anything? What creates this pattern and how do I make sense of this pattern? How do I respond? How do I say something when I know it won’t help? How do I help?


How do I do that when everything is alphabet soup? The problem is that it’s not anything. Maybe it’s everything. And maybe it’s nothing.


Sometimes lightning strikes, and we can see the bigger plan. But I think more often, things are alphabet soup. Ironically, that’s the same way it feels in your body when you’ve been assaulted. Confused, chaotic, feeling like you’re falling to your death, perfectly still, while everyone around you carries on.


What do you do with alphabet soup?


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