You Ain’t Gotta Hug “That Uncle”: Consent

I just read this. I salute the people who are coming out with their stories. At 21 years old there were no stories like this, no internet, no permission to do this. I was blinded into thiking that I was rebellious, grew up fast, and moved out young. I had forgotten about my childhood and early adolescence to survive. I worked and paid rent and drank and did drugs to furthur forget, though in retrospect those were methods to survive.
Please do not minimize sexual, physical, and mental abuse. Please keep writing about your stories. We were told to be quiet and apologize to our abusers for too long.

Negra con N mayúscula


Its Christmas and I’ve decided to make a public statement, not out of anger but out of care for other women who were raised just like me, without knowing that their bodies were (are) their bodies.

I was raised by a hardworking devout Christian woman right outside of Cleveland, Ohio. If we werent in Sunday misa we were in bible study on Tuesday nights and if we weren’t in bible study we were at dance practice and guess where that was? Church. I never liked church but I didn’t like to be punished so I didn’t argue with my mom about how it didn’t feel right until I was 16 but that’s a story for another day. Before leaving Church, I was overly mannerable, sweet, and was raised to be una niña respetuosa.

Respect for us meant, waiting until elders ate at family gatherings before getting our food, not speaking…

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