Someone whom I had shared a set with on a popular TV morning show a couple of times many years ago.
I buzzed him on Facebook. I wanted to know how much his services would cost. I was losing my mind; not because I regretted my decision of leaving, but I was confused on my next plan and direction. I wanted to start all over again, but I had no clue how. I went back to living in my mother's house, occupying my old room with two kids. It was humiliating. And I believed my problem required a mental shift. A different way of thinking. So, yes, a counsellor would do.
This counsellor gave me an address to meet him. I drove down there the next day, I think. It was a Saturday. I got there, say, 4pm. It was a residential apartment. He informed me it was his sister's crib.
He offered me a drink. Asked a few questions. He wasn't attentive. He said he was getting set for a trip. I was pouring my life story out to this so-called therapist, yet it seemed like I was talking to a wall. He even wore some kind of excitement similar to a man looking forward to something clandestine.
His lack of professional courtesies and genuine interest was quite the shocker. Minutes later, he had his hand on my lap... and said something about me dating him. Something like that. It was shrouded in lame enquiries.
What did I do?
I laughed, and I still sat there for a few more minutes before heading out. He was taking a trip out of town to meet with his family, and so I headed back home.
Nothing, of my plight, was addressed.
A few days later. I realised he unfriended me on Facebook (he probably thought I was going to call him out, but I hadn't found my voice then). Nothing happened between us, except for that that stocky palm on my lap for a few minutes.
And I wasn't a teenager when that happened. Yet I didn't know how to address that situation.
What he did was inappropriate. But if you bring that to the public court, people would rather focus on the woman: "ehh! Why didn't you leave the minute he placed his palm on your lap?"
And guess what, we laughed a little, hugged even, before we said goodbye.
Of course, that shit cannot happen to me now without a proper and direct response. But it took me a long time to get here.
With religion on one side, culture on the other, and daft patriarchal social narratives... women are never so sure how to react in uncomfortable situations.
I only truly found my confidence a few years ago. It took many years of peeling layers of doubts placed on me by society, to finally find the beauty that I have become, and my true worth.
I am unshaken in my beliefs. And I do not look for cheerleaders. Lord knows I have no idea why 32,450 persons are following me here. I am everything that makes y'all uncomfortable. And not a hair is lost as I stand alone in my truth.
Not. One. Strand. Of. Hair.
We need to change our narratives especially with issues that determine the self worth of a gender only just fully coming into her being.
Girls/Women do not know how to interpret many things because we are taught to be likeable. And in the pursuit of likeability, you are expected to ignore many disrepectful conducts.
I don't care for the individuals involved in this latest soundbite. As far as people go, they'll be taking selfies soon enough to #pepperdem
However, what I care about is the Narrative. What do we condone in a society where hands brush women's breasts in open markets, and where rape is largely the responsibility of the victim and the yard of fabric covering her thighs?
What is right, and what should we leave behind in the dark ages of zero finesse?
What is acceptable behaviour?
These are the discussions young adults should be having.
I have started clamping down on likeability with my kids. Change the narrative around you too. Many things we shrug off are not right.
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