On writing and comments

I’m reblogging this as comments aren’t allowed (for obvious reasons) on the original. And I’ve not “re-blogged” before so I have no idea if this will even work…

But I just wanted to say that while I understand and sympathise with what witchwind, I feel that she’s taken on more of a psychological burden than is really fair. How much should one be responsible for the comments or posts on one’s blog? While obviously a certain amount of moderation is required to stop the abusive and blatantly trolling comments ever making it to the screen, I don’t personally feel it should go much beyond that.

Obviously a woman will feel protective towards her own blog as if it’s her own personal space, that it needs to be kept on topic and managed correctly. But really I feel that strict level of control only really needs to be applied to her own posts, not to the comments. I think it’s taken as read (or should be) that the comments other people post don’t necessarily reflect the views of the blog owner, nor should the decision to allow those comments through be taken as a sign of endorsement.

I think it’s a reasonable attitude to take to essentially consider the comments to be an open forum to allow people to discuss your posts and to not feel too responsible for what is said there, nor feel too strong an urge to control or shape the tone of the comments. Yes, weed out the trolling and baiting and abuse, but no more than that is really needed.

Of course this is just my opinion. And I admit that even moderating to only that degree may well be quite time-consuming if many comments are made, but I think relinquishing any feeling of personal responsibility for the opinions of others should result in it being a lot less emotionally draining.

(and for the record the discussion on the blog post in question was immensely stimulating and of great interest).

radical wind

I didn’t take the time to explain why I closed comments at the time I did. This is what I’m going to do now, as I now have a bit more time at hand.

The irony is that what made me take my decision to close comments isn’t directly because of the trolling, threats and MRA hits although it was an absolutely terrifying moment and I almost did close comments as a result; but because comments were beginning to work. I closed comments at a time where conversations were actually becoming very interesting, and the last few ones were the most interesting discussions ever held on this blog so far. Once the threats abated and the trolls decided I wasn’t their pet target any more, I expected to feel relieved and better, but I didn’t. There’s something inherently wrong with modding.

I love writing, and I love discussing with…

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Scars Don’t Heal

It’s been roughly ten years since I last allowed myself to be raped. I was complicit, I gave my consent, but I simply didn’t realise the damage that was being done to me at the time. The realisation of the reality of what was being done to me was quite a gradual one, and it was intertwined with my spiritual awakenings on a whole number of different planes, but when the penny finally dropped it hit me hard.

What would normally have been some post-violation “embrace” and a few “sweet” words, was instead me sitting on the edge of the bed crying, feeling shame and disgust with myself. I asked him to leave, he of course did. I know now that he had no motivation to stick around after he got what he wanted, and he only ever did stick around to give me just enough emotional rope to hang myself with. He tried many times to contact me and see me afterwards, even resorting to his own crocodile tears, but I never allowed him physically near me again.

Even after all this time I can still taste the vomit of that night after he left, I can still close my eyes and feel the violation and that same shame rises in me as I recall how eagerly and willingly and readily I invited him to rape me, and how he must have known what he was doing to me.

We all carry our past with us, and I will never be ashamed of it, and I think it makes me stronger. But part of me will always wonder what I could have been if society had taught me I didn’t need to submit to rape. How my soul may have soared had I never been tainted.

Age and Resignation

I’m in my thirties now. I know that’s not old, but it’s starting to get towards that point where I realise I’m probably around the halfway mark in my life. I don’t have any problem with this, and I don’t have any fear of dying and returning to the Earth. I believe my energy will carry on in one form or another. But it has made me think about the way I viewed things when I was younger, and the way I view them now.

When I was younger, it felt to me that I was at the beginning of a journey of some sort. I don’t remember having any doubts that the world WOULD change. That all the horrors and injustices and evil of the patriarchal man-world would be fought and overcome. I didn’t think it would be easy, but to me it seemed inconcievable that things would just carry on more or less the same. It was just incomprehensible that things wouldn’t change. It was all so clear to me how evil it all was and I was just so sure that the world must be waking up to that fact – perhaps projecting outwards my own awakening and assuming all like-minded must be experiencing exactly the same, as they were seeing the same as I was.

I waited. I played my part, but largely I waited. Each year that passed didn’t really diminish those feelings, but with every year that I managed to survive in this world the more mere survival of it grew to dominate my world view. And after that came an almost grudging acceptance.

I still have no doubt that things will one day change. We will one day be free from the bonds and chains and invasions. I just no longer feel so sure it will be in my lifetime. It’s a terribly sad thought to think that the rest of my life will be mere survival; that I’ll never see that beautiful, harmonious, sinless world that I once felt so sure I would grow up to live in. I wonder if there are girls and young women today who feel as sure as I once did. I hope they don’t become so jaded and tarnished so very soon.


I want to talk about the fear I feel. This might seem a negative way to start off a new blog, and it is by no means the only or even the dominant experience in my life, but it is an ever-resent insidious factor, and one that really has to be addressed first and then dealt with.

I am not a timid or a cowed woman, but nevertheless I am a woman who, like all other women, exists in this man-made man-world and (for the time being at least) has no other option than to play by the rules of that world and that society. And as such this means that there is an ever-present fear within me that cannot be ignored. Fear of violence, fear of rape and physical abuse, and perhaps even worse than those – fear of indoctrination and of losing my own thoughts and my knowledge of my own self to those pushed onto me by that society.

When I have to go out into the world, and function in that society; when I have to use public transport, or walk in some isolated area – it is those primal fears for my own physical safety that dominate. When I am away from that world and at safety, then the fear of losing my own self rises to the surface. The worse part is that those very physical fears I suffer in the first case, are the actual tools used by the man-world to try to indoctrinate me when I am at peace.

I don’t know how any of this can change, or even if it’s possible at all, but I hope I can at least gain strength from sharing the fears.