I’m too common to be ignored, but too silent to be heard. I’m the girl you didn’t know you knew, the girl nobody wants to be. Maybe you’re me, too. Or love someone who is.

I am Caitie.

I’m trying to publish my memoir. Unspeakable violence needs to be spoken, but speaking about the unspeakable normalcy of sexual violence is hard. Lend a hand?

I write to wrestle. This is where I take on my own despair and PTSD from childhood sexual abuse. I will also tackle my two rascally sweet sons and obnoxiously reliable Ted (whom I’m madly in love with). And our fish named Ankle who is my current best friend (even though I refuse to clean his water).

I’m hell-bent on sticking it out with Jesus, but I don’t usually have a good grip on him. I struggle with the promise that he is enough for all the things, and that in Him-with Him-I am also enough just as I am. That doesn’t make sense to me, and I’m ok with that. Please–don’t try to tell me how He is the hope of glory. I know that. And I hurt like hell lives in my chest and nightmares. I’m in pain, not in sin. And I’ve already got a savior so I much prefer a glass of water, or bubbly, and a sad shake of your head that says without words that life can be fucking painful even (especially?) when Jesus is in it working his reconciliation.

Ted and I were made in NYC, but are now making life happen in Houston. We’re heartbroken. The humidity is worse than you imagine.  The insulated ease of air conditioned life at seventy-two degrees strangles me. The loneliness feels like a chronic heart attack.

A few notes:

  • I’m not afraid of the F-word because I feel entitled to it. It so accurately describes the feeling of others acting entitled to your body. Sexual violence sucks.
  • I think I’m funny. And when my husband repeats the jokes I mutter under my breath, everyone thinks he’s funny.
  • I don’t like people in general. I have a great fondness for individual ones.
  • I hope to be helpful.