E for Exhaustion

If one more person asks me about Jeffrey Epstein, I’m going to hit them.

Now that really sounds angry, doesn’t it?  Naturally,  I’m angry about the whole Epstein mess.  But mostly, I’m just exhausted with it all.

I’m exhausted with the “Monsters of the Week.”  You know the ones.  Bill Cosby.  Dr. Larry Nassar. R Kelly. Jared Fogel.  Jerry Sandusky.  Michael Jackson. And now, Cesar Chavez. I’m sick to death of everyone’s shock, horror, and astonishment.  Which they get over very quickly and move on to the next crisis.  And we, the victims, are supposed to just move on too.

Except that we can’t.  Everyone is so busy reacting with shock and horror they don’t bother to take the time to learn about what’s really going on.  You don’t have to be a rich real estate mogul, or a celebrated football coach, or an Olympic athletic trainer, to abuse the trust of the people you have chosen to violate.  You just have to do it.  While everyone around you turns the other way, or comes up with some rationalization, or protects the violator instead.

And I’m tired, I’m tired to the bone and beyond, with all the ignorance and denial.  Working a mission that makes everyone turn silent and give me a funny look when they ask me what I do.  Tired of struggling, sometimes on a daily basis, with Shame, Anger, Voicelessness, and Exhaustion.  Sometimes I think that last one is the worst.

A little while back, when I was coming up with that SAVE acronym, I got stuck on the E.  Ennui, maybe? I certainly was bored with it all.  I kept thinking about empathy, but couldn’t find a grammatical word that means “lack of empathy.”  And then I read Neil Steinberg’s column on February 6, and I had it.  I was exhausted.

He hit it right on the head about how sexual abuse is horror hiding in plain sight.  Horror that 42 million of us don’t get to rationalize away, because it never tops twisting our guts.  Every time a relative expects us to enjoy a family gathering which the abuser is attending.  Every time we hear that by going out or dressing provocatively, (which is what, exactly?) we should expect to be attacked.  Every time we read the paper, or watch TV, surrounded by an entire audience of people who don’t, or most likely just WON’T, get it.

Last month, I had a chat with a colleague who told me her agency had been contacted by Sun-Times columnist Neil Steinberg with some questions. Offered it.  I secretly hoped I might have a chance to help.  I watched his column closely, and had just about given up, until March 4.

It must have been a long interview.  Word for word, my friend described the battles she and her agency fight every day as over 2000 cases pour through their doors each year.  Children who, at least 90% of the time know their abusers – the family friends, the older cousins, the neighbors – the ones whom you don’t read about.  They’re not as rich as Jeffrey Epstein.  They don’t have an A-list of luminaries they pander to.  They just going about their business, grooming and harming the children in their daily orbits, and getting away with it.  Because they have so much help.

These two columns brought a little light into my life.  It’s been a tough few months.  A lot of my old issues are kicking me in the face again.  I’m battling shame, dealing with anger, feeling voiceless, and I’m still very tired.

But at least now I have been reminded that there are other voices besides mine out there.  Voices that won’t be easily silenced, and will still be shouting after mine is silent for good.  Or at least on days when I’m too exhausted to do much more than whisper.

Maybe someday, there will be enough.