No Means No

Dear Reader, Before reading the following post please understand that this a graphic description of abuse that I endured. I feel that it is necessary to descriptively describe an event that is seared into my soul. For that reason I need to release it. I understand that this event is something disgusting and not everyone will be able to read the true description of the abuse I endured. Please understand this is considered a trigger warning. Please reader discretion is advised.

The greatest actions we will ever make are not in the moments that we are stripped of the right to say “No” but rather how we choose to allow those moments to define us.


“Just do this one time for me, Britt. He wants us both at the same time. Please Britt, for me.. do this one thing. Just act like its a game. I don’t want him to leave. Please have sex with us.” – My Mother

“Mom, this is disgusting. I can’t believe you are asking me to do this. How could you? I mean what makes this okay. I’m sorry but NO. I know you would disapprove but I cannot do this.” – Me

“You stupid Bitch. You are so ungrateful. Your a selfish bitch.” – My Mother

My heart began to pound uncontrollably. I knew what this meant. I knew exactly what I had said and what it meant to say what I said. From an earlier age I learned that saying “No” meant I would experience something very painful. The question wasn’t what would happen but rather how long it would happen for. How long would I be able to take this beating before I caved and agreed to something that I had clearly said “NO” about.

My mother walked over to me. I stood staring firmly into her eyes repeating my answer again. She began slapping me around. With each slap tears fell from my face. I pushed away which then resulted in my mom grabbing me by the arm and swinging me to the floor. I was kicked, punched, bitten, pinched and dragged by my long hair. All the while, my mother ranted what I would be willing to do for her and the boy she had become desperately obsessed with. I stared at the ceiling fan firmly picturing myself inside the fan. I imagined what it would be like to be a fan, what things I would see, what I would feel as a fan. As my mother began to realize my disassociation, she got on top of me and began to glare into my eyes. She knew what I was doing. She slapped me some more and yanked my hair so hard that it felt as if it was ripped from my skull. I shut my eyes as I screamed at the top of my lungs. Tears streaming down my face I began to push her away with every ounce of strength I had. My mother grew more angry and began biting my arm. All objects became a weapon to her that she slapped me around with.

I kept stubbornly to my original answer. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the basement. I knew what would happen but I could not cave to my mother I needed her to understand that I was not going to be okay with having sex with her and the 17 years old boy, no matter how much he wanted it to happen. She shoved me into the laundry room and forced me to the floor.

My heart sank as I knew that my only option was to agree. That from this point on it was only going to intensify. I cried so hard as she went to my dads work bench and grabbed a lock tie and returned to me standing over me, she asked me again. I couldn’t take it. I did not want to spend hours tied to the big water pipe on the floor until just before my brother returned home. I reluctantly agreed and had to smile about it for my mother to then leave. As I laid on the smelly laundry room floor I cried silently. My right to say “No” was never given to me. My right to disagree with something or being something different was not an option. Moments later my mother returned with a glass of Patron and a xnanx. She apologized for yanking my hair and wanted me to come sit with her and watch a movie will I got high.

Never have I felt so broken then when I had to cave to my mother because I could not take anymore from her. When I think of this memory I have had a hard time thinking of the good that came from this particular event. This was the start of the beginning of the end of my mother. I was starting to fathom what I was going through and starting to realize that something had to change after all these years all because a boy was involved. It takes moments to strip away the rights of someone and lifetime to repair that damage. I have been through some very disgusting things and yet I still see myself as one of the most beautiful people in the world. I am more than what happened and even though my right to say “No” was once stripped away does not mean that I don’t have the right any longer. My no absolutely means no.


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