Mandy Smith's Blog

Here’s why we must stop viewing abused girls as “bad” girls.

A recent Facebook post from a man berating his girlfriends’ 14 year-old daughter–calling her “ungrateful, entitled, belligerent, defiant, rebellious, etc.–implored an immediate response from me; however, I held back. My claws were out too far, my heart pounded too violently, and the cuss words I’d splattered across the screen of my computer needed cleaning up. By the time I had composed a well-thought-out response, the post was gone. I assumed the guy’s girlfriend had given him his own well-deserved flogging (and hopefully kicked his butt to the curb).

Why did this Facebook post trigger such a response from me? In my memoir I was the same age as that girl being dressed-down publicly. When my personality changed from a seemingly happy-go-lucky girl to a scowl-faced runaway, my parents told people I’d become a “wild child.” It benefited them both to have people believe I was a bad seed. Better to cover up what was really behind my rebelliousness.

The following is an excerpt from an excellent op-ed on the importance of recognizing that ‘acting out’ behaviors are often a cry for help:

“In our society, there is a deep underlying presence of age-old social gender role expectations. Girls should be “sugar and spice and everything nice.” The consequence for not meeting those gender role expectations is to be labeled for life “a bad girl” and have your trauma criminalized.

This label stops them from asking for help or speaking the truth. It stops them from standing up for themselves, using their oh so powerful voice and letting their light shine. Why? Because deep inside they are internalizing this “bad girl” image and something tells them it might be true. And the way that our societal systems are organized reinforces that it is indeed true.”

Read more http://jjie.org/op-ed-step-1-stop-see...

Five words. They reduced me to tears, and I lay down my book. I had looked forward to at least an hour of reading time before I turned out my light to sleep, but just a few minutes into chapter 9 of "Sam: The Boy Behind The Mask" I had to stop reading and close my eyes.

Back in 2000, I'd followed the several-installment story of Sam Lightner in The Oregonian. After drawing in thousands of readers with his powerful and inspirational writing style, journalist Tom Hallman, Jr. would earn the 2001 Pulitzer Prize for this story. The following year, he elaborated more on the story and published a book--one I've just now read. So why the tears from a story I know so well?

It was the part where, finally, a surgeon is willing to take on 14 year-old Sam's surgery request to fix his life-threatening facial disfigurement. They've already discussed the possible risk that Sam may not survive the surgery, but the surgeon really wants to be sure of Sam's expectations. There's a possibility there won't be much of a change to his appearance at all. I'm holding my breath; Sam is so quiet I pray he isn't going to say he wanted to look like John Travolta or something. I can't bear the thought of Sam being hurt or disappointed any further.

Finally, Sam said those five words that I can't get out of my mind: "I want to fit in."

That's when the tears started. Isn't that what we all want?

Now, 14 years after the book was published, I'm still grateful that Sam wanted to share his story with the The Oregonian, so others would find inspiration when they don't fit in, and for Tom Hallman, Jr. and his gift in story-telling.

Okay, it’s not the New York Times list, but it might as well be! That’s how much Larry Hoffer’s review on “It’s Either Sadness or Euphoria” http://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blo... means to me. I only know from the many (many) other reviews Larry has written that he is a professional, credible reviewer. So for my book to be one of those on the top of his reading list sort of knocks my socks off!

For me, receiving accolades has nothing to do with saying “Hey, look at me!” or to prove myself as a writer, or to become rich and famous (hold on, let me pick myself up off the floor–that happens sometimes when I crack myself up). What it DOES do for me is validates me as a survivor of childhood sex abuse, and that it was important for me to share my story–decades of hidden shame.