For the past few years, we've been calling men out. It had to be done.
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But lately, I've been thinking we need to do something even harder. We need, as my good friend Tony Porter says, to find a way to call men in.
My father began to sexually abuse me when I was five years old. He would come into my room in the middle of the night. He appeared to be in a trance. The abuse continued until I was 10. When I tried to resist him, when I was finally able to say no, he began to beat me. He called me stupid. He said I was a liar.
The sexual abuse ended when I was 10, but actually, it never ended. It changed who I was. I was filled with anxiety and guilt and shame all the time, and I didn't know why. I hated my body, I hated myself, I got sick a lot, I couldn't think, I couldn't remember things. I was drawn to dangerous men and women who I allowed -- actually, I invited -- to treat me badly, because that is what my father taught me love was.
I waited my whole life for my father to apologize to me. He didn't. He wouldn't. And then, with the recent scandals of famous men, as one after another was exposed, I realized something: I have never heard a man who has committed rape or physical violence ever publicly apologize to his victim. I began to wonder, what would an authentic, deep apology be like?
So, something strange began to happen. I began to write, and my father's voice began to come through me. He began to tell me what he had done and why. He began to apologize. My father is dead almost 31 years, and yet, in this apology, the one I had to write for him, I discovered the power of an apology and how it actually might be the way to move forward in the crisis we now face with men and all the women they abuse.
Apology is a sacred commitment. It requires complete honesty. It demands deep self-interrogation and time. It cannot be rushed. I discovered an apology has four steps, and, if you would, I'd like to take you through them.
The first is you have to say what, in detail, you did. Your accounting cannot be vague. "I'm sorry if I hurt you" or "I'm sorry if I sexually abused you" doesn't cut it. You have to say what actually happened. "I came into the room in the middle of the night, and I pulled your underpants down." "I belittled you because I was jealous of you and I wanted you to feel less." The liberation is in the details. An apology is a remembering. It connects the past with the present. It says that what occurred actually did occur.
The second step is you have to ask yourself why. Survivors are haunted by the why. Why? Why would my father want to sexually abuse his eldest daughter? Why would he take my head and smash it against a wall? In my father's case, he was a child born long after the other children. He was an accident that became "the miracle." He was adored and treated as the golden boy. But adoration, it turns out, is not love. Adoration is a projection of someone's need for you to be perfect onto you. My father had to live up to this impossible ideal, and so he was never allowed to be himself. He was never allowed to express tenderness or vulnerability, curiosity, doubt. He was never allowed to cry. And so he was forced to push all those feelings underground, and they eventually metastasized. Those suppressed feelings later became Shadowman, and he was out of control, and he eventually unleashed his torrent on me.
The third step is you have to open your heart and feel what your victim felt as you were abusing her. You have to let your heart break. You have to feel the horror and betrayal and the long-term impacts of your abuse on your victim. You have to sit with the suffering you have caused.
And, of course, the fourth step is taking responsibility for what you have done and making amends.
So, why would anyone want to go through such a grueling and humbling process? Why would you want to rip yourself open? Because it is the only thing that will set yourself free. It is the only thing that will set your victim free. You didn't just destroy your victim. You destroyed yourself. There is no one who enacts violence on another person who doesn't suffer from the effects themselves. It creates an incredibly dark and contaminating spirit, and it spreads throughout your entire life.
The apology I wrote -- I learned something about a different lens we have to look through to understand the problem of men's violence that I and one billion other women have survived. We often turn to punishment first. It's our first instinct, but actually, although punishment sometimes is effective, on its own, it is not enough. My father punished me. I was shut down, and I was broken. I think punishment hardens us, but it doesn't teach us. Humiliation is not revelation. We actually need to create a process that may involve punishment, whereby we open a doorway where men can actually become something and someone else.
For so many years, I hated my father. I wanted him dead. I wanted him in prison. But actually, that rage kept me connected to my father's story. What I really wanted wasn't just for my father to be stopped. I wanted him to change. I wanted him to apologize. That's what we want. We don't want men to be destroyed, we don't want them to only be punished. We want them to see us, the victims that they have harmed, and we want them to repent and change. And I actually believe this is possible. And I really believe it's our way forward. But we need men to join us. We need men now to be brave and be part of this transformation. I have spent most of my life calling men out, and I am here now, right now, to call you in.
Thank you.
(Applause) Thank you.
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Thank you, thank you.
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