Sleep No More

This has been a week. This has been a year. This has been a lifetime.

As many of you know, two men from the Ottawa theatre community who attempted pedophilia: would-be pedophile Don Fex and would-be pedophile Nicolas Alain were outed last week. Don outed himself as a pedophile and tried to control the narrative of his predation of Samantha Clarke. He expected absolution for his ‘bravery’ and confessing of his sins. He got mostly deserved outrage instead. Good.

He leaned on his wife to make up for his perversion. Using her as his shield. Using her as his go between. It's her job now to heal the wounds he inflicted.

Brie McFarlane made it her mission to take him to task. Don’s job was taken away. I imagine he was more relieved than upset to no longer have to try and figure out how to fix the mess the Gladstone was in. It was in trouble before and it’s in a more vulnerable place now because of him. But also the other rumoured groomers and pedophiles on its Board. More disgusting news is on its way. It will make you tired.

Nick was then called out for his attempted pedophilia by Lauren Welchner. His job with the city is currently under review despite them already knowing this was going on. Is this a win?

Bad hot takes were given. Women I know and respect had to clean up the mess abusers made. More women had to form intelligent, measured responses to address the situation so people would listen to them (god forbid they sound HYSTERICAL!). That word. Hysterical. Used to undercut women’s valid concerns and justified outrage. Yes. I am feeling hysterical. Maybe hysterics should be listened to? Maybe hysterics are simply a plea for humanity? Maybe hysterics get things done? There’s a hysterical man in the White House yet that word is never used to describe him. But I don't need to bring him into this. The situation is bad enough as it is.

Women dredged up their trauma to get people to listen. Hardened people had ‘lackwit’ debates over the validity of survivors’ claims. Many pondered how to make the perpetrators feel better about themselves and how to reconcile their existence in our community. Ask me how many times I’ve seen this episode of the REALity TV show we call life? How many times have you read this script? How many times has the antagonist, the ‘complicated man’ become the hero? How tired are you of this storyline? How used to it are you? How normalized is it? Me too. Great. That suits pedophiles and abusers just fine. The numbness works for them. And on and on it goes.

It’s an old story. I’m tired of its lack of originality. I’m tired of the damage this narrative causes. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. But I can’t sleep because the work isn’t done and the b-plot keeps me up at night.

I’m tired that a director put his hands all over me in a costume fitting and I didn’t blink. I was tired when I stood there in a transparent piece of lingerie. I’m tired that I told myself “this isn’t so bad. Worse things have happened to me behind closed doors.” I’m tired I brushed it off. I’m tired that on the way out of the fitting, after having had his hands uncomfortably all over my body without consent, he said “you know, I just don’t think you believe you’re beautiful. You need to know how sexy you are. I do. That’s going to sell it.” I didn’t enjoy the fitting in a way that made him confident in my acting ability. “I guess I need to be a better actor. A better actress? Which term will leave me feeling more empowered?” Ha. I debated with myself. I’m tired I thought this was just part of the job. I’m tired that I thought that was just another day at the proverbial office. I’m tired that this isn’t anywhere close to the worst thing that’s happened to me behind closed doors. I’m tired that this was so non-invasive I still feel it isn’t worth sharing. I’m tired that I don’t want to name him because it would be exhausting and to what end? I’m tired that people demand we name names when my story isn’t about him. It’s about me. I’m tired I have to explain that however you choose to express your trauma is the right way. You’re silly if you think I haven’t shared this ‘heads up’ with colleagues. They need to be aware in case they work with him. I’m tired that people don’t realize we have a whisper network to keep each other safe because... who else will? I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired that this isn’t the worst thing to happen to me behind closed doors. Closed doors. Closed doors are dangerous things. This is one fleeting moment from a Harry-Potter sized catalogue of uncomfortable moments. I’ve erased more of them than I can remember.

“What time do I have to be there until?”. That’s what one of Samantha Clarke’s text messages asked Don Fex- the attempted pedophile. An actor friend from Toronto messaged me saying that question from Samantha is haunting her. It’s haunting me, too. A child asking for permission to leave her abuse. A child trying to be a good girl and ask the right questions. “When can I leave?”. “When can I leave?”. This is haunting. I’m haunted. Are you?

I’m tired that people think this only happens to young girls. Non-binary children, trans children, and young boys experience unspeakable abuse every day. Why can’t we keep them safe? Why don't we keep them safe? Why do we eat our young? I’m tired.

I’m tired that my friend Maryse Fernandes has had to cultivate a communicating-with-white-men voice so she can be heard. I’m tired that white women appreciate this cultivated tone of hers, too. “I’ve learned that to express myself in a way that will be respected I must also betray a part of myself.” I’ll let her wisdom reverberate for itself. How much are we all betraying ourselves and for whom, for what?

I’m not sure if I’ve been clear enough but: I’m tired. And if you’re tired of reading those words over and over again, I get it. Imagine how exhausted we all are to hear, yet again, more stories of abuse. So go take your power nap. Because it’s time we wake the fuck up and stop this cycle.