Masha Novoselova | Miguel Reveriego | ‘Sister Act | Vogue Germany April 2008

The April 28 UniteWomen.org events are over. About 50,000 women and men gathered around America to stand for women’s rights. My leadership role in the PA rally caused a bit of a breakdown here at Anne of Carversville.

Sensual Rebel went quiet but not because I was silent. The experience cost us some new readers with our daily posts dropping 15-20%, but my voice developed in other important ways. Returning to Sensual Rebel for the first time in weeks, I share my April 28 thoughts — just a little late — unlike my dear friend Lisa Catherine Brown, who got it together better than I did.

From the Unite Against the War on Women Rally in Harrisburg, PA April 28, 2012

Branded

When I was sexually assaulted at age 15, the worst part wasn’t the sordid violence against my body and spirit or the terror that his 6-year-old daughter sleeping next to me, would wake up to a memory she might never forget.

The worst part of my sexual assault was being dragged to face my attacker in the presence of Father Ben, his good friend and glass of port buddy. I begged not to go, sobbing on the floor of my aunt’s kitchen until she told me I had no choice but to stand up and get it over with.

I soldiered off to face the man who destroyed my innocence, a liar who flung his arms open wide, fell to the floor and cried “Why me, why me?” 10 years later he was run out of town, when a strong-voiced, napping older woman woke up to find him in her bed instead of delivering her furniture. You note that I didn’t say the sexual predator was arrested.

My scars from that sexual assault lasted years, but not because of my attacker. The day after swearing on Father Ben’s bible, that I was telling the truth, I found myself next to my attacker at the communion rail. After Father Ben shared the body of Christ with this perverted man, he paused in front of my outstretched tongue and Corbett-style closed eyes, and then moved on. leaving this Rush Limbaugh slut girl shamed for decades.

It wasn’t 21st century secularism or feminism that destroyed my relationship with the Catholic Church. It was one of their own – the so-called moral leaders of women – that hung a scarlet letter of guilt around my spirit. I wore it for decades until one day I ripped the metaphorical duct tape from my voice, saying to the morality police that I am silent no more.

Stalked