my left hand path – points I ponder

my left hand path – points I ponder

for those not “in the know”

urban dictionary

thought co


In many cultures around the world, men and women have different temples, different god/desses. It’s almost like being in a different religion for men and women.
I wish I had had that when I was growing up. What I did have was a very stern judge of a God, a male bishop & pastor, and a drunk dad. My youthful boyfriends weren’t going to be good husbands or fathers either. Isn’t that how you see God? By the men around you?
Men in my life weren’t my idea of good role models.

That can be said by a lot of women. Which may explain why as adults we leave the church and go pagan, shamanist or wiccan. Not because we are selfish or evil. Not because we’ve sold our soul to the devil. Not because we revere devil-worshippers either.
But why would you value a male God, if the men you knew were created in his image? Answer- you wouldn’t.

So I started exploring…
I threw out the male, the traditions, the church, the rites I had known and turned toward the female goddesses. I kept the divine, instead of becoming an agnostic or atheist. I really appreciated how their power and strengths were different than the male gods and developed an affinity for them.

I was led to the female mysteries. To wanting a table and/ or temple of our own.

I was led to chaos and individualism. Not because I wanted to raise my own temple, but rather raze the old ones. At least in me. The more I individuated, the more I wanted a journey of one, rather than a culture or temple led by others.
I wanted to learn about alternative medicine, the spirit as it’s own healer and guide. To learn about harmonizing and meditating. Rather than being stuck in traditions i had no affinity for at all.

I could understand why hurt women were turning to female saints and angels for comfort in a patriarchal world, but I even passed them by.

In univ, I learned more about feminism and started breaking away from my raising even further.. Why would I want to be a part of a system that subjugated women and girls, rather than finding a way to use their strengths for the good of all? It just didn’t make sense to me.

My feminist studies didn’t make me hate men or turn me into a lesbian either (as if they could?!), but they taught me about what the feminine powers were and why they were just as worthy of worship as any man’s.
I had had bad experiences with women as well. I didn’t learn to hate them either.

Some people misunderstand the left hand path and think it’s all about the worship of devils…. well it can be. But not all who follow it belong to the devil. Not all who follow the left hand path even call out to a devil.
But let’s say they did… in most cultures, the devil is more of a trixster than an annihilator. Or the god of the dead and the realm of the afterlife. He doesn’t really have any earthly powers. Or he’s a coyote or were rabbit rather than a dark archangel who fell from grace or an imp of his.
That is who the followers in most cultures would be calling forward.

I would love to be a dreamer and say that the world and the spirit are all good and light, but I have eyes and I prefer them open. So I deal with the energies as they really are. Which means recognizing and working with both dark and light. Not as demonic, but as energy or spirit.

Most of what Christianity sees as evil are the thought patterns and feelings of a hurt soul. So that is where I begin my interaction with what Christians call evil. As if a hurt soul is lashing out at someone. For me, it makes it easier to be kind and patient when someone is angry to see it that way.

My current growth/learning path is in sex magicks and divination tools. If you have something I could read? I’d be grateful!

Sometimes I wonder if my path means that I have to walk alone, because I don’t see many around me who feel or grew the same as I did. I know there are others who have at least shared part of my journey though.

I also get that it really separated me from those who began it with me and when they were left behind, it must have hurt them. But I have to be true to myself. And they no longer fit who I am. My leaving/separation was self-protection, not selfishness.
It’s their aggressive response to my changes that made me need to leave though. Not a lack of acceptance on my part.

As a single mom of a daughter, I tried to allow my child to make her own journey. By providing her with knowledge of the world religions and the nature path. I think I succeeded in giving her a good foundation, of at least tolerance.
Even of Christianity. Though it’s been my stumbling block throughout my life. I didn’t want it to be hers.

I get that this is a bit disjointed but there was so much I wanted to say and I couldn’t find a better way to do it. I hope you understand. Hence the title.

treat her like a lady-ish?

treat her like a lady -ish?

looking for the dream
like they write about in all those romances
the prince and princess who love each other
F.O.R.E.V.E.R (swoon)

Alice Cooper
Hank Snow
Ricky Martin

but the castle is mortgaged
or the neighbours are feuding
and your love keeps farting in their sleep
they’re so boring!
That one woman man
is drunk again

Kenny Rogers

and you signed up for a lifetime of
Saturday nights in front of the telly
the high light of your life
is the street BBQ
or parents’ night at the local school


you might tickle each other
or flog the other with a feather
but the pastor would know
if you went near the local dungeon
and you need that reference to get by
in this gawd forsaken town
He just thinks he’s a lady’s man
but he can’t even please you

Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose
Paul Anka
Barbara Mandrell

Where did all the romance go?
Is life about the idiot on your bed?
Must I really manage my expectations?
Again and again?
Is the word marriage a darker one
than I was ever told?
Is it die of boredom or be
a crime statistic?

Celine Dion
Carrie Underwood
Dixie Chicks

Sing a song I’ll never live
get a divorce

Tammy Wynette

or be a

Dead skunk in the middle
Dead skunk in the middle of the road
Stinking to high heaven
All over the road
Oh, you got pollution
It’s dead, it’s in the middle
And it’s stinking to high, high heaven

Loudon Wainwright III

(wakes up screaming!!)

q – what is the difference between rape and a consent violation?

Q – what is the difference between rape and a consent violation?


Cdn criminal code

In rape, consent is not asked for or even apparently wanted. Activity is at the direction of the aggressor. By force, coercion, deception or threat.
In rape, it is presumed that a full sexual act occurred, whatever orifice was penetrated. With penis, digits or toys.
In rape, there is presumption of power misused. Rather than that sexual contact is desired. Some level of predation may be implied, rather than a mishandled or misunderstood negotiation.

consent violation

Having sought consent, they go beyond what is agreed to (by accident or design?) , or ignore it. But it was present in the dialogue. In rape, I don’t think it was fully sought. Isn’t there a presumption from the wording of CVs that it was given, then overcome or withdrawn?
In consent violation, isn’t there a presumption that somewhere there was a relationship, an agreement to engage? Whereas a rapist could in theory be a stranger walking down the street, whether or not they often are?
In consent violation, it could be any breached agreement. Agreeing to be tied up, agreeing to be flogged, etc. It doesn’t preclude sex, but it doesn’t necessarily include it either. And it doesn’t require full sexual penetration. More in the lines of molestation or sexual assault, rather than rape. Though rape might also be plausible?
And In consent violation, it presumes the person acted upon is ABLE and WILLING to consent, but for some reason this was changed after the activity had begun?
And In consent violation, isn’t there also an implication that either fetish, kink and/or bdsm was part of the equation? Whereas with rape that isn’t necessarily so? May not often be?

So if a feminist is discussing consent or rape culture, is it a given that they are discussing consent as a violation of play or protocol? Or could it be a violation of the relationship or trust, without being applicable to kink culture?

that one person in the crowd (a story)

That One Person in the Crowd

I’m sure you know that person.
They are the one the group has that is their toy, their scapegoat, their whipping post… They are teased, shoved around, they take the fall when things go belly up. They’ll even go to prison to keep the group happy. To stay on the inside. Maybe because they’re the runt? Or the one who is always high and easy to dump things on?
The house-mouse in a gang.
The go-boy in a prison.
The towel boy or girl on the sports team.
The newb in the fraternity or the sorority.
The family’s scapegoat or whipping post.
They are so grateful for being on the inside, that they put up with anything the group members do to them.
Do you know someone like that?

Well that was Nattie.
They called her that because her name was Natalie and because her hair was usually in a state of unrest. Tatts, tangles, uncombed, maybe unwashed for a few days? She didn’t exactly take care of herself. And the group took her in.
I’m not sure which came first, her self esteem issues, her drug use, or the group’s treatment of her?
Don’t get me wrong, they protected Nattie and had an odd kind of love and respect for her. Nobody else was allowed to hurt THEIR Nattie! They’d protect her with their lives when other gangs came hunting for a fight.
But they could hurt her.
So long as she showed up the next time they needed, the group members were allowed to do almost anything to her. She had to be able to walk, talk and breathe. And want to stay. But for Nattie that involved an awful lot of pain. And she seemed to enjoy it, so the few times the group leaders were a bit hesitant by how a member treated Nattie, they remembered the smile on her face. She seemed to get tougher the more she was mistreated. So they let it go on.
She gave blow jobs to the single guys, and hand jobs to the single girls. Without a kiss or a cuddle for herself.
And all she asked for was to be in the group. And get her next fix of dope or booze, whatever was going around. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Now you have the set up, right? You know her place in the world. And more importantly, so did Nattie. And her group.

One night at a party, Nattie was doing the usual thing. Making the single ones happy, scrounging for something to get her high, to escape her feelings. There was a new girl dancing nearby that the gang were watching. As if she was a performance. So Nattie caught a glimpse now and then. To see why they were interested.
The girl was playing with some of the members. Teasing, making out, getting her fix of attention.
The other girl got close to Nattie and the gang watched with interest. The girl had no idea who Nattie was, just that she was on the inside and the girl wanted in. So she took to Nattie, like she was strawberries and cream. They started making out and the group leaders grinned and turned away. They were willing to let it go on.
Nattie was unused to this kind of attention. She became part of the show, all of a sudden. Because this girl wanted in the group. And Nattie was in.
Suddnely the girl was punching Nattie, like she stood in the way of her dream. At first, the members just watched. Anything to be entertained. But then Nattie’s head hit the floor and she screamed. So a couple strong ones pulled the new girl away. But not before she got a few more licks on Nattie.
Someone dusted Nattie off and asked her if she was ok. She drousily nodded. But hey she was half cut on the best of days…
Nobody realized that today a clock started ticking inside Nattie’s head. One that would lose them their favourite toy before the night was over.
Nattie had a concussion and afterwards the group found out she had a brain bleed. In that moment, Nattie started to slip away. She got drousier, and more wobbly on her feet. But nobody thought anything about it. They thought it was just Nattie being Nattie at a party. So they put her to bed in a corner and went on partying.
And somewhere in the party Nattie slipped away. It was only when the sun rose and everyone had to leave that someone went to wake her up. But she was gone.
The group called for an ambulance and stood around in shock as they were told that Nattie was dead. There were tears on a few girls’ faces. It was hard to believe that Nattie would never be with the group again.
But there was nothing they could do. They collected a few dollars for flowers and one of the underlings took them to the hospital, in case Nattie had family.
But that was all.
Nobody came to claim Nattie’s body. The group sometimes wondered what happened to her. But no one checked.
Eventually, Nattie’s body was cremated as indigent.
The girl who had been the catalyst of Nattie’s death? She never took Nattie’s seat in the group’s membership. Nobody wanted her to have that place. If she hadn’t fought Nattie and hurt her, she might have gotten in. Who knows?
But she’d never get in now. Eventually she wandered off.
And after a few weeks? The group was back to their old ways. It’s not that they didn’t care… it’s just that Nattie was their toy after all. Not much of anything else. Ya know?
Nattie had a life and death in obscurity.

Complexity – Juliet Street

Complexity – Juliet Street

Earth: Final Conflict

The war inside yourself as portrayed by a brilliant mind. When you go between tradition and beast, without skipping a beat. Between group thought and individuality, is there a field we can all walk on?.
Because you think in a different stream than anyone else does. Give you a computer and a math game and you’ll play for hours, or change the world with a virus or simple program. Or who knows? Maybe you’ll change the galaxy? In a stroke or two.
Able to think beyond most people’s ken, but they still treat you like a child? Maybe they treat you like you’ve lost your mind? Or is that what you call protection of an asset? It’s a judgment call, I guess?
The world revolves, philosophy changes and you manage to stay in the know. On top, never left behind, with a mind that can grasp many dimensons in a way few earth children can. But you’re never the one given power or let loose of the chains to your terminal? Only if there is noone else to go.
When everything around you is chaotic, in flux and never again will be sane? And you make sense of it all… why are you the one who takes the barked orders?
It’s a funny world when no matter who you run into, they don’t see you as their solution or their equal. Let alone the smartest one in the room. Hmm That is a question worth a moment’s pondering, or two.

a victim/survivor’s journey

Going thru something that shocking, traumatic, life changing takes time just to process your emotions.
You were in danger, you were held against your will and things were done that you didn’t agree to, so you felt unsafe. Your life might have been in danger. you might have been clinically dead, till you were resuscitated. You might need multiple surgeries. You might be in pain everyday.
And that is just the day it happened. You might also face emotional issues long afterward that lead you to things like PTSD if you were afraid they would kill you or other trauma/rape syndromes. I know i have a thing where at the anniversary of the events, I have nightmares and can’t sleep in a dark room. I get stress migraines from the emotions and interrupted sleep. And that is fairly mild from what I know. I’m really cautious about what i let in during that period, just to protect myself.

Then there are a few factors to consider in how quickly you would recover and how often you would have to engage with the memories of that day again:

most people who are victims of violence knew their offender.

It might affect your schooling or job as well. Your income might change, your dreams might be shattered and you might have to re-invent yourself in a way you never would have or wanted to.
They are related to them or in a relationship. They have not only that person, but also their group members who decide to intercede to “heal” the breach, to pacify the issue so everyone else feels comfortable. Call it enabling or whatever. They come to you and discuss how you were in the wrong, how the other person has had a sad life or they were using and out of control but it’s not really “them”. That this person wants to get “over it”. And “it’s time”. So the family can heal. You may have to see the person who hurt you over and over. At family events, at custodial exchanges, in passing at the supermarket or bank if they live near you. Which can lead to you feeling unsaFe. To the point of agoraphobia.
Esp if they are also stalking you.
Which often happens after a violent event. They want the relationship they had with you back and you don’t. But being the aggressive person they are, they dont take no for an answer. Even with a restraining orders in place. The only way to avoid all of this dynamiic change is to divorce not only the person who did this violence to you, but everyone you both know and love(d).
Which is what I ended up doing. So there are days when I remember who I lost as a result of this one person who couldn’t manage themselves. People and memories were wrecked forever. And i’m not sure that is something you ever “get over” Your concept of holidays and birthdays changes forever. You miss those you want to celebrate with. You might chose to “forget” the holiday or day but you can’t.

And that is just the social element.

if you are injured:

You have to go to medical appts. See doctors and therapists (PT, OT, take meds…) People who would never have been in your life otherwise. Who have to discuss that intimate event and your recovery E.V.E.R.Y.T.I.M.E. you walk into their office. How long does that take? Depends how injured you were? If you’re on long term meds, how many side effects and med changes you have, how many supervising blood tests you have? How many supervising imaging tests you have? And you don’t really discuss anything but that event and your recovery. Ok, maybe the weather and traffic? The point is you’re always reminded of that day, that person, that event.

if you go to court

HR hearings/job
custody/family court
dean’s office/school

criminal court

And that takes time for all the hearings before the trial, the questioning of the police, the lawyers, the judge, the evaluations you might have to endure for the court. Which take years! It’s like a “hurry up and wait warp” Time in between the event and the end of the trial and the decision, then do you need to appeal or cut bait? Depends on what you stand to lose if you allow the status quo. Which in this situation might be the custody of your kids to the person who hurt you and their supportive group. Which means your kid gets fed their narrative. Which alienates them from you. When you are the one who was injured.


speedy trial
R. v. Jordan

So it’s not like something happened one day, you bruised your knee got up and walked away. Never to fall again.
Because you start noticing people around you who push your limits and you may very well be offended against again. And again.

So really, having been a victim, it might take years to recover. Years to get thru the process.
Whether or not you want to “get over it”.

It’s rarely in your control.

Brady Felt Abandoned (a story)

Brady Felt Abandoned

.I felt sorry for the boy he once was. I mean, how can you not? Poor kid had to have hurt a lot. Once upon a time ago. Such a Lonely Boy
How do you not feel sorry for a boy born into a family where mom is sick and dies before he reaches school age? And his concept of mom is built by teenagers who feel frustrated and annoyed at having to care for him, instead of still be a child themselves? And they left home, so even they couldn’t be relied on to stay for Brady.
And by a dad that would rather spend time at the bottom of a bottle than with him. A dad should teach a boy stuff like tossing a ball and fishing. Not how many beers it takes before dad goes to sleep. And how angry each one makes him.
Then Brady was shopped out to a relative when he was 8 years old. So he could be their farm errand boy. So a bit of money would trickle home for dad’s beer budget and he wasn’t underfoot for the teens. He was left behind again. And he wondered where else his dad would have sold him off to for his beer if the farmer hadn’t been the one who wanted him?
As if that wasn’t enough, he was kicked out of the house as a teenager. About 14-15 years old. Left to find his own roof. His own meals. One of his big sisters took him in.
Brady had a skill set though that meant he rarely was unemployed. He was the day labourer. The jack of all trades. He could go from construction site to garage, just tinkering. But he’d never see his dream of having a farm himself or being a preacher. He could pay his rent, pay his bills. That was all that was expected of him.
Then he got involved with girls. And he had a crush on one. Who never looked at him as anything but a friend. He had a choice of being a perpetual virgin cuzz he couldn’t have her. And with his history, who could blame him? Or being a male version of a town slut. Never attaching to anyone really.
But he knew girls were his route, or he’d have to be celibate. Or the church he loved would even leave him. There was no other real choice, not for Brady.
If some day a woman did finally take him seriously, he’d probably marry her and give her some things, just not really his heart or soul. She’d be the picture wife. Good mom to their kids, good worker, decent cook. You know. And they’d go to church together. It’s what was done. What was love? What was happiness? Dutywas the key when it came to marriage and family. She just had to promise she’d never leave him. He planned on stuffing her if she died before him.
The one thing you knew about Brady was that he had no concept of empathy. He knew when someone left him behind, he had to keep going on. It was expected of him. He didn’t understand how people could wallow so when someone hurt them. People never stayed and he learned to be glad they left. It meant the door was shut behind them. The quicker the better, in Brady’s world.
Friend or foe, everyone left Brady. Even if they were still in the house. His wife had checked out of the heart of their marriage years ago. If she was ever in it. His kids went to her if they skinned their knee or had a secret they had to share. Brady was the provider, not the cuddle bear who soothed their fears or healed their hurts. He didn’t know how to do intimacy. Or affection.
Brady was a workaholic. Part of that duty thing. If the money was tight, he worked longer hours. It didn’t seem important to him to raise his kids or love his wife. His obligation was to put money in the house. Nothing else.
He was the poster boy for the song Cat’s in the Cradle . That would be his future with his son. And he knew it. But he felt he had done a dad’s job. And his son had never seen him drunk. Oh no! He had taught him to self medicate by teaspoons and rules. Not realizing that that is also an alcoholic. Brady was just sure he had done all he could.
And on the day Brady died, he had noone who really gave a crap, or who missed more than his paycheck. Good thing he had insurance! They did the thing where people attended who felt they must. The pastor really didn’t know much about him, except that he was a grim man who did the right thing. Maybe a bit of a prude. Yet Brady had attended that church all his life.
Who was he really? How do you live a whole life and die with noone knowing who you are? Not even your wife, kids, siblings. Not your boss or coworkers. Not the preacher of the church you had gone to all your life.
But Brady did! That’s quite an accomplishment! Or the saddest story ever told?

mirage (a story)


I had begun the journey across the desert with friends. Just a jaunt outside the city for an afternoon in the sun, looking for old relics. Dreaming of finding something in the style of Indiana Jones, Lara Croft or Sydney Fox. Stumbling across an archaeological find of the century. Maybe a lost tribe or a city that hadn’t been seen for centuries. Some piece of a culture’s puzzle, hidden from the world till this moment. Something we could put our names to.
It was obviously a dream, made of too much time wasted in front of the screen of movie or TV. But we were still young enough to dream. And apparently not yet old or smart enough to calculate the risks.
First we ran out of food, No big deal really. We were only a couple hours from the city. Young kids who could go a day or two with no harm. So we didn’t think much about it, until we got lost. And the water looked like the next casualty of our adventure. But still, we weren’t far from the city. Friends knew where we were headed. But we weren’t quite on the path we had told them we were taking. Hopefully unlike us, they would be armed with plenty of water and food.
The sun was beating down our heads. We were getting worried, but nobody was panicking as yet.
When we ran out of gas, we did the most stupid thing we could have done. It’s recommended to stay where you are, to stay with your vehicle. But being young, we thought we knew better. So we split up into couples and took off in different directions, to walk in the heat. With no food and no water.
We were fine for a few hours, my companion and I. Until we slid down a pile of sand and he broke his ankle in the slide. Or more to the point, the stop.
He sent me to get help. And I didn’t think much really about leaving him alone. It’s not like there were desert tribes who’d take him to the slave market. His worst fear was a snake, so I found him a stick and a few big stones and set off for aid. So we could get him to the hospital for an xray and cast. No big deal, right?
That’s how I came to be in the desert, wandering alone without food or water. Getting weird and dizzy, with a very dry mouth and tummy rumbles. Which grew worse and worse the more the heat of the day grew. The more tired I grew. I was despondent. I wanted my mommy. At this point anyone, but I kept seeing my mommy. I was so hungry, I was chewing on my tongue, my dry tongue. My left arm kept jerking and it looked like there were bugs or snakes inside. Which totally frightened me. I tried to get away from them, but how could I if they were inside me? I tried to run, but kept falling. I was never sure how long I was down. But I tried to keep moving.
Till I saw the sea open and there was a city, that looked like it was surrounded by waves and palm trees. So I went under a tree and asked the waiter to bring me a tall glass of water.
He never came back to me…

Many years later, a group of travellers came by this skeleton out in the middle of nowhere. Dressed in clothes that had been advertised about on the list of missing. They found the wallet and realized the name was the same. So they called it in.
Seems everyone else of my group had made it back to safety but me. I was in my heaven; a beach with a long, tall glass of water and a waiter hovering over me.

jungle drums (a story)

Jungle Drums

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

You could hear all the noise
Birds chattering, monkeys screaming, big cats howling,
the whistles of the dholes.
Until a twig snapped and everything went still. As if the switch had been turned off on the TV or radio.

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

It was like someone spread the message that humans were underfoot and all the animals stopped in awe or disbelief. Ready to call out their warriors, they had hidden all the women, old ones and children. Not sure if it would ever be safe again.

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

The jungle was on pause to see if the human was a warrior or emissary. A hunter or a lover, come to honeymoon with his bride. And when the twigs snapped near the clearing, the noise slowly started up again. Because they knew, no one who meant trouble wanted to be seen.

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

The blanket went down, the hamper was set on it.
And he put his hand out to give her assistance.
The bugs and creepy pests were kind enough to give the lovers some space as they began to kiss.

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

It was a moment of heaven there, till they heard a low growl too close to their nest. And looked up. to see their doom. The jungle had come to take it’s due.

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

Many years later, an explorer found their bones at the edge of the clearing. And wondered why there were just those two… Had there been a village or a hunting party first? Had scavengers come thru? Was this all that remained of a great civilization?

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

If only there were a time machine to return thru history and see. What was the story of these two? Would he ever know?

Let’s bungle in the jungle
Well, that’s all right by me
I’m a tiger when I want love
But I’m a snake if we disagree

Jethro Tull

retro-active consent withdrawal articles/info

retro-active consent withdrawal articles/info

…. definition

a) begins as consensual sexual contact but sex is withdrawn during the act and person continues forcibly to engage

b) victim needs time and awareness to fully understand what occurred and realizes they were violated

….potential reasons

– they were a virgin and didn’t have anything to compare it to

– they were confused about what had occurred

– it began as consentual contact, but the rapist continued after no was said, past what activity they had agreed to

– they felt unsafe

– they feel they were coerced, manipulated, or bullied into sexual relations

– they feel they were lied to –
fed false promises of protection, a relationship, pay in the case of prostitution, – were led to believe their partner was free (unmarried, unattached) and open for sexual contact,
– were led to believe the person was SAFE to have sex with (ie no STDs or other sexual/health issues that impact their sexual behaviour and your intimacy)

– they were in a state of neurogenic shock or tonic immobility

– they were sedated by rape drugs, high on drugs, and/or alcohol and needed time to sober up

– they thought they deserved to be mistreated –
due to self esteem issues,
– due to prior cases of DV/rape,
– guilt for something they had done in the relationship (ie cheating)

– they had a trauma syndrome – rape, PTSD, anxiety

– they were suicidal, agoraphobic

– the rapist was part of a familial, employment, school, temple and/or social group and they needed time to individuate

– they were lovers/spouses and they needed time to separate due to kids, finances, cohabitation

– their lover/spouse was a good provider, usually good to them but the violence and lack of concern for their autonomy/safety/life was escalating
– as well as threat to others

– they needed therapy to understand the full impact

– they needed to gather evidence, support, to be assessed

– they knew this person had a bad history (ie family history, addictions) and thought they needed help/support but lost patience with their efforts

– they didn’t think they’d be believed. (a vulnerable target – child, teen, prostitute, mentally ill person, criminal, homeless person- against a seemingly unassailable perpetrator)


feminist philosophers


re: senate bill 406

BC training of sexual abuse support workers pamphlet

Brooklyn Law Review

NOVA Law Review

Mayo Clinic

Medicinenet – endorphins

ScientificAmerican – tonic shock/immobility