I remember back in 2008 I created my first MySpace account. Anyone who was really into MySpace while it was still popular should remember the profile playlist that played whenever someone went to your page. After a couple months of not have any songs on my profile playlist, my friends started commenting on my lack of music on my profile. I remember one day I decided it was time to fix the problem. I sat down at the computer and tried and tried to think of a song. I finally posted the only song that came to my mind: Carrie Underwood's All American Girl. I remember thinking even at that time that I lacked all personality. Not only was a culturally and socially stunted, I also had not developed a personality. I had no idea who I was or what I liked. Back to my rural African tribe analogy, I think that person would at least know who they were. What made them laugh.What they enjoyed. My brother listened to country music so the only music I even had an idea about was country music. But I still knew that there was music that was truly me.
I think fundamentalist homeschoolers (especially girls) are brainwashed into not have any personality. They don't have the option of ever voicing their opinion. In fact, usually voicing your opinion, even on such things as food you don't like, is seen as "rebellion" and can come with severe consequences. Poor Hana Williams was left outside in the cold until she finally died of hypothermia because she was "rebellious." Many quiverfull daughters have so little voice that they will not even choose the man they marry (if they follow their father's will). Many of these girls may even go to their wedding night without ever having been alone with the man that they are now married to. Without having any say in anything in their lives, quiverfull girls do not develop any kind of personality. Developing a personality would only mean more pain when any dreams or hopes they have are smashed into a million pieces as their fathers make all the choices with their lives, treating them like they aren't even a human with feelings.
Over the next couple months after posting my first MySpace song, I did learn more about the music of the time and posted songs that were more personal to me. Over the next six years, I have learned a lot about myself and about the modern culture. There are many parts of this transition that have been very painful for me, but recently I have found a great joy in realizing the person that I really am. I like the fact that I know what type of food I like. I have a color I like. I even now have a better idea of what type of job I enjoy working in. I like knowing who I am. I am very happy to finally have started to find myself. I don't know if everyone is 23 years old before they find who they are and what they like. I have a feeling they are usually more young, but I often see myself as being born six years ago when I was finally allowed some exposure to the outside world.
Now back to the Billboard Music Awards Last night. While watching the awards last night, I saw some clips of Rhianna. Seeing Rhianna brought back some memories for me. This memory was in 2010. I was in a dark place in 2010. I had had two unsuccessful relationships but I was still very emotionally hung up on both of the men. I felt completely trapped in the house by my parents. My depression was very bad. I was still recovering from the incident with my parents (I'll write another time about the incident). My parents didn't trust me at all. They watched my every move. They went through my cell phone routinely. They had the passwords to all my email accounts (that they knew of). They completely controlled every aspect of my life, even though I was legally an adult at that time. I couldn't even leave the house without someone accompanying me. I was in a really dark place at that time and I felt so used by both my parents and my most recent boyfriend. I started hearing Eminem's Love the Way You Lie, and I identified so much with the song. My parents were just standing there watching me die inside and go through so much pain. My recent boyfriend was turning his back completely on me, once again not caring about what I was going through with everything. I loved that song. It was a way to let out my emotions. It actually made me feel better and stronger when I listened to it. One especially bad night, I decided to post some of the lyrics on Facebook. I woke up the next morning to a scathing Facebook message from my mother -- who was a stay-at-home-mom in the same house as me so she could have just waited until I woke up to confront me about it, but that goes with my parent's passive-aggressiveness. The message read: "That song glorifies domestic violence. Why would you post/like it?"
I was seething after that message from my mom. I deleted the post because I wanted to make a point about how much her criticism annoyed me and to also keep from any further discussion about it. I also sent back, a short, cold message: "I'm sorry. Didn't realize it." Of course I knew what the song was about, but I was so angry that my mother had no idea why I would want someone to listen to me about domestic violence. Did she not see the pain I was going through under her own roof. Of course she had no idea how my boyfriend was treating me because she didn't know about my boyfriend. But even now, I think if my daughter were to post something like that my first instinct would be to try to help her. Try to find out if someone is mistreating her. Not immediately jump to how she shouldn't be posting about domestic violence. My parents hotly deny any kind of abuse in their home. They will always say that homeschooling is the best way and that we had the best home. They will never admit that they stood there and watched and even poured gasoline on the fire while we burned. Seeing Rhianna brings up so much pain because it always reminds me of that song and my own personal cry for help. That post was a cry for help from me. I wanted someone to pay attention. I wanted someone to help. I wanted someone to care about the pain that I was in. I wanted to be rescued from the nightmare of domestic violence that was going on that no one knew about.
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