Tired tales from the parenting coal-face: Mum of two Emily shares stories and solidarity while listening to Let it Go for the millionth time.

Emily Writes: Was I wrong to go out and get drunk?

I was irresponsible, I got smashed. I had the best time ever. Photo / Getty
I was irresponsible, I got smashed. I had the best time ever. Photo / Getty

I barely drink these days. With no sleep and breastfeeding around the clock it's just not an option for me. I know few parents who drink heavily because, really, who wants to look after kids when they're hungover?

But a while back, I got drunk. For the first time in well over a year. I was going to the Elton John concert with a friend. My toddler was at his nanna's and Dad was on FULL BABY DUTY, as in: I was going to sleep all night and he was going to do wake-ups.

I was so excited that I probably got a bit too excited. And that's how I ended up drunk, singing Tiny Dancer at the top of my lungs.

I had been given taxi money by a dear family friend and I'm ashamed to say it, since she's probably reading this, I spent most of it on those darling little bottles of terrible wine at the stadium. I drank quite a few of those things. And I discovered my tolerance had disintegrated from not drinking for a very long time.

But I was excited by freedom! A night out! I had no idea when my next night off would be. It might not be for a year! I was irresponsible. I got smashed. I had the best time ever.

And according to a column published in the Herald, a column I'm not going to link to because it's already caused so many tears and hurt... I should have been raped that night.

I was attracting trash by acting trash. I was drunk. Possibly I was dressed in rape-inviting clothing by wearing tight jeans, although the columnist didn't hand out her booklet on what is rape-inviting attire and what isn't.

I was "an unlocked car", according to the many people who commented on that story.

Had I been raped that night after screeching Goodbye Yellow Brick Road down the phone to my sister it would have been because of my poor decisions. Because I didn't act responsibly.

If my husband had to call his mum and get her to watch the children while he picked me up from the hospital after my rape, it would have been my fault.

If the next day my toddler asked me why I was crying, saw bruises on me, if he tried to understand why Mama is broken, it would have been my fault.

If one day, as an adult, my sons asked me about my rape, according to this columnist I would need to tell them that women must take responsibility.

I would need to tell my sons that "women and men are two entirely different creatures, with different responses and triggers".

And if they asked why I went out and got drunk and got myself raped, I wouldn't tell them about how the giddy excitement of a night off got to me and I drank too much. That doesn't matter, because nobody deserves rape. No, I'd have to tell them that the ultimate responsibility for my rape lies with me.

It's important that they know that "yes, it's a woman's right to dress how she wants - but it is also a responsibility to dress in a manner that shows how she wants to be treated".

I will tell the boys that they can decide how they treat a woman based on how she is dressed. If she is dressed a certain way, she is sending them a message.

Just like Mummy did that night she went to the concert and drank too much wine with money she should have used for a taxi.

According to this columnist I need to tell them that I should have kept myself safe but I didn't. I didn't behave "in a manner that signals that [I am] precious, special and deserve a man that is appreciative of [me] and [my] unique character".

I'm not their mummy. I am an unlocked car.

***

To be entirely clear - it's never your fault. Ever.

Our mothers, our sisters, our grandmothers, our aunts - they are not unlocked cars. Our daughters are not unlocked cars.

Our fathers, husbands, and sons are not creatures who need to see what someone is wearing to work out if they're going to rape them or not.

This is what we teach our children. That it is never their fault. That what they wear is not an invitation to hurt them. That they are never allowed to hurt someone based on what they wear.

That article said the ultimate responsibility lies with women to "keep safe" from rapists. This is abhorrent and anyone who isn't a rape apologist would know it's the rapist who holds responsibility NOT TO RAPE.

But - as parents (and the person who wrote that piece is one) we have responsibilities - and that's to ensure we don't raise our boys to think they're animals and that they need to take their cues not to assault and rape women based on a woman's clothing and behaviour. And that we don't raise our girls to think that if they are raped they deserve it for not following an ever-changing set of rules that don't at all protect against rapists anyway.

Most of all, we need to not perpetuate the dangerous objectification of women that we are nothing but unlocked cars. Nothing but trash.

That night my dear family friends, who are husband and wife, took me home. Not once did the man who spoke at my wedding think about raping me. Because he saw me as a human being, not an unlocked car. Not once did his wonderful wife think "well, she's walking around asking to be raped tonight". Because she saw me as a human being, not trash.

We are not trash. You are not trash.

I am a mum, a wife, a sister, a friend, a daughter, a writer, a volunteer, an activist, a human being.

I am many things.

But I am not an unlocked car.

Where to get help:

Lifeline: 0800 543 354 (available 24/7)
Suicide Crisis Helpline: 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO) (available 24/7)
Youth services: (06) 3555 906 (Palmerston North and Levin)
Youthline: 0800 376 633
Kidsline: 0800 543 754 (available 24/7)
Whatsup: 0800 942 8787 (1pm to 11pm)
Depression helpline: 0800 111 757 (available 24/7)
Samaritans: 0800 726 666 (available 24/7)
If it is an emergency and you feel like you or someone else is at risk, call 111.

- NZ Herald

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Tired tales from the parenting coal-face: Mum of two Emily shares stories and solidarity while listening to Let it Go for the millionth time.

Emily Writes is a mum of two gorgeous boys under three. Her blog Mama Said took off when she wrote her first post about the ways parents are silenced - it went viral and since then she's been writing about the joy and heartbreak of parenting to a huge audience. Emily lives in Wellington with her husband and they're both really sick of picking Countdown cards and dominoes off the floor of their lounge. Once a week, we will share posts from Emily on what it's really like in the sleep-deprived world of parenting.

Read more by Emily Writes

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