Loud Mouth Brown Girl

So I went over to my old haunt on Medium.com to see if there were any messages I needed to immediately respond to. There was not, but there was an article that said that websites were dead – all because the author didn’t get the traction he thought he’d get, right off the bat.

Here’s the thing, the thing about “If you build it, they will come,” is that although it works, people often negate that it takes to make that philosophy work.

He didn’t just build a fucking baseball field; he built an idea. He built the foundation of what would come to be one of the most classic films of all time, and in doing so, he learned far more about HIMSELF than he intended.

No matter how insane people told him his idea was, no matter the risk or the challenge, the weather or the fear and anxiety, he built something that brought joy to the many, the same many who sewed doubt and fear all over his dream.

I burned the bridge of every single relationship I had when I built this website, except for that with my mother and a single aunt, a handful of siblings and some cousins.

I don’t talk to any one of the people from my past life, and after all these years of letting me choke on the truth of what was done to us, what they chose to participate in, they are no longer welcome to my cookout.

I am not, and I wasn’t making a selfish choice when I came forward. I was making the only sane choice I had, because I was not about to allow grown-ass men to get away with pedophilia on my watch.

I did what I could, I tried a thing, and while it didn’t work the way I intended, it did, in fact, save my life.

That’s because my failsafes have failsafes, and because I refuse to leave this planet until I am done doing what I am here to do.

At five years old, I set out to be a writer, only because even at five, I knew I’d never be allowed to be an astronaut. I told Babu, Grandfather, that I wanted to be a teacher. He asked me what I wanted to teach. I told him I had to learn and to practice before I was ready.

So he bought me a chalkboard. The first man to invest in my future was a Black, Haitian man, and I will never forget that.

The first person to believe in me wasn’t a blood relative. He was a chosen relative, and even though his son was shit, that man was my hero. I will never forget that the path to freedom, as he said, was education.

Aaron Swartz believed that, too. He believed in the power of education and in the freedom of words to the point that he took on the US Government and lost, giving up his life in the process.

We joke a lot about hackers saving the world, but we forget that as often as information is given, it is in not-so-equal measure, weaponized against us in order to condition us to behave in “Acceptable, normal” ways.

On Ko-Fi, I posted that my content on that site would remain free. The funds I raise would be spent on mutual aid for the most part, with the remaining dollars saved for necessities at home.

I have always said the content on this site will remain free. I don’t make my money from writing, and unless it’s a book, I don’t think I need to. I would like to have an endless amount of dollars and time, but I don’t; what I do have is the wisdom I have gained from experiencing decade-old trauma.

I have coping mechanisms that are healthy, like working out and cooking myself the occasional decent meal, and I have coping mechanisms that aren’t precisely healthy, like smoking, that help me focus on the challenges I have to face head-on.

Someone asked me recently how I went back to work after nine years, and I gave them an honest answer. I healed my shit. Cannabis didn’t let me hide from my pain; it forced me to deal with it head-on. I used writing as the vehicle to focus my energies so I didn’t explode.

I highly recommend that every girl and woman out there share their stories; the more of us that come forward, the less power they have over us.

Now, in saying that, I recognize that while most of my community completely shunned me, I DID have people who protected me when I first came forward.

There were threats, and actionable threats at that, and it was an incredibly scary time. At least one man jumped on my balcony and tried to break in, another did.

There’s more that I am not talking about, and the only reason I am saying this much is that if you’re still struggling, please know I understand the trials better today than I did yesterday.

Not everyone gets out. Getting a divorce doesn’t mean that you will be safe. A peice of paper won’t protect you once an abuser makes you the focus of his, her, or their abuse.

The life that I want to have is not going to come without work. The ability to pay writers is not going to happen through crowdfunding and mutual aid support. I am fully aware of this fact, and I did always think I’d go back to work; I just didn’t know when.

I did want to go to school first, and part of me, unironically, still wants to, but here’s the thing: My calling is mental health advocacy, my dream these days is to be a friggen mechanic.

It might sound silly, but I’ve been obsessed with cars since I was a kid. My favourite car ever is the Honda S2000, and not just because it’s Honda and their superior, but because the call number starts with S. Hi Siddha.

I love everything about cars, but what I love most is the escapism. You can go almost anywhere if you can drive, and if you’re working on a car, you don’t have to think about all the problems in the world; you just have to make the car work right.

Writing, on the other hand, focuses your brain, and all you do is think. You think about what to say, how to say it, when to say it, and oftentimes, the people hearing your message don’t believe you because they don’t want you as the messenger.

I don’t necessarily care that people hate that I am the one saying “End pedophilia in Canada,” that’s unimportant to me. What is important to me is the number and faces of people who are telling me to stop, in defence of this disgusting act being allowed to continue.

It is rare for me to draw a line, but if you are against me advocating for proper mental health supports for victims of rape culture, then you support rape culture, and that makes you my enemy.

On The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Housewife Amanda discusses “Manifestation,” as if it’s as easy as sipping water, neglecting the fact that not everyone has access to clean, drinkable water.

Manifestation takes work; it takes effort. You have to plant the seeds by digging in the dirt, which you then have to water, feed, and respect.

The thing is, if you don’t put in the physical work, manifestation doesn’t mean anything.

This might mean working ten-hour days and not having kids; it might mean making some sacrifices, but what those sacrifices are is entirely up to you.

I know that one day I’ll have time, space, energy and the education to build my own care, but until then, I am making space for the things I can control, and doing what I have to do, to build the road to the dream.

I don’t know if this is the right way, the wrong way or the upside-down way, but until I get where I am going, I am going to do what I have to do to protect what I have.

What are you going to do?

XOXO

Devon J Hall,

The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl