Find your voice. Use your power for purpose.

When I was headed to Paris for the first time, all of my trauma bubbled up and life had a different plan.

I collapsed at the airport. I collapsed on top of my painting. I was sobbing. A man came over to help, I screamed at him that I needed space. My own father violated my body. I just wanted the men to back away.

I got up, started ripping off my silk lilac dress. I had a sexy blue floral body suit underneath. I yelled to the man — is this what you want to see? You want me like this? I started running through the airport, in my lingerie.

I looked pretty sexy…I may add. Well, let’s just say the police did not love that. Although, I did attract a crowd of about thirty men who offered to buy me a drink at the bar.

I guess men appreciate a woman stripping in the airport.

I used to silently judge other women for sex work — why would they not use their intelligence? That was very simple-minded of me.

Women and really anyone, should have the freedom to DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY WANT WITH THEIR BODIES.

What an adventure I found myself in. The first man that I yelled at, I’ll call him old Blue Eyes. He was quite sweet. He had a soft country accent and I imagined he worked on a farm. Perhaps he could whisk me away, make me his cowgirl? I was staring into his eyes, at the bar, when the paramedics arrived.

I slipped back on my silky dress and looked a bit more respectable. Then, clothed, I told the officers that “I NEEDED SPACE”. I shouted that “ALL OF THEIR GUNS AND WEAPONS” were making me feel “VERY FEARFUL”.

I told them that BOLDY — as a white woman, I have a lot of privilege.

I asked them, if I were a Person of Color — if I were a Black Man — would they be as kind? Would I have herds of men lined up to take me home? Would I be flirting with the police officer?

You see, I am a gorgeous woman. So, When I flirted with the officer, you better bet that handsome guy was charmed. You see, I have privilege that I did not even realize. My father violated my body, so I feared my own sexuality. Yet, our bodies and beauty can be used as messengers.

In my moment of pain and trauma…I thought…how can I use this for purpose? How can I make this a public demonstration. I had hundreds of eyes on me. Hopefully they listened. Before they committed me to mental institution for two weeks against MY FREE WILL. Those fuckers. Guess I am a crazy bitch — no. I am a WISE BITCH.

How can I send a message? How can we elevate voices to power that hold purpose — how can we get a woman in office?!

WE need a Mother to be President of America — for she could manage daddy’s pocketbook better.

I reclaim my body as a vessel of service and love — instead of an object of abuse.

Unfortunately, with this beautiful sentiment, I was also replaying childhood trauma at the airport. With more support perhaps I could have displayed my public art exhibition in a more tactful way, but alas life had different plans.

The hospital worried I could not consent, funny that they care about consent this time. Wow, if only a man would have asked for consent earlier…I probably would have not ended up in a mental hospital. The irony.

So…they involuntarily committed me to a mental hospital. My Bipolar Two diagnosis did not help. Oh, she’s just crazy!

I was forced to take medications against my will and had my rights violated. I was assaulted in the middle of the night and no justice was received. It was a FUCKING NIGHTMARE. I Sang this song to myself in the hospital to stay sane. For I am not Crazy, I am Wise.

You see, I met many lovely people in the mental hospital. I kept sane by relishing in the 30 minutes of outside time a day. Rain or shine, I’d slip off my scratchy hospital socks and set my bare feet on the soil.

I would dance in the grass, hug the trees, and pray to Hashem. I would sing with my sister as she read from the Quran and I recited blessings from the Torah. It was a spiritual experience. We were in a physical prison, yet our spirits were flying free — in the light of Gd.