What’s your fire?
My fire is…
the roofies he put in my drink and the vaguely apprehended sex that followed.
the fact that he called it making love, and the fact that he filmed it.
the fact that he told me that I liked it, and I was conditioned to believe him.
My fire is…
the man joking with me about how I tried to fight off his unwanted advances the night before, and how I failed.
the man with his deaf ears, shoving my tampon up into my tonsils after I said no, no, no.
the man telling me I was worth nothing to him unless we were fucking.
My fire is…
my abuser, who made me feel so, so small.
my abuser, who still holds space in my psyche.
the abortion I had with him, my first and his seventh.
the abortion I had, and all the barriers that stood in the way of me accessing it.
My fire is…
all the times I was shamed and blamed for all of this and more.
My fire is why I fight.
I am the Vulvacano.
Jen Jackson Quintano
Founder & Executive Director
The Pro-Voice Project
Share your fire:
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