Vulnerability

I plugged my USB into my laptop four and a half minutes ago. Brene Brown's Vulnerability TED Talk came on, and I'm now fighting the urge to fight back tears. Let them flow, Tina, let them flow.

Weird response, you might think. And, yes, I would usually agree. The tears pricked as Brene said that whilst she wanted to get her work out to the world, a part of her has worked hard to engineer staying small.

My tears pricked because I noticed how much I have grown. This resonated with me this time last year; that fear of abundance, of an audience, of people bearing witness to my life, in its totality. This means, the bad shameful stuff as well as the weird and the good.

We are, all of us, a whole package.

People have told me (and god love all of you who have because you have empowered me even further) that they respect the courage I show to post my life on the internet. It has taken me a long time to see this courage they speak of, but they are right. For me, I've always replied that whilst I know there is an audience reading, I don't really know there is an audience reading.

When I write, I write mostly for myself: what is it that I need to most hear to empower me to heal, to process, to grow. Sometimes I write for a particular person, to validate their experience or response, sometimes I write to expose or to teach, but mostly it is for myself. As Beyoncé sings, I was here; a record that I existed and that I live.

Back to being small, this was me. I wanted my 'wisdom' out there, I wanted to be seen, I wanted to be noticed, but not really. Because what if people don't get it, or don't like me, or think I'm weird, or think I'm a fool.

Yep. What if.

Who cares.

My truth is my truth. And my truth can change, and can grow, and that is okay.

I don't necessarily want to be big. But, I do want to be. And, just being now, is enough. I trust that I will put things out there and the consequences will be what they will be. My foundation is strong and won't be shaken.

I think I feel a little nervous about my book on my healing journey through sexual abuse (as part of a traumatic childhood). Maybe a little vulnerability and a little shame lingering, and I think that's okay. We all go through stuff as children that impacts who we become, positive and negative, and it's okay. The first step in healing is acknowledging this. As Dr Phil says, You can't fix what you don't acknowledge.

So, acknowledgement comes first. We each need to hold our head up high and speak our truth. Acknowledge what happened, acknowledge the impact, acknowledge the desire to change, to grow, to bloom.

None of us deserve to feel small. Our experiences and who we are, are significant. And valid. We don't need to justify or validate them for others, our knowing is enough.

And, our desire to be big does not serve us in the telling of our truth, because if we desire to be big we stop being authentic, and we start to behave to please others rather than to serve our own higher interests. And this is disingenuous.

We can only heal when we acknowledge what has been 'done' to us (marked this way because I believe we choose) and acknowledge the impact it has made, good and bad. And, truly own ourselves in every sense. And, when we reach that point, it no longer matters whether we are big, or have an audience, or are noticed, because we come to knowing that we are enough, just as we are.

This did not end or go where I expected it might. I hope you get something from it; I'm almost ready to write.

🙏🏻🦋

A Focus on the Dark

Write the book you wanted to read when you were younger.

Thank you, Higher Self.

I had the title for this post but then became stuck. Where to from here? Not dissimilar to when I start first writing a novel or this new book. I have massive inspiration, can't wait to get started, and when I do, I start tripping over myself.

It is temporary. It is vital. And, it is very annoying.

My question was going to be, what would you want to read? My Higher Self responded as above.

The first couple of chapters will outline my personal experience with abuse, both sexual and physical. Later on in the book, I focus on the emotional and psychological impact of this.

Fractured memories is how I have titled it. I remember snapshots and sound bytes. Nothing else really. This frustrated me for a long time. People need proof and they need to know what happened for you to be credible, for it to be validated. Sometimes this isn't possible for a variety of reasons (after all, even if you do remember it in excruciating detail, you may not be able to voice it).

The impact is a self-doubt and a feeling that you are creating something bigger than it needs to be. Not entirely true. This doubt starts to manipulate your confidence in other areas, detracting from your sense of self and belief in self. Questions sometimes erode trust.

How do we move past this?

Expression. Stand in your truth. Even if you can't articulate it to others just yet, say it to yourself. Own what you do remember. Trust those feelings. Work through them.

Another person's perception of your story is just that, perception. They aren't living it. And if your perception is a little blown out, working through it will bring peace to that need too. If we are feeling something, it is coming from somewhere that needs to be addressed for health. Trust it. Work through it. Heal it.

You will be okay.

The Importance of Voice in Healing Trauma

We all experience some type of trauma during our lifetimes; it is inevitable. The type of trauma can range from childhood trauma (accident, disability, abuse, you get the gist) to losing a child or parent or grandparent or friend or partner, or rape, unemployment, anxiety, the list is endless.

We are all different and we all come from different places; however, I believe that if we are to heal from this trauma, get to a point where we can think about it without anxiety, stress or pain, we need to give it a voice.

For me, the voice first came through when dealing with referrals at school, kids disclosing to me about their own abuse and/or trauma. I would then journal, always trying to get it out of my head so that it couldn't fester. My voice, unbeknownst to me at the time, has also shown itself through tattooing. My tattoos are all markers of moments, experiences and memories. Intermittently, I have journaled and spoken my truth during my life. In mid 2014, I started blogging, expressing my voice through written word to a larger audience.

As a result, I can speak about the truth of my experiences safely. Rarely does talking about, even my IVF journey, bring me residual pain that still needs to be resolved. Finding my voice and sharing my experiences has lessened the impact of the trauma.

It is through sharing (which requires a voice) that I have processed the events, re-lived them enough that they no longer hurt, and ultimately, become grateful for them because I am a better person as a result of them.

I would not be as empathetic, as compassionate, as sensitive, as loving, as resilient, or as inspiring without each of the traumas that I have survived and flourished from.

Finding and reclaiming my voice has been a long journey, starting from when it was first silenced when I was very young. Unfortunately, there are no quick fixes to healing trauma. For me though, finding and using my voice has been integral.

My voice is not your voice. But there will be a voice that suits/fits you. It might come through painting, or fitness, or drawing, or dancing, or running groups, or volunteer work, or traveling, or it could be like mine, through writing. I implore you, if you have suffered and endure trauma, give it a voice.

Share the experience. You never know whom you may help.

You can explore this journey with me further on my Facebook page Tina K Meyer.

Quantum Hypnosis Healing Session

Man. My body is just so incredibly heavy. I saw my first client this afternoon, but just couldn't make it to the next one. I drove home with googly eyes, not wanting to focus on this reality, desiring to go inwards, to hide and to process and to feel. My throat and head was speedily filling with flu like symptoms, and a hot shower followed by winter pyjamas was calling my name.

I'm now on the lounge. The heaviness is still all through my body, forcing me to be quiet. But the heat of the water on my body has moved something.

Today was an amazing experience. I remember some of it. As part of the process, I need to listen to the recording at some point within the next three days. I will take notes.

I feel very validated. My experiences as a child were validated and residual anger released. And not just my family dysfunction. When I was young I had powerful, and often prophetic, dreams.

One in particular stands out. There was a massive train derailment. People in white were there salvaging what they could, supporting those still alive, there was devastation everywhere. The following morning I told my mum because it had been so lifelike. Later that day, the news revealed a massive train derailment in France and I watched, on the screen, what I had been part of the night before, in my sleep state.

Another that has stayed with me, not so much prophetic, possibly a reminder of my soul purpose after today's session, involved a massive war, armies marching against each other, and a young girl standing between them, coaxing the soldiers to turn inwards to see and feel their own hearts, accepting that war was not what they wanted. She was successful. I believed I was that girl, and that I possessed infinite power to bring healing to the planet.

In fact, when I first started teaching, I was interviewed by the local newspaper, alongside other teachers, and I expressed that my goal, my purpose, was to change the world. I stand with that now.

There is more than one way to achieve this.

Neither of these memories came forward in the session, but they have stayed with me since their arrival earlier this afternoon.

My session opened with my five year old self, wearing blue pants and a red skivvy jumper (it was the seventies). My practitioner, Gabrielle, asked questions so that I could convey what I was seeing. I was in the city. Terraced houses lined the streets. There was a bench. I was sitting on it. It was like a little community park amongst suburban urban.

I felt centred and grounded, but I was lost. I can still see myself so vividly. My dad came up to me, body-less. I could see the anger in his face, in the line of his jaw, a parent's fear. He was shaking me. My mum was standing behind him and to the side. Neither of them was their age now.

I retreated within myself. Outwardly I was calm, untouched, unmoved. Inwardly I was tense, and sobbing, and screaming. My fists were balled and rigid by my sides. I was there and not there, all at once. Gabrielle asked where my body was feeling the emotion. I replied, "In my stomach."

It was glowing red, hot, with bands of burning embers around the integral mass. She asked what I felt I needed to do to release this anger. I said I wanted to scream. She told me that if I felt safe, I should.

I did. A deep primal roar escaped my body, burning my throat on its way out, and tears came with it.

From there I moved to Bolivia. A man outside his white clay home. A toddler crawling in the dirt as his wife exited the door, carrying a basket with sticks. They were not sad, but not happy. There was something there.

We went backwards. She was lying in a blood drenched bed. She was screaming. Primal. Her baby had died. She could not have more children; her body had been ripped apart by this violent death birth.

The toddler was spirit. The toddler was staying with them. Her husband was outside, small, broken, grateful that she was alive, ashamed he could not protect her.

We returned to their present. As she came out with her basket of sticks, he moved towards her, their foreheads touching, eyes closed, and the connection drew pink energy from them, connecting them, and he held her. It was calm. Gentle. Pure love.

I think from there I left Earth. I became my alien self. Brown and green mottled reptilian skin. Thin legs and arms, big belly, his healing center, and typical alien shaped head with big eyes, surveying Saturn.

The next that I remember, and I feel there is a lot I just missed, was me surveying the universe and it's grid. Spears of energy were being focused in key aspects on Earth causing a bridge between galaxies. We were pure energy.

This is my future work. This is my purpose.

There is a lot more. For today though, this is enough.

No, I'm not crazy. Yes, I do believe all of what you have just read. We would be utterly ignorant to think we are all that there is. This is my truth. It is okay if it isn't yours. I won't judge you. Please, do not judge me.

🙏🏻

I’ll Tell You Why 

Warning: bad language in this post; it was directed towards me today – not from my mouth. 

                                       *****

It isn’t just young teachers leaving teaching. I’m an old teacher and I am leaving teaching. Today consolidated the decision and has accelerated it; I am motivated more than ever to find something else and build it. 

The hours are insane, the paperwork is ludicrous, but beyond that, teachers just aren’t respected anymore. We are treated like sub-humans. Continuously. 

I was humiliated today. Absolutely humiliated. I wanted to sit on the floor, rock myself and sob. But I couldn’t. I was on class. I was teaching. 

It’s a hard thing to deal with. You know you are worth more, you know that you don’t deserve it, but there are too many kids who don’t value us. 

I started the day positively. I was organised. I love the kids. I was happy to see them again. Happy to be there. The start of the final four days of a block in a faculty I love, run by a great Head Teacher whom I adore. 

One of the kids had other ideas. It started with whining and talking. It became whistling. It developed into tapping with swearing,”Fuck you.” Belligerent refusal to stop, to move, to put the phone away, to complete the work, to stop talking. The phone continued to be out. I confiscated it. I confiscated the pen that was used for the tapping. The child started arguing, loudly proclaiming that they weren’t going to follow my instructions until I gave them the phone back. They then started bullying other kids, pushing the buttons of a student they knew would freak out and react; he didn’t too much because he respects me. The child just kept going and going and going. They were removed by the Head Teacher. 

During Assembly, I politely asked a student if they were in the right line and I copped another mouthful, and when she finished her friend started. I was polite and just doing my job. 

Next two periods and playground duty were fine. 

Last period, the child from the morning banged on the classroom door as I was settling my class. The child then went to the windows, smiling and laughing, raised the middle finger to me and called out, “Fuck you”, “dickhead” and “arsehole.” 

Yep. I just wanted to curl up and bawl. This isn’t the life I want. This isn’t the world I want. 

Were there positives? Sure. A student who usually won’t do anything for me was so mortified that someone (except her) could treat me so badly so worked exceptionally during the lesson. I thanked her. The small windows we get. 

Teachers are leaving because we aren’t validated by our employers and their representatives. My Head Teacher applied for a formal caution. She received it. But I think the Deputy and the Principal should have suspended the child. For three out of the five periods she belittled me. 

I don’t deserve this. 

I left work feeling like a failure, mentally modifying the work that was left to try to mix things up for the kids, to try to engage this child. 

It isn’t right. Kids have license to abuse at least one staff member before they learn that their behaviour is unacceptable. 

And I’ll keep seeing the articles, Teachers leaving the profession, and reading everyone’s shock. Really? Kids have changed and as their behaviour has become worse, Principals and the Department have become softer. 

We need to look after the child’s welfare.

Sure. But who is looking after the teachers? 

I had to see a friend to debrief so I could come home relieved of pain. I’m now taking time out of my life to process it a bit more. And I’m exhausted. My plans for tonight will go by the wayside; my energy is depleted from staying calm and being professional whilst abuse was hurled at me repeatedly. 

Seriously. 

Goodbye teaching. We will be parting ways very soon. You have changed. It is you. And it is me; I know I’m worth more than this, and my life and the people in it deserve better than this. 

A Very Quiet Week 

Warning: further on in this post there are potential triggers for survivors and victims of childhood sexual abuse, and their parents. 
Between the business and casual teaching, I have had a work filled week which has permitted not much of anything else. But it’s been a calm and soul filling week. 

The kids at the school I am working a lot at are getting to know me and I am getting to know them. I like the staff I work directly with and am becoming a little emotionally connected. I have some blocks coming up too. 

But the exciting news is that tomorrow I leave for the US. In forty eight hours or so I will be reunited with two of my tribe (from our meeting in India last year) and I am so excited. Nervous – I hate being in the way (a value thing) – and excited. I can’t wait to be in their space and share energy with them. 

And the following week I head to Las Vegas for a friend’s wedding. And we are getting tattooed at Pussykat Tattoo Studio. And then she gets married and then I go to the Grand Canyon and then I fly home. A whirlwind trip incorporating time in two places I never thought of going to. 

This is what my gap year/mid life crisis is about: exploring life’s potential and trusting that where I am drawn to, I am meant to be. 

I have found a stillness within me. I’m meditating more and there is a calm in my mind and life. I am finding it infinitely easier to be and to exist for sustained periods of time in the present moment. I talk to my fear, to the odd pop of anxiety, to acknowledge it and then let it go. As a result, I am enjoying the things that I do because I am wholly present in them. 

Teaching is my means to an end. It pays the bills. My business, my study and my writing is my soul work. These light me from within and bring me home. 

I have always struggled to find inspiration and creative freedom to write whilst working, until now. During the week a block that I have found whilst writing my novel was lifted and I have been able to write in small chunks of time, at lunch, between clients, wherever I can, and it has just oozed out of me. 

I am at peace. I have found a type of balance. For now. Interestingly, I’m not taking a laptop with me on my travels – iPad yes, phone yes, laptop no. I hate taking it out of my bag continually at security checkpoints and don’t use it enough to justify it. I will use my phone and transfer it when I get home. 

My novel is about a teenage girl who is raped at a party. In the course of processing it, she learns more about herself, her friends, her family, and the world, than she ever wanted to know. It’s been easy to write at times and more difficult at others. I’ve been researching and have decided to include her mother’s perspective because the role of the mother, whilst pivotal, is never really explored. 

I think my recent experiences of helplessness – through the issue that resulted in the investigation last year – will enable me to empathise with the role of mother in these circumstances – the paralysis, the fear, the not wanting to open a hornet nest, etc. I will obviously also research in other ways. 

If you are the mother or father of a child who has been raped or sexually abused, I would love for you to write to me about your experiences if you feel that you can – not the specifics of the situation necessarily, but definitely your emotional/psychological journey. If you can

Our children live in such an unsafe and disconnected world, I fear for them. Manchester’s events rocked all of us during the week. Targeting young people specifically is a very cruel strategy. But when I reflected further, we always have targeted young people, just not as noisily or blatantly. 

The number of kids in care, or who should be, is ridiculous. The number of kids with parents who work so much they aren’t really present, grows. The number of kids subjected to sexual abuse, physical violence, neglect and emotional abuse, grows. CASA state that 20% of women and 10% of men have reported non-penetrative sexual assault occurred before they turned sixteen, and these numbers are significant disproportionate for indigenous adults. 

Childhood sexual abuse really has become and has stayed a silent epidemic. The long term impact of sexual abuse incapacitates adults, which impacts society. It is an issue that requires a higher social profile because it needs to stop. 

I know, am blessed to know many, and be, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I’m not whole. I am close to being whole. It has taken, and continues to take, effort and work to maintain emotional and psychological health. At forty six, the impact is significantly less on my life now than it used to be. I have worked hard and for a long time. 

I love that practice, I think Chinese, where the cracks in a bowl are filled with gold – a beautiful metaphor for survivors of trauma. It is our cracks that make us vulnerable to breakage but when filled, make us more resilient and more beautiful than we otherwise would have been. 

Yep. A quiet week but apparently not so quiet in my mind. 

Namaste 🙏🏻🦋

The Inevitable 

It’s 1.35 in the morning. I fell asleep on the lounge around 9.30 last night, waking up an hour ago. I’m now in bed but can’t sleep. I’m reflecting on my week. 

Last night I realized that the inevitable had happened. I have emotionally connected with and become attached to a group of adults and kids at another school. And, I’m okay with it. 

I’ve also realized that whilst I can come across as very arrogant, and at times, behave arrogantly, it’s mostly because I am really good at what I do. Not perfect but really good. And not acknowledged by those in charge, in a very broad sense, for it. I think the arrogance, if that is what it even is, stems from that quest for someone to acknowledge it. A result of damage and trauma no doubt. 

I had a success at work. It made my heart melt. I smiled inside all afternoon. I felt connection. 

There is a boy who struggles with change. The first few times I relieved for various teachers, he couldn’t even come into the room. On Monday he came into the room, and he stayed in the room even when he had the opportunity to leave. 

Yesterday he was reluctant to come into the room but did. And then he started to tease me and play with me. He smiled and he laughed and I just watched him blossom right in front of me into his potential as a happy person. It was so magickal. This transformation. Wow. He trusted me. 

It is such a gift to become the custodian of someone’s trust. As a teacher, it is our reward.

He completed no work but I have always maintained that to learn, we need to trust the teacher, and building that relationship takes time. Small steps. Being consistently in the unit is enabling and empowering me to build the relationships, with kids and with the staff. 

I think I’m feeling a return, from deep inside of my soul, to my passion for teaching, separate from the bullshit that can be the profession. A return to wanting to make a difference in people’s lives. To caring and to trust that caring is okay. 

And inevitably, this leads to an understanding of the extent to which last year has damaged me. I always trusted that my employers would look after me, and they didn’t. And this is why, even with renewed passion and yearning to make a difference, my days in the profession are restricted. 

Teachers need to feel empowered and inspired by the leaders in their organization, and that doesn’t happen. To ‘succeed’ you need to be a certain type of person, and that isn’t me, can’t be me, not interested in it being me. I have always created my own success in partnership with my kids. And that was enough for a very long time. 

But it isn’t anymore. I’ve lost respect for the institution. I don’t trust that the organization knows what is in the best interests of its ‘clients’, and that teachers are no longer empowered or supported to undertake their core duties. You need to look no further than NAPLAN reform and continual syllabi changes to see this. 

There needs to be fundamental change in every aspect of and at every level of the education machine in this country, and unfortunately, apart from the odd random twinge of politicalisation, I’m not interested in the fight. Maybe that spirit will return one day, but I don’t see it happening just now. 

Still too damaged. 

Awakening 

Surgery went well. I was exhausted by the end of yesterday, and only suffering discomfort and occasional pain in my nether regions. I’ll find out within two weeks if the material taken is cancerous or not. It will be fine regardless. 

Because surgery was unexpected, I had made big plans for yesterday, and there was no way I was missing either unless I was dead. 

My friends Kylie and Mel, and I, travelled to Berry for Alana Fairchild’s War Council of Love workshop. It was with Alana that I had completed the life transforming work in India last year. I’m sure you can understand why I was excited. 

Seventy women. I figured there would be many healers in that room and the energy would be healing for my battered body. I was correct. 

A massive day. A lot of introspection regarding our own healing needs before turning that towards healing the planet. The workshop culminated in group work. We listed the negative things we wanted vanquished from the world, designed a flag to wave for our cause and composed a war cry/chant. Ours was:

I am woman 

Hear me roar

We don’t want this shit

No more 

And then we roared. Truly liberating and powerful and hilarious. I think I’ve messed up the third line but you get the idea. The energy was palpable. 

Earlier in the day I had experienced a profound meditation. The first image was funny, literally a bird flying but a cut out photo of my face had been glued onto the bird’s face, but then it and I morphed into a most beautiful snow white owl. I was the owl, flying and staring intently into my eyes, letting me know that yesterday’s surgery was about cutting out my entire last 46 years so that the rest of my life would not be tainted by that trauma, pain, life. I was free to rebuild and transform, and the owl reminded me to never go backwards. 

Writing it now actually has enabled me to realize the magnitude and strength of the message of the meditation, more so than when I experienced it yesterday. 

Just, wow. 

I was then able to project healing strands of purple, white and silver ribbon from my heart into the room, around the people, and into the broader world. Empowering. 

There was a woman present yesterday. She was fundraising. For homeless women. Each week she gathers with them in a park in Sydney, providing lunch, for connection. It started many years ago as a small group and has grown. Our ability to impact the lives of others is profound; our actions do not have to be huge to be effective. I was very moved by her work. 

And I wonder what I can do to make a difference. 

Driving to Berry was magickal and driving home was magickal. The faerie folk are always present near Berry, their songs carried by the mist whilst their activities are protected. 


Oooh and a lyre bird ran out across the road in front of us on the way yesterday.  My belief in no coincidences lead me straight to Google. 


Similar words and sentiments were echoed throughout the workshop. It is always important to watch out for the messages we are given by the divine, whatever you might call that. 

I love Berry. It is beautiful. It possesses a beautiful energy, a rich indigenous energy, that eclipses time. It truly is a magickal place. 


And then, a very quick change of clothes, fresh makeup and I bolted to Campbelltown so that Margo and I would make it to The State Theatre in Sydney for Julia Morris. Almost a complete hour and a half of laughter for me. Laughter is great medicine for the soul. And I love it. 

And I love middle aged comediennes who subvert expectations of womanhood. Her language was foul: bold and empowered, and her humour was relatable, especially her anger at the world. And then, profound in its simple message. 

We all have choices. We choose how we will respond in any given situation. 

I sometimes choose anger to entertain, because my language is also foul and it makes others laugh, but also to release any pressure that may be building. Releasing it gradually ensures that I don’t blow and that I maintain some sort of equilibrium most of the time. 

I like the zen state. 

I like the peace. 

I like the knowledge that all will be okay, that all is as it should be, and that I will survive. 

It’s safe. 

Happy Mother’s Day. Commercial folly. It is Mother’s Day every day. 

Climate Change? Hmmm …

Throughout the years, I have had many discussions with intelligent people about the validity of climate change. Is the earth freezing inevitable? Historically, yes. This fast? Nup, I don’t think so. 

Regardless, I think we do need to look at the way that we live in the first world. We are disconnected, we are out of balance, and we have lost respect for the miracle of nature and it’s ecosystem. People, animals, the earth … all in crisis. 

Click the link. We have been on this planet for not much more than a blink of the eyes …

http://youtu.be/VrzbRZn5Ed4

“Trauma not transformed becomes trauma transferred.”

Below is a link to a TED Talk presented by Ashley Judd. It has strong language content (including the c word) and some possible triggers for trauma in all its guises (in particular sexual assault and/or domestic violence). 

But it is amazing. 

Ashley Judd is a Hollywood actress and is outspoken. She speaks up. In fact, I should have introduced her as an activist first. That says something. 

Her talk focuses on gender trolling online and how that manifests in women’s real lives. Some of you may roll your eyes at this point, maybe stop reading, maybe not click the link. It will not only be your loss but also the world’s loss. She has some things to say that we all need to hear. And that we need to act on. 

Now. 

I have seen this gender specific trolling in comments on posts on Facebook (my social media addiction of choice). They appear whenever a woman voices an opinion. The trolling is designed to minimise the voices of women and terrify women into submission. 

It is disgusting. 

When we minimise, demonise or objectify women, we are changing the fabric and humanity of society. The consequences of this serve none of us in the long term. 

We all need to be supported to fulfil our potential and purpose in living. For anyone to intentionally bring another person down and corrupt this process is not only reprehensible but also exceptionally dangerous. When we are treated as less than, the ripple effect permanently changes the world we live in. Trauma not transformed becomes trauma transferred, and we are all responsible for minimising the impact of trauma as well as the incidence of it. 

I hope you ‘enjoy’ the talk. 

How online abuse of women has spiraled out of control https://www.ted.com/talks/ashley_judd_how_online_abuse_of_women_has_spiraled_out_of_control