When Kitty recently played this week's Song of the Week selection, we both sang away with defiant ownership and I knew it would end up here soon. She probably doesn't remember a time when she didn't know the lyrics as well as The Alphabet Song or The Lord's Prayer. When the song was released in March 1987 I was in the process of escaping an abusive marriage and starting life anew for our little family of four. After dizzying, uncertain, and mostly terrifying months that involved living in a women and children's shelter, a lot of police visits and court dates, we'd finally moved into a small townhouse of our own. We didn't have much but it was an enormous improvement and safety tops a fancy home or furnishings. One of the first things I bought was a used boom box. I'd scout thrift stores for used CDs and friends gifted me new releases to build my library. Our home would be filled with music.
This song was my anthem of empowerment. Playing constantly, it reinforced my growing acceptance of all the parts of my personality that had been beaten down. The only time a neighbour had to knock on my door to tell me to turn my music down was probably because they were sick of hearing me belting this out on a never-ending loop. Though a little embarrassed, I kept turning to it for inspiration and to help fight the fear that would take years to come to terms with. While I taught my children to sing 'witch,' I was learning who I was deep down, where my strength fortified me, and it was a daily discovery. Fear and self-doubt riddled me but there's a survivor spirit in my DNA. In retrospect I did myself and my loved ones a huge disservice by not taking enough time to continue that journey.
As spring and summer rolled on, I'd begun casually seeing someone and I thought he might be the stronger man. It turns out he wasn't. He took more from me than the one who left me concussed with bruises and bitemarks. What he, Mister Nice Guy, taught me is that a wolf in sheep's clothing excels at slowly and insidiously chipping away at your core, feasting on everything down to the marrow. If you're not careful, they'll drain you until you're of no further use, walking away to use the next person to enrich themselves, leaving you a bloody bag of bones as the hyenas nip at your heels.
Nobody was ever worth losing my right to be treated with fairness and respect, even though I am an imperfect and complex work-in-progress. He once commented early in our relationship that it was amazing I wasn't a man-hater after what I'd been through. While I still don't generalize, the damage he did managed to accomplish what the first guy didn't: there will never again be another man I can trust enough to share my life with in anything other than a superficial way. Most days that's a good thing (because they tend to be a lot of bother) but there are times when what he stole from me gets me pissed off all over again. That's when I pull out this week's song, Bitch by Meredith Brooks, turn it up loud, sing out the feels and embrace it all.
Brooks described the song as being about self-acceptance, referring to the word "bitch" as a term of endearment. Brooks intended to reclaim the word, removing the pejorative connotations surrounding it. She further explained the meaning of the song:
From Wiki: "The song was performed as part of Brooks' opening set on The Rolling Stones' Bridges to Babylon Tour. Brooks left the stage early after the audience began booing and throwing bottles, batteries, and coins at her. In response, Brooks cited the crowd's behavior as misogynistic and illustrative of the dangers of mob mentality."
Allow Anscrming to assure you of this: the Bitch I am today would get up on stage with her to throw the projectiles back at them. When life hands you lemons...work on your aim. #SorryNotSorry