Written by Kaitlynne Rainne, Photo courtesy of Equal Parts
Real women. Real stories. Her story.
Fleeing your home because of political unrest. Fighting to tell your story when you are not believed. Surviving and telling your story. Being a woman in a “man’s world.” Navigating the impacts of trauma and abuse. This is where we find the many women in the “Global Shorts Forum: ‘HER Story.'”
Though their journeys are unique to them, there is one thing they have common: The female perspective never comes without an uphill battle.
Starting off the screenings was the short film “Hysterical Girl,” which covers the story of a teenage girl in the early 1900s. She is sexually harassed and sent for treatment only to be called hysterical when she voices her story.
Does this sound familiar? If you said yes, then you would be right. Because in 2020, a century later, women still face the same struggle.
The comments “ludicrous” and “hysterical” linger in the background because there is still a distortion in the gender and consent narrative. A distortion that, unfortunately, does not cease to exist when journalists scramble to get a headline but continues within a woman’s home.
A home. A refuge. A safe place.
How do you find a safe place when the space that should be safe is not? For the women in “A Syrian Woman,” it meant leaving their country and most of their families behind to find peace. For Kimberly Landle in “Kim,” it meant filing a restraining order against her ex-lover and turning to dance.
“You got to create something to release something,” she says.
For the woman in “Keep Breathing,” it meant repeating herself again and again. It meant fighting for her abuser to recognize that she was speaking and not stopping until he did. And not stopping until he recognized the gravity of what he had done.
“HER Story” had me teary-eyed as I watched and listened to each story. I have my own story of trauma and, like Christy in “Hello from Taiwan,” it started at a young age.
Watching her parents’ relationship fall apart while she was caught in the middle was an all-too-familiar feeling. One that left me wanting to turn away, but I continued to watch. Why? Because these are real stories. Because I am a real woman. And while it could be easier to go for the laugh, I choose the truth.
The truth does not mean I am broken. It does not mean survivors are broken. It does not mean that those who suffer from PTSD or depression are broken. It means that we are a million pieces that have been glued back together. It means that we can forgive ourselves for feeling guilty. And for feeling heavy by being women.
Ultimately, our journey — the female perspective — has been met with many uphill battles. Does that mean we shy away from the stories? Does that mean we turn off the TV or close our social media feeds when things become uncomfortable? No. We power through. We work to create that safe space we need to release the trauma. We see through to the very end and tell these stories because we are real women with real stories.
We are “HER Story.”
