The view was breathtaking.
I was at a mansion in Beverly Hills, having just watched some fire dancers put on an amazing show.
I took a break to go back to the upper level of the mansion grounds, and look out over the hills on the rest of Los Angeles. I thought back to Vibegala 1 and 2, and how I had done the same back then. Those were my first real mansion parties, and I still remember the first time I looked out over the Berkeley Hills.
I felt the same things both times: Overwhelmed, and thankful. I had come to LA for this party after a few chance interactions led to getting an invite, and was doing okay so far. I shared a gaze with a woman who had split dye hair, very similar to my own. Her eyes were welcoming, and I managed a weak smile in response to the warmth that radiated from her.
I continued walking around, and as the night drew on the careful work of the last few months started to undo itself. There were a lot of people here and I think it was too soon for me to be around a crowd that large again after what I had been through.
The setting reminded me of Vibegala, and Vibegala reminded me of Vibecamp. I remembered how I had been sexually assaulted, I remembered how my trust had been violated. A short few hours before the event, I had hoped these awful feelings wouldn’t make an appearance.
They did, and my thoughts started racing. I shouldn’t have come.
I did another lap around the grounds, and ran into that same woman again. She asked me a fateful question.
How’s your night going?
I considered my options for a few seconds. I had internalized a lot of what was said in the Vibecamp community after I talked about being sexually assaulted publicly, and all the intellectualizing that excused it. One response in particular had always disturbed me: This culture is not designed for you.
I really, really, wanted to lie to her. To say everything was great and not be a bother. I was terrified that if I told her the truth, I would again hear some permutation of if you’re not happy here, you don’t belong here.
Something in her eyes told me she wanted to hear the truth, so I was honest. I told her that I was having a challenging night and wasn’t sure if I really belonged in this community.
She looked into my eyes, and took my right hand. I took her left in mine, and we squeezed each other tightly. She spoke with a strong, but comforting voice, and said:
I see you.
We shared a few perfect minutes of silent connection. She eventually needed to leave, but as we parted she hugged me tightly and said she hoped that I would be at a future event.
At an event a few months earlier of an adjacent community, another woman took my hand in hers when I was having a challenging time. It’s a gesture that’s really special to me because of what it can communicate: Sisterhood, support, and shared humanity.
It was a turning point in my healing. The dark clouds I saw everywhere begin to clear. It was a beautiful moment that showed me even amongst opulent expressions of artistry and hedonism, there are people who will hold your hand when you need it.
If you give them a chance.
