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A review by sholey_woolv101
Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture by Roxane Gay
5.0
First off, if me reading this book makes you uncomfortable, I do not care. If you think I am a child who shouldn't be reading this, then let me make it clear: I am a child who has lived this. I am a child who has survived this. I have walked through darkness and clawed my way back. If this book disturbs you, imagine how much more disturbing it is to live in the reality it describes.
Not That Bad doesn’t sugarcoat. It doesn’t let the world look away. It forces you to see the failures—the broken systems, the gaslighting, the silence victims are forced into. It rips away the excuses. It demands accountability.
One quote that gutted me:
“Anger is the privilege of the truly broken, and yet, I've never met a woman who was broken enough that she allowed herself to be angry.”
Because I’ve felt that. I’ve swallowed my anger because people told me to be calm, to not be dramatic, to let it go. Like anger itself was the problem and not what was done to me.
Another line that shattered me:
“Because I questioned myself and my sanity and what I was doing wrong in this situation. Because of course I feared that I might be overreacting, overemotional, oversensitive, weak, playing victim, crying wolf, blowing things out of proportion, making things up.”
That is what we are made to believe. That our pain is inconvenient. That our stories are too much. That our truth needs to be cut down, softened, made easier for everyone else to digest.
And then this:
"Because girls are coached out of the womb to be nonconfrontational, agreeable, solicitous, deferential, demure, nurturing, to be tuned in to others, and to shrink and shut up. Because speaking up for myself was not how I learned English. Because I'm fluent in Apology, in Question Mark, in Giggle, in Bowing Down, in Self-Sacrifice.”
I felt this in my bones. Because I know what it’s like to shrink myself down so I don’t make people uncomfortable. I know what it’s like to carry the weight of what happened and still be expected to be kind, to be gentle, to be everything the world wants me to be.
And then this:
“…it erases you. Your own desires, your safety and well-being, your ownership of the body that may very well have been the only thing you ever felt sure you owned—all of it becomes irrelevant, even nonexistent. You don’t need to be a helpless, innocent child to be changed by that.”
This book gave words to the things I have felt but never knew how to say. It is painful. It is raw. It is necessary.
Some people will say it’s “too much.” That it’s “hard to read.” But imagine how much harder it is to live.
I recommend Not That Bad because it demands that you listen, even when it’s uncomfortable. It is not just a book—it is a call for accountability.
Not That Bad doesn’t sugarcoat. It doesn’t let the world look away. It forces you to see the failures—the broken systems, the gaslighting, the silence victims are forced into. It rips away the excuses. It demands accountability.
One quote that gutted me:
“Anger is the privilege of the truly broken, and yet, I've never met a woman who was broken enough that she allowed herself to be angry.”
Because I’ve felt that. I’ve swallowed my anger because people told me to be calm, to not be dramatic, to let it go. Like anger itself was the problem and not what was done to me.
Another line that shattered me:
“Because I questioned myself and my sanity and what I was doing wrong in this situation. Because of course I feared that I might be overreacting, overemotional, oversensitive, weak, playing victim, crying wolf, blowing things out of proportion, making things up.”
That is what we are made to believe. That our pain is inconvenient. That our stories are too much. That our truth needs to be cut down, softened, made easier for everyone else to digest.
And then this:
"Because girls are coached out of the womb to be nonconfrontational, agreeable, solicitous, deferential, demure, nurturing, to be tuned in to others, and to shrink and shut up. Because speaking up for myself was not how I learned English. Because I'm fluent in Apology, in Question Mark, in Giggle, in Bowing Down, in Self-Sacrifice.”
I felt this in my bones. Because I know what it’s like to shrink myself down so I don’t make people uncomfortable. I know what it’s like to carry the weight of what happened and still be expected to be kind, to be gentle, to be everything the world wants me to be.
And then this:
“…it erases you. Your own desires, your safety and well-being, your ownership of the body that may very well have been the only thing you ever felt sure you owned—all of it becomes irrelevant, even nonexistent. You don’t need to be a helpless, innocent child to be changed by that.”
This book gave words to the things I have felt but never knew how to say. It is painful. It is raw. It is necessary.
Some people will say it’s “too much.” That it’s “hard to read.” But imagine how much harder it is to live.
I recommend Not That Bad because it demands that you listen, even when it’s uncomfortable. It is not just a book—it is a call for accountability.