It’s Women in Horror Month once again!

Today I thought I’d provide some timely food for thought.

This has been on my mind lately. In every family, in every house, in every neighborhood, there is so much we don’t see, and so much we don’t say. Sometimes what is happening is right in front of us, but still, there’s no way to know, even if you’ve had a million conversations with someone, exactly what is happening behind closed doors.

Delilah S. Dawson says it well in a recent blog post:

“The thing is, looking at someone, you have no idea what struggle they’re going through or what they’ve experienced. You don’t know which thin girl is sad, which fat girl thinks she’s fucking awesome, which person is wrestling a devil or kicking ass in ways they never dreamed of. You don’t know who fights depression or social anxiety, who has cuts all up their thighs, or who is going home to another inescapable black eye. Everyone is fighting a fight you can’t see, and most of us are hiding it behind a smile.”

The domestic is the source of so much horror in women and by women.

Sometimes what’s even worse is the horror you don’t see, that is hidden in the spaces between the words.