Barbara Wiener: September Light - The Moth

Summary

Summary of "Barbara Wiener: September Light" from The Moth Podcast

Episode Title: September Light
Host: The Moth
Storyteller: Barbara Wiener
Release Date: March 26, 2012

Introduction to the Story

In the episode titled "September Light," Barbara Wiener shares a deeply personal and harrowing experience that has profoundly shaped her life. Told with raw emotion and vivid imagery, her narrative explores themes of trauma, resilience, and healing.

Background and Setting

Barbara begins by contrasting the distinctive September light in Minnesota with her upbringing in the South. She describes the light as "golden and cool, and the sky is the most vivid side of blue that I've ever seen" (00:03). This appreciation sets the scene for the life-altering events that unfold.

She provides context about her family background, mentioning her father’s role in the space program and his belief in hard work as the key to achieving one's desired life. Barbara reflects, "if you worked hard, you could make the life you wanted. And if you didn't have the life you wanted, you weren't working hard enough" (00:04). This mindset heavily influenced her own drive to be a professional and adhere strictly to societal expectations.

The Encounter

On a beautiful September afternoon, at the age of 29, Barbara recounts a terrifying encounter in her Minneapolis apartment. She hears a knock at the door and encounters a man who initially claims to have lost his dog (02:59). Her intuition raises red flags when he writes down an incomplete phone number, and the situation swiftly escalates as he reveals a gun.

Barbara describes the moment with powerful imagery: "his [gun] was backlit by this extraordinary, beautiful September golden light" (03:10). Faced with imminent danger, she experiences a flood of emotions and a profound realization of her mortality. She states, "I knew I was going to die... I have postponed my life... I just wasted it" (03:30).

The Aftermath

Miraculously, the man decides to spare her life, leaving after ensuring she remained still for 15 minutes. Barbara later learns that he was a convicted rapist on parole, which intensifies the trauma of the experience. She reflects on the systemic failures in addressing his previous crimes and the randomness of victimization.

In the police lineup, she recognizes him by his demeanor: "he walks up to the glass and says, I lost my dog... but my body knows" (05:00). This moment solidifies the lasting impact of the encounter, as she connects with other survivors who share similar pain and recovery journeys.

The Healing Process

Barbara discusses her initial coping mechanisms, which involved immersing herself in work to avoid confronting her nightmares and emotional turmoil. Her obsessive focus on her job led to strained relationships and a sense of isolation. She admits, "I was spinning out of control. I was in control... I was vanishing" (07:00).

A turning point occurs when a friend encourages her to seek therapy. Initially hesitant, Barbara eventually commits to sessions with her therapist, Ingrid. She shares a pivotal moment: "If you don't jump off a bridge, I won't abandon you" (09:00). This metaphorical promise from Ingrid becomes a lifeline for Barbara, anchoring her in moments of deep despair.

Through continued therapy, Barbara begins to untangle her trauma, likening her fragmented self to "a hard, plastic, clear shell that was filled with all of this spinning, sticky, black" (08:30). The support from Ingrid helps her navigate the darkest parts of her psyche, fostering gradual healing.

Reflecting on the Experience

Nearly three decades later, Barbara attends a community meeting where she shares her story again. This time, she connects with another woman who has endured similar trauma. Barbara reflects on the evolution of her healing journey, describing her past self as "completely obsessive compulsive" and her present state as "a little more like a mosaic now" (13:00).

She emphasizes the strength found in shared experiences and collective healing: "that tiny places between those broken spaces was filled with these people's stories" (14:00). This mosaic metaphor illustrates how individual stories, when combined, create a resilient and interconnected community.

Conclusion and Insights

Barbara concludes her narrative by returning to the symbolism of the September light. She notes that the sky's beauty has only deepened over the years, serving as a reminder of her journey from chaos to coherence: "that sky is more and more beautiful than it was even 27 years ago" (14:00). Her story underscores the transformative power of storytelling, community support, and the enduring human spirit.

Notable Quotes with Timestamps

Describing the September Light:
- "The light in September in Minnesota is unlike any light anywhere else I've ever been. It's golden and cool, and the sky is the most vivid side of blue that I've ever seen." (00:03)
Family Motto and Personal Drive:
- "If you worked hard, you could make the life you wanted. And if you didn't have the life you wanted, you weren't working hard enough." (00:04)
Realization of Mortality:
- "I knew I was going to die... I have postponed my life... I just wasted it." (03:30)
Therapist’s Lifeline:
- "If you don't jump off a bridge, I won't abandon you." (09:00)
Healing as a Mosaic:
- "That sky is more and more beautiful than it was even 27 years ago." (14:00)

Impact and Legacy

Barbara Wiener, founder of TV by Girls and an acclaimed documentary filmmaker, uses her platform to empower teen girls through media and leadership. Her story, as told on The Moth, not only highlights her personal resilience but also serves as a beacon of hope and solidarity for others who have endured similar traumas.

For More Information:
Visit The Moth to explore more stories and upcoming live events.

Transcript

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Dan Kennedy (2:09)

Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. Hey. Join us in Milwaukee on Thursday, May 17 when the moth presents past tense future stories about generations that will be at the Pabst Theater. For ticketing information and for a list of all our tour stops this spring, visit themoth.org the story you're about to hear by Barbara Weiner was told when the Moth visited Minnesota Public Radio's Fitzgerald Theater last year. And a warning before we get started, Barbara's story recounts sexual violence and and it might be difficult for some of our podcast listeners to hear, so we wanted to say something about that. The Theme of the night was When Worlds Collide. Stories from the Clash.

Barbara Wiener (2:59)

The light in September in Minnesota is unlike any light anywhere else I've ever been. It's golden and cool, and the sky is the most vivid side of blue that I've ever seen. Now, I really appreciate that because I grew up in the south, where the light does not change very much. You see, my dad worked for the space program, so he was this crazy rocket scientist narcissist. And our family motto was that if you worked hard, you could make the life you wanted. And if you didn't have the life you wanted, you weren't working hard enough. Now, I was, as he said, strong willed. And so, given that I was going to be a professional. And so that's what I did. I was a professional, and I was going to be a solid, shiny, I'll play by all the rules. Now. One beautiful, beautiful September afternoon. I was 29, and I was in my apartment in Minneapolis, and I heard a knock at the door. And I open it up, and there in the hallway is a man in a suit. And I thought, oh, that's a little odd. But he immediately told me he had lost his dog. And I was, of course, completely softened. And I said, oh, you know, I bike. Just give me your phone number. I'll find your dog. I'll call you. And I handed him a pad of paper and a pen. And he didn't take my pen. Instead, he took one out of his suit pocket and he wrote a number down. And he handed me back the pad. And I looked at it, and there weren't enough numbers to make a telephone number. And I felt hot. And I heard the sound in the back of my head that was like those giant breakers on buildings. And you pull it down and it makes that boom sound. And there was this steel on steel sound. And I looked up from this pad of paper, and he had a gun. I'm in my bedroom, and I'm standing in front of the mirror, and I can see him holding the gun. And he is backlit by this extraordinary, beautiful September golden light. And he says, take off your clothes. And then he reaches over and he closes the blind and cuts off the light. I remember the feeling of the lace on my back. I remember a sound of this garage sale that was right next door outside my window. And there were people laughing and talking and music playing. And then I felt the gun on my thigh. And I thought, no, I knew I was going to die. And I thought, oh, my God, I have postponed my life. You know, I have been doing this, A plus, everything, all together, keeping it solid, sort of creating some future that I was going to step in sometimes later, and I was going to have it all over again. And I just wasted it. And I didn't get it. I just didn't get it. And I look up into his eyes, like, looking for an answer, and I see this chaos, this black tornado, barbed wire, sticky, swirling chaos. And I get it that I'm not going to be able to work harder and get out of this. I'm not going to be able to negotiate harder or work smarter or work shinier. I am going to die. And there is nothing I can do about it. And I stopped. And he reached inside me and he broke something I didn't even know was there. I surrendered. And he smiled and it was over. You're a nice girl, he said. I wish we had met under other circumstances. I really like you. I'm going to go now and I don't want you to move for 15 minutes. So I lay on the bed for 15 minutes. I look at the clock. It's 4:00. I'm not going to move. I know how to follow the rules. And then he does come back and he checks to make sure I hadn't moved. And he is so pleased that I didn't move. And then he leaves. They catch him the next week, and at the police lineup, I find out that he actually had raped women before me and after me, and in fact had been serving a life sentence for rape, but had behaved very well. And he had been on parole now for a month. In the lineup, he walks up to the glass and says, I lost my dog. And I don't know if it's him, but my body knows. And I feel this electrical charge go through me. And the other women are there, too, and they are weeping and shaking and falling apart. And everyone is so gentle with them. And I am so gentle with them. I comfort them and I can do this. I'm going to be okay. I'm fine. The rape counselor that I saw said I was doing great. And after two sessions, she said I didn't have to come back. And I guess I was doing great. I mean, I still had nightmares and I was throwing up, but, you know, hey, I can do that. And then I got a job a few months later, my first job in tv. And I was a pa, and I was terrific. I was completely obsessive compulsive. I was focused. I was organized. I was working six, 16 hours a day. I was working like my life depended on it. Because you know what? It did. I had the choice between work or nightmares and who wouldn't choose work. Then my girlfriend started fleeing because, you know, it was six months and I should have been over this, and I was actually worse than I seemed to be at the beginning. And they couldn't figure it out, and they couldn't tell me everything was going to be okay, because it wasn't. And it was just easier to slowly step out of my life. And then a few months after that, I have a big fight with my rocket scientist crazy father, and the family who are living out of state, don't call anymore. And you know what? We couldn't fix it. I couldn't fix it. They couldn't fix it. We don't like not fixing it. And so maybe it was a little better we didn't talk. I was spinning out of control. I was in control. I was holding on so tight that I had become this hard, plastic, clear shell that was filled with all of this spinning, sticky, black. I was holding on so tight, I was vanishing. I couldn't even find me in there anymore. And so a friend who actually lived out of town so she didn't have to deal with me every day so she could hang in there a little bit, gave me a phone of a therapist she had seen. And I, every day for a couple of weeks, would call the number, and then I'd hang up because I thought, what if she tells me I'm supposed to be okay? Then what do I do? I mean, I didn't know anyone who had ever been raped. And I didn't even know that you could come out the other side. I had no idea that there was any other side. And I was terrified to have someone tell me I was. You know, I had to work harder because I couldn't work any harder. One day, I actually let it ring through. And the next day, I met Ingrid. And she did not tell me I was okay. In fact, she told me I should come in three times a week. And I did. And I started talking, and I talked and I talked, and I told my story again. And I told it again. And I was just saying, why? Why do I have to keep telling this story? And yet I couldn't stop. And she said, that's how people heal. Well, one day I went in and I didn't have any more words. I couldn't tell it anymore. I realized that I've come to this place. The spinning had taken over, and I wished I had died that day. And there was a lot of silence. And she looked at me and she knew, and she said, okay, I'm going to make you a deal. If you don't jump off a bridge, I won't abandon you. And I didn't even realize that that's what it was. Everything I thought I knew about the world was gone. And everything felt like I was abandoned. And if I was abandoned, I was alone in that black chaos, and Ingrid was not going to abandon me. And then I started to heal. About 10 years later, I was sitting in a community meeting next to an older woman. It was one of those crime meetings, you know, where something's gone in the neighborhood and we're all sitting there. And I told her my story. I mean, just a little bit of it. But I told her my story, and she told me hers. Something that had happened 35 years before and she hadn't told anyone. And, you know, I realized that I could hear her story in a way I never could before, that my listening was different. It's been 27 years since that day in September. And I wasn't able to put those pieces back together again into that whole shiny, solid surface. But it's a little more like a mosaic now, and, you know, it's okay. And I realized as I told my story, all kinds of stories, people started telling me their stories, all kinds of stories. And I started hearing it, and I think they did, too. And I realized that that tiny places between those broken spaces was filled with these people's stories. And in fact, that mosaic is really strong because it's filled, glued together with people's stories. And every September, this last one, when I feel that golden, golden light, I remember that that sky is more and more beautiful than it was even 27 years ago. Thank you.