Megan Wray

Intro to “I Am Not Your Monster” Content warning: rape, sexual assault We all know the story of Medusa: the infamous femme fatale whose tale takes place far before the phrase was even coined. The cursed beast who bears poisonous snakes as hair and fangs as teeth. Medusa: the dangerously powerful monster whose horrendous face freezes those that simply gaze upon her into stone. Medusa: the villain. Medusa is everywhere. We know her name, and we know her story – but do we really? Let’s back up and revisit the original myth. nThe woman we now know as the fierce creature with greenish skin and serpents as locks wasn’t always this way. Medusa was a priestess to the Virgin Goddess, Athena, and had taken a vow to remain celibate. Yet, Medusa’s oath was horrifically shattered when Poseidon, god of the sea, earthquakes, and horses, raped and impregnated her in Athena’s temple. Rather than targeting her wrath of this betrayal on the rapist himself, Athena directed it towards Medusa. Athena was so furious that Medusa was no longer “virginal” — despite it not being her choice — that she cursed her with a hideous face. A face so hideous it was powerful. While Athena intended Medusa’s new look to be a burden, it actually came with great strength: the ability to turn onlookers into stone. But that isn’t where her story ends. After being sent by his dishonourable soon-to-be father-in-law and king, Polydectes, on a quest for a trophy of a wedding gift that will surely get him killed, Perseus beheads Medusa. Perseus bags Medusa’s head and discovers her powers remain potent posthumous. The half-god slayer exploits Medusa’s abilities, turning opponents into stone, before gifting the head to Athena. The Goddess fashions the head as a shield, or aegis, for protection; collects her blood which, when coming from the proper side of her body, has the power to kill or to resurrect, respectively; and cuts a lock of her hair which holds its own weaker, but highly protective abilities. Medusa’s body faces constant commodification throughout the tale. As horrific as this misogynistic story is and as inconceivable as it should seem, it’s not. It’s not even irrelevant. It’s relatable. Medusa’s story opens the gate for so many important conversations. We have to be critical of the voices who are shaping the stories we know. We have to know if we are only hearing the Poseidons and Perseus’ of the world. We have to listen for the Medusas.   Originally published in Willow Press’ Wild: Vol. 3