Survivor Me

As a survivor of intrafamilial childhood sexual trauma, I have worked tirelessly to no longer be traumatized. It has been hard, gritty work. I can’t sugar coat that it has taken a long time. I also can’t sweeten the fact that it’s been harder than obtaining any of my accomplishments, running a marathon, or going through any breakup.

Nothing else has compared.

But I guess my healing journey wasn’t a singular event like those things, or even a five-year process. My traumatic experiences colored the backdrop of my life. In order to alter my life’s home screen, it took choosing courage again and again and again. It was a process of numbing, avoiding, and approaching on a seemingly never-ending loop.

They say love is the opposite of fear. So, what, then, is courage?  

I can still physically experience the nerves I felt when I sat down to my first session as a participant in a research study for MDMA assisted psychotherapy for PTSD. The same nerves I’d felt a thousand times before when I sat down with a new therapist, or tried a new treatment, or contemplated broaching the subject of my trauma. I remember saying through tears,

“I’m not trying to bask in self-pity, but I’m just wondering how many more moments of courage I’m going to need to dig up.”

I wished the therapist could give me an exact answer.  

I’d grown sick of having to be courageous. I’d grown tired. How many first therapy sessions, ayahuasca retreats, or survivor groups would I have to experience? How many people would I have to disclose to, and how many symptoms would I have to overcome? But when I take them in full, every one of those moments added up to something like a transformation. It was bit by bit and then it was all at once.    

This doesn’t mean that things are perfect now. It doesn’t mean that my traumatic experiences don’t impact me on a daily basis, or that I don’t still have many things to work on. It hasn’t disappeared from my past or history, it is a fundamental part of me, for better or worse.

But it does mean that I’m no longer living in constant reaction to what happened. It means that I am no longer unconsciously reacting and blindly repeating. It means that I am no longer triggered on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis. Something that may have spun me out for a week, now comes and goes in a few seconds. There’s a brightness I didn’t know before. There’s a new sense of agency and control over my life. 

It’s not just the trauma itself I’ve had to heal from, but the work has been ripe with untangling so many beliefs––the understanding of love, sex, parenthood, childhood, boundaries, trust, safety, intimacy, and connection. And so many more.

One of the most painful aspects of sexual trauma, and really any type of childhood abuse­, is the direct impact on the most beautiful part of life–love. By its very nature, love is clouded, confusing, chaotic, painful as hell, and something to avoid. It took me a long time to welcome love in.

One of the most devastating and astounding aspects of this journey, is that for three decades I was on this path alone. Over the years I had many trusted therapists who walked alongside me, but I kept it tightly hidden from everyone else.

When I had intense trauma reactions, I lied. I told people I had migraines, or that I was tired, or that I got into a fight with a boyfriend, not what was really going on­––reliving my past without the words to describe it. Nights on the floor of my apartment contemplating quitting. How dangerously close I’d come. Days zoned out in front of the TV eating Reese’s peanut butter cup after peanut butter cup, then showing up to work the next day professional and polished. Running for hours, training for marathons back-to-back without rest, the racking up of weekly mileage the only way to release the anxiety and find some relief from the memories that held me captive.

All this, and nobody knew. All the how are yous and the catching up with friends and phone calls with family. All these moments I was hiding, the same smile coming over my face, sharing the details about my life minus the huge, ever present, achingly painful secret I was grappling with.

For someone who is a verbal processor and loves being connected to friends and family, this was a large and constant departure from my true self. I felt inherently bad, secretive, shameful, like a liar. For three decades, I was alone, sitting in my own shame.

I’ve stopped hiding though. Because I’ve realized, hiding your true self is no way to live. Also, this isn’t my shame to hold!! And if you too are a survivor, it’s not yours either. It was easier for me to find self-compassion for what happened to me during childhood. It was harder to give myself grace for the ways I behaved as a teenager or adult. Ways that I re-created or coped with the trauma that made me feel bad about myself. But part of the work is finding forgiveness for those parts too. And then doing better.  

I’ve had a hard time connecting to the word survivor as part of my identity. I never wanted to use it as a privilege or a stamp of validation that I should be heard. But when I really think of that word, survivor, I think about all the moments that it could have gone a different way. How many there were. How my abuser would never have been seen for who he is. How I would have been deemed a depressed kid, or teenager, or twenty something, or thirty something, and nobody would have known the truth.

But that’s not what happened. I kept showing up and taking those leaps of courage. Even when I didn’t want to. I sat in denial for large chunks of time, a subconscious strategy to breathe and take a break. I drank too much and ate too much and smoked too much and ran too much and worked too much and starved too much. I did what I needed to do to survive. So yes, I’m a survivor. And I’m proud of that.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that I’m not suffering anymore. While I write these words, I feel the tears welling in my eyes as I look back on myself. That I am still the only one to truly bear witness to this darkness, and somehow, I was able to find love for myself and get through it. It’s not to say that I’m not hard on myself or disappointed in myself at times. But I continuously showed up for myself and I saw myself through.

And maybe that’s, in part, how I learned to trust myself, and then, love myself. (I learned to love myself! Can you fucking believe that!?) And now, I have the things in my life that I never dreamed I would get. That I never thought I deserved. But I feel like I deserve them now. Not because I’m special, but because I’m worthy. I love myself now. I know how to advocate for myself now. I know how to take care of myself now.

And now, I’d like to share who I am and what I’ve been learning with you.

You’re not alone. XOXO  

Resources for additional help & support:

For resources, self-care tools, and information visit RAINN, the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization: https://www.rainn.org

To find therapists, support groups and resources visit the WINGS Foundation: https://www.wingsfound.org

Trusted Sexual Violence Resources – helpingsurvivors.org/resources/

Helping Survivors – helpingsurvivors.org