I am a distance runner at heart. I am painfully slow but can go and go and go. Having
spent several years training for races including several halfs and a full marathon, I gave it all up cold turkey for a full year. During that year, I focused solely on my yoga practice. I had practiced yoga casually for years, and always found it helpful. After a difficult
breakup, yoga helped me to reconnect with my self and get a hold of anger and sadness.
Yoga helped me appreciate what my body can do and learn to like it a little more. And in
the wake of trauma, yoga helped me reconnect with my body and dissipate the traumatic
energy I was so deeply holding inside. Yet, this year was different. I was able to turn
inward and develop a deeper practice, and more so, figure out ways to carry my practice
into my way of living. What made it so wonderful was that I was able to focus on this
work in a trauma-informed studio.
In 2001 and 2007, I was raped. First by someone I knew and after by a stranger who
attempted to take every last bit of dignity and life from me. A lengthy, arduous court
process sent me spiraling. Running got my through that year good enough. I had done
quite a bit of healing, working the nooks and crannies of trauma that seemed trapped in
my body and spirit. Counseling, support groups, art, and exercise helped me through. In
2009 I founded a nonprofit called Voices, Inc. that seeks to provide creative avenues for
healing for survivors of sexual violence while creating trauma-informed communities
through education and community support. In 2014, I partnered with Gwen Soffer, co-
owner of Enso Yoga in Media to create an education program to help yoga teachers learn
to teach all of their public yoga classes in a trauma-informed way. I am so wildly
passionate about the work that I do, and all of my heart work has helped in my own
healing and growth.
When I decided to dedicate my time to developing a deeper yoga practice, I knew that
practicing in a trauma-informed studio would mean that I had the space to make this
practice my own, and to grow in ways that I chose to. Enso utilizes permission stones in
each of their yoga classes studio-wide. Permission stones are little tokens to symbolize
my permission for the instructor to physically assist me in my practice. Many people
believe that yoga is synonymous with touch—you are in a yoga class therefore you
should expect to be touched. I know plenty of people, some survivors and some not, who
avoid going to yoga classes for this very reason. Not everyone is comfortable with
someone touching them or being in their space. For a sexual violence or abuse survivor,
touch has a whole other level of meaning and potential triggering. Spending time in a
yoga class where you are “supposed” to be focused on nothing but your mat and your
breath and your practice can be extremely difficult if you are constantly worried about
someone coming into your space and touching you.
As I began, I was thinking a lot about my trauma. In part because the nature of the work Ido, but also because I would find myself on my back, staring at a ceiling, and my mind
drifted here and there back to my rape. I’d shoo off the thoughts and realign with my
practice. At first, I didn’t take a stone in any class. I just wanted the space to do my own
thing and dip my toe into the deeper waters. Quickly, I felt comfortable taking a stone in
a familiar female instructor’s class. Each time, I would take a stone and confidently place
it at the front of my mat, signaling to her that I was ok with her touch. As she adjusted me in a few poses, I realized that I SURVIVED! Ha! And I liked the information I gained
through her adjustments. After a few weeks of regularly taking classes, I realized that I
was thinking less and less about my trauma on the mat and otherwise. I decided to
challenge myself and take a stone in a familiar male instructor’s class. Again, I survived,
and I was super grateful for the information and help in a few different poses.
As time went on, I longed to challenge myself physically. I liked watching what my body
was capable of doing. I welcomed the help from an instructor the first time I flipped my
dog! I had never done it before because I was afraid I’d do it wrong and look silly. I also
wasn’t sure that I could. As I grew stronger in my practice, instructors helped me go a
little bit deeper, each time only with my consent. I learned how to do fallen triangle, how
to correctly do crow pose, and challenged myself successfully to do bird of paradise. I
was incredibly excited that I learned to do these beautiful poses that challenged me
physically as well as mentally. I gained such confidence in my practice and it became a
lovely part of my spirituality.
I fell hard for yoga as I watch it transform my life but in and outside the studio. I am
confident in saying that I wouldn’t be where I am with my practice if I hadn’t been
afforded the opportunity to get there in my own time and space. Being fully supported in
my practice, wherever it was each day was crucial. Being given options as opposed to
commands, and ideas instead of this way or no way, I was given a gift of a practice that is
mine and no one else’s. Having my boundaries respected, and allowing me to choose
when I was ready to go deeper, whatever that meant for me, led me to what yoga is truly
trying to achieve—being a catalyst for the journey to Self. I watched myself transform
before my very eyes. Life got larger and I had tools to support the expansion. Any small
remnants of trauma that were still interrupting my life got smaller. I am so grateful to
Gwen and to Adam and to Enso allowing me the space to get there.
The purpose of being trauma-informed is simple— you have students in your class who
are survivors whether they have disclosed that to you or not. You also do not have the
automatic right to touch people. In yoga there is a concept called Ahisma, which means
to do the least harm possible. While yoga has this incredible ability to heal, then doesn’t
it also potentially hold the opposite? Such beauty and human growth can come from
deepening your commitment to yoga. I’m the first one to shout it from the rooftops. But
each individual should have the right to come to this in his or her own time and space.
When a butterfly emerges from its cocoon, it is an incredibly painful experience.
However, if you force the chrysalis open for what you think will help the butterfly, it will
die. It has to go through that process to become what it is to become.
Reality of Rape: Why I am far from shocked about Brock Allen Turner’s sentence
This past weekend, social media was a buzz with news of Brock Allen Turner’s six month sentence for raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. You might not remember when news of the rape originally broke, but I do. I remember saying out loud, “Wow. Witnesses. Maybe we’ll actually get a conviction on this one.” It’s a sad reality, and not at all a stretch to realize that eye witnesses to your rape are one of the very few ways to possibly get a conviction.
Did you know that 97% of rapists will receive no retribution for their crime? Not a single day in jail. No sex offender registry. No punishment. Not a slap on the wrist. Rape is, in fact, the least reported crime. 54% of sexual assault goes unreported. After reading the victim impact statement written and shared from strength and fierce survivorship from Turner’s victim/survivor, it is not at all difficult to see why though some will still ask. Some will still say “If I were raped, I would report it.” “If I were raped, I would speak out.” “If that were me, I would do blah blah blah blah blah…” If you are privileged enough to say, “If I were raped,” know that you have no right to speak words after that. You do not have the right to speculate what you may or may not have done. I tell every single survivor I work with that you did what you needed to do to survive and it worked because you survived. It is true, and not another soul can speculate what he or she would have done in your particular situation.
Six percent of rapists spend a single day in jail, and what we don’t talk about is that a big, giant, chunk of cases are plead down to lesser charges. Sometimes it is because the victim feels she or he cannot bear going through the hells of trial. This is fine because it should be the survivor’s decision in the end. However, we must ask what the hell we are doing in the court system that makes SO so many survivors feel they cannot bear to go through with it. I’ll give you a hint. We are asking what they were wearing, what they were drinking, about their sexual history, and about their relationships. We are asking about their beliefs, about what they do for fun, about their friendships, and goals, and plans. We ask intrusive questions about their lives because the victim is on trial. This is literally the only crime where we wring the victim out on the stand, examining her life from all angles.
What gets me most about this whole case is how shocked the world is. My news feed has been flooded with shares about this case. Thankfully, everyone has supported the survivor, and been disgusted with Turner, his father, friend, and the judge who offered up such a lenient sentence. I am utterly stunned that everyone is so shocked. I’ve seen post after post stating things like, “Is this real life?” and “Are you kidding me??” and “I cannot believe this.” It IS horrible! I am standing with you in that THIS. IS. AWFUL. At every angle, this makes me angry and horrified. Yet, this is the reality of rape. This is actual reality for rape survivors. We survivors, and those working in the field are actually supposed to be pleased that there was a conviction at all. We are supposed to be grateful he is being punished albeit incredibly brief. But I won’t take these scraps. I won’t sit back and be complacent for a second that this is reality. This is not ok.
My friends and family know that I was raped. I am not quiet about it. I was raped by an entitled Chemistry major who was in a fraternity, cute, and well-liked. He raped me after we had broken up in my dorm room on the bed I would have to continue sleeping on until the end of the year. After, my male friend asked if I knew what I was accusing him of. Then, 6 1/2 years after, working in the field and dedicating my life to changing rape culture, I was drugged in a bar in my town, taken to a home of a man I did not know, and I was raped in his home. He terrorized me, dragged my lifeless body around like a “ragdoll” they said in court, and I was raped three separate times. I was pressured by the deputy district attorney to let him plea down to one count of sexual assault. I refused and my prosecutor supported me whole-heartedly. “That is NOT what happened to you,” he assured, and we pressed through.
I made the choice to go every single month to court, even though I knew it would be continued. I wanted the judge to see how serious I was, and I wanted to show my rapist that he did not win and that I would not back down. It was the hardest year of my existence. I sat on the stand in trial, watching my entire life ripped apart, being challenged on every word that I said. For 4 1/2 hours I was questioned and pressed and torn. I looked down from the stand at my rapist, as he and his attorney looked at pictures of my naked and bruised body offered up as evidence. He got to see my vulnerable parts once more. A week later, the judge on my case offered up a verdict through the mail, something that they only do for minor crimes. She acquitted my rapist on all counts. It was then I saw some supporters drop off. I watched some people become silenced. What they did not know was that THIS was reality. The judge on my case told the prosecutor that she didn’t believe a word my rapist said. She believed me. I watched, and he watched as the judge had tears in her eyes as I told my story. And yet, she acquitted my rapist on all counts.
I’ve had survivors reaching out to me this week, talking about how triggering all of this is, and how reading about what happened to the survivor in Standford brings them back to details of their own rapes. I’ve read some survivors on social media struggling to make sense of something that happened to them too. The details are gruesome and the aftermath just as horrific in many ways. Yet, this is the reality of rape. This is the reality that I live with every single day, and this is the reality that all of my clients live with, and this is the reality that all of the people who have spoken about it, or who hold it deep inside, deal with every day. Rape is awful and it happens…a lot. And it leaves a trail of shattered pieces that the survivor has to deal with now, very often on her own because when the dust settles, it’s just you standing there still in the muck trying to find a way out.
About 10 years ago, I was frustrated that people were ignorant about rape and the frequency at which it happens. I was frustrated that people did not understand that they do know people, many people, even if they have not disclosed to them, who are survivors. But I was reminded that I know this stuff because I work in this field and surround myself with it every day. Tonight, I was reminded the same thing, but this frustrates me even more because its been TEN YEARS since I first struggled with this idea. So much awareness has happened since then. Biden and Gaga and survivors on stage, survivors sharing on social media their experience with trauma, a tv series about sexual violence, songs, celebrities speaking out, laws and bills and movements. Why is it that we cannot fathom that this is reality?
It is difficult to think that 1 in 4 (conservatively speaking) will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. Do you know how many women are in your life? What does that mean? Does that mean that your own sister has been raped and has not told you? Does that mean that your daughter might be one day? How about your son? It is terrifying to think that we or someone we love may be raped. But that is an extremely dangerous trap. What that idea does is it perpetuates rape culture. It makes us say, “What is it about this that protects me from being raped?” You know the whole, “I wouldn’t have done X, Y, Z…” It’s that that hurts survivors and creates a world where Brock Turners think it’s ok to rape, that dads think it’s only “20 minutes of action” , and Judge Perskys decide to give ridiculously slim sentences. It’s a world where people like Turner’s friend issue statements like this— “But where do we draw the line and stop worrying about being politically correct every second of every day and see that rape on campus isn’t always because people are rapists.” (Fact: Rape is ALWAYS only because people are rapists, Leslie Rasmussen).
As a survivor and someone who works in this field, I am thrilled to see buzz about this case. It shows that this survivor’s voice is heard. It shows that there is a lot of anger about rape. What worries me is that in a matter of days, weeks if we’re lucky, this story will be buried among the thousands and thousands and thousands of survivor stories out there. Social media will be hushed, and the ones left standing will be survivors, survivors who were thrust into a world where this is their plight, this is their life now, and their fight. What I implore is that every single person who has shared in the anger and rage over this case continues to fight to change rape culture. Start by committing to continue to learn more about the realities of sexual violence. (This for starters.) Find a fierce bunch of humans who want to change the system to make it more viable for survivors and supportive and less devastating. (Find your local crisis center here or reach out to Voices, Inc. at voicesincmedia@ gmail.com). Find ways to fight rape culture and share them widely. Keep this conversation going every single day.
Rape will never go away completely. But if we commit to doing everything possible to reduce rape culture, we are well on our way to a safer and more supportive society. Believe the statistics that rape happens to 1/4 of women (1 in 6 men too). Don’t be scared by it. Just believe it and get enraged and do something about it.
I believe in a world where people believe every survivor and support system-wide change. I know that there are steps we can all take to reduce the impact of trauma on survivors, and create a world where rape is ALWAYS this terrible. I’ve made this my life’s work, and show up every single day, heart open, ready to make a difference for survivors. While it does not have to be your whole life, I plead that you do what is possible in your power to keep this conversation going. It is the very least we can do for this fiercely strong survivor and every other survivor whose story goes untold.
Owning Your Story- a reflection 9-years strong
I suck at blogging. Seriously. I commit to it an then a whole year goes by and I’ve written and edited a dozen things and refused to publish. It’s the overthinker trap. It’ll get you every time.
I have been really touched by a few things lately, as we’ve approached what is now the 9-year anniversary of the night I was taken from a bar in my town, and raped in the home of a man I did not know. (Wow. Saying that out loud will never not feel surreal.) I have been reflecting upon my journey as a survivor, and all of the pieces along the way.
In group recently at Voices, Inc., we completed a Life Map, giving symbols and colors to each significant part of our lives, and then worked with a woman named Jenny who created a movement therapy curriculum for her thesis project. The Life Map itself HIT ME HARD. Creating a piece that condenses your entire life onto one poster board is difficult and emotionally wrenching. At the start, I was more focused on what medium to use, colored pencils or pastel crayons, and what symbols would most accurately describe the most horrific points of trauma. All to avoid facing the actual work, my dear! When I completed the map, I was short of breath, trembling, both terrified and proud of my work, and completely overtaken by the feelings it brought up. I looked over my life and was struck with sadness and with compassion for the girl hurt. I could not believe the pain in her story. The map surrounded a tree, deeply rooted into the ground– it is my soul rooted to the values I hold closest to me. There is a common theme of a heart used to symbolize me that I didn’t realize until the map was complete. There is happy and bright and lovely, and there are the deep, dark swirls of trauma. There is heart shattering, and there is growth. The map ends at a compass over a beach, the unearthing of True Self, True North, true direction forward.
We put these symbols into movement in the next two sessions and showed the group who gave feedback and empathy. Then, the group walked through our movement piece, symbolizing that we are not alone and even in those heaviest moments and memories, there is the energy of the group walking through with us. It was a challenge to each of us, and wildly stretched us out of our comfort zones. Full disclosure, when I contacted Jenny about sharing the series with our group, I thought it would be hokey and a little lame. I wanted something knew for group, and knew everyone was ready for something that stretched us all a bit more. I was unprepared for the beautiful effect it would have one each survivor’s healing journey, but mostly was unprepared what it would show to me.
I know that I am a fierce spirit. I always have been. I have challenged paradigms that didn’t fit, and stepped out of what did not feel right to bring forth what did feel best to me. I’m not one to be quiet when something is unjust, and my heart breathes fire. Looking over my Life Map, I have realized how far I have come on my healing path. The things that are most important to me– my beautiful child and his own fierce and fiery spirit, my loved ones, and my work to help others recognize where healing lies within them and to create waves of change in the community to best support those who have been hurt– light me up! They have given me life again after trauma. I looked at the calendar today (yes, I still have a paper calendar), and realized that it was the 19th. I have thought on and off about the anniversary, but today I was shocked to realize I haven’t been counting down.
My left shoulder hurts more in April, and this April is no different. I have a physical injury from my rapist where I tripped and he did not let go of my arm and the muscle was pulled drastically. Of course it would hurt when I do things with it like carry things on the left, or attempt side angle pose on my yoga mat. It doesn’t stop me. I still attempt those things, and try to strengthen it. I occasionally will ice or apply heat and have found a really functional way of sleeping as to not aggravate the pain. It is something I simply notice daily and deal. No big. But when something is triggering, like the warm, wet April air, I feel the shoulder pain more intensely. Isn’t that just like the difficult moments of our life, the traumas across the spectrum? When we’ve come from a place of deep darkness to a place of healing, the trauma is still there but we can look at it, notice it, and carry on. The nights of sheer terror and flashbacks that felt so real that I would have bet anything that it was happening just then are behind on my path. I have replaced medication for panic attacks with yoga and mindfulness on and off my mat. The dark doesn’t scare me like it used to, and every so often I find space enough to watch SVU and to also know exactly when to turn it.
Looking over my Life Map and feeling that deep, deep sadness for that girl, me in those moment, is different. I so often shine compassion from my heart to others in work, in relationships, in any place I connect with someone hurting. I operate in my everyday life from my heart center first. (Trust me. I recognize that this has caused me hurt in places that maybe a little head first operating might have helped. But I’m not willing to go there. That’s a whole other blog entry in the making!) This Buddha quote resonates with me– “If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete.” In the flow of healing, I have landed on the idea that shining self love and compassion to ME in those dark moments of life is where its at! I feel no shame or self blame any longer. Those days are long in the past. Where I am is allowing the feelings of sadness to come up, noticing them, and shining light back into the dark.
There was a girl who was fierce and fiery. There was a man who was a monster but still a man. He took the girl, and hurt her horribly. He tried to take her life away, tried to make her believe that she was worthless. He trapped her and held her from everything that was good and right in her world. He showed her that he was bigger and more powerful than her. In the light, she escaped and began walking through the vines and hills and valleys and caverns. When she realized that he was nothing but the smallest speck, he had no power and no control over her. She began to live life again from her heart center. She rose up and OWNED HER POWER.
Just before my rapist was acquitted, I had a dream. In the dream there were two monsters in a glass house. I was trapped and trying to escape. The monsters were laughing. When I asked them why, the one said, “Because monsters always win.” I believed that then and for a long time after. I believed that monsters win because my rapist got away with what he did to me. I believed it because there are so many times horrible people get away with or get ahead. I believed it because I was hurting so so badly in a prison all of my own, and because he was allowed to go on with his life. What I’ve come to understand is that the prison is the darkest points before you make that first step onto your healing path. It feels hopeless and you feel powerless to the trauma memory within. Once you make the choice for your SELF to step onto the path and move, slowly at first, and maybe a few steps back for every bunch forward, you start to find pockets of peace. You can say, “Yes, I was raped, but he did not win. I am powerful over my own life now.” It’s freeing really. Monsters don’t win. They have done the hurting and what a horrible way to live.
As survivors, we have the power to say I am safe now, and I am actively taking back the life I deserve to live. I am sure that I will have a little moment of stillness where I remember when the night began. I’m almost sure I will wake up suddenly at 4:30 in the morning as I have for nine years now. But I also know that I am in a drastically different place filled with love and light and fun and healing and peace and pure joy. Own wherever you are on your healing path. Own the days where you didn’t want to get up and you did. Own the moments where you set a boundary for yourself and stuck to it. Own the moments where a difficult anniversary is coming up and you haven’t attached yourself to the calendar. It’s all part of the process, part of your path. Shine some compassion back on the person hurt, and to the person healing. She/he deserves it.
On the anniversary of my rape
An anniversary typically marks something wonderful– a marriage, starting a job. Every year, on the anniversary of being raped, I do something to remember the life lost, and to celebrate the strength of the person who remains. This year, along with countless hours put into the non-profit, and attending a healing yoga class, I have decided to write out my story. It’s my story, my pain, not at all in its entirety, because I am still not sure my loved ones can process all of the pain, and I am not sure that I can (or even want to) verbalize the details. Plus, it is, in fact, MINE, and I get to choose what to share and what to hold now. That said, I have shared my story at keynote presentations, to auditoriums of high school students, to groups who will listen. I believe that sharing my story can have transformative powers, not just for me, but for other survivors, and for those who may read this and change their lives in any way.
…
I spent the day doing anti-violence programs at an elementary school on the day that I was raped. It was Sexual Assault Awareness Month, and just like every other prevention educator, I was tired and stressed out. I had a full calendar and had spent the last 3 weeks going from one school to the next, presenting programs to community groups, hospitals, colleges. I loved what I did, and even though it was tiresome, it was what I was meant to do.
I went to a bar with a friend like so many other people that Friday night, celebrating the end of the work week and the nice weather. We picked that particular bar because it was nice outside with spring just budding, and we wanted to find somewhere with a deck. I had on a long halter sundress and a sweater and was so grateful to finally break out the flip flops and sandals. We had a drink outside and then sat and chatted with some coworkers of hers for an hour before heading to the bar inside. I remember that when she started to talk to a couple next to her I sort of did that internal eye roll thing because I was really not in the mood to make new friends. I smiled though, and just people-watched from my stool while she talked some more. When I felt someone standing way too close to my back, I spun around to see the male in the couple smirking behind me. Doug talked to me for a few minutes about nothing significant– work, his travel, the bar. I am not sure if he knew then that he had chosen his victim, or if they had talked about it before they began talking to my friend. I can get lost in the wonder of why he chose me, but that’s a slippery slope to go down. Eventually I turned back around and finished the beer that had sat on the bar behind me.
The night is fitful beyond that. I remember a lot, often too much. The problem with being drugged is that you often don’t black out entirely. You are instead left with memories that come in waves, memories that you feel in your body and see in your mind. You are left with what seems like a shredded up version of a night, the worst of your life, that you either try desperately to tape back together, or try more desperately to burn.
I was put into Doug’s car, and I was taken away. I remembered watching one of those Primetime episodes years before where the host warned people that if you are being abducted not to be taken to the second location because it is there that your chances of being killed increase dramatically. I was already in the second location. I remembered the second part: do everything in your power to make your abductor see you as human. I started to tell Doug about my house, and my mom, and my 2-year old daughter. I did not have a daughter. But, in those terrifying and very lonely moments, I thought that he might not hurt me if he knew there was a little baby waiting for me at home. I looked at him for his response. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh,” was all he uttered. He didn’t care about me or my fictitious daughter as he drove the rest of the way in silence, staring straight ahead.
Doug raped me in his home. He hurt me terribly, and treated me less than human. The hours that I was there were the worst hours of my life. I remember a lot of it, and hope that more memories never ever surface. I truly believed that I was not going to make it out alive. But, I did.
I survived. And it was a conflicting survival. There were moments during the coming weeks and months that I wished that he had just killed me. He had instead left me with an unbearable weight, and I did not know what to do. I began to shove everything down and refuse to look up. But as I began my descent towards a dark earth, I remembered something important: I had survived, and my life was worth saving.
I dove into healing head first. I found a yoga instructor who did trauma healing, and would wake to meet her very early in the morning before work. I collaged what felt like hundreds of shoeboxes, canvasses, poster boards. I also began running. I logged countless miles to train for a half marathon, but more so process the stuff in my head and my body. I spoke to my therapist, talked to my family and friends, and found a great advocate who would help me report what happened to me and walk me through the very thorny legal system. I did so much healing work and suddenly I could see light again.
Maya Angelou said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” I am not sure that there are truer words. Speaking my trauma helped me to put it in a place outside of my head and to process it more fully. I felt each feeling and took charge over the life I was now leading, the life of a survivor. I refused to let someone else’s actions take from me more than my rapist already had.
Eight years ago today, April 20th into 21st, 2007, my life was forever altered. I know that I will never be the person I would have been without experiencing that pain. My life would have most likely continued on a straighter path in terms of work, and school, and relationships. But that is not my life. That is not my experience. My life was altered and I have embraced the gifts that have come from the pain. It’s like when flowers come up from cracks in the concrete. Those flowers refused to die. They refused to be buried under the weight of concrete, but instead bloomed. Life after trauma has been curvy and hilly, and full of dark and light. One thing I know for sure is that there is purpose to my pain. I do not go a day without knowing that for sure. I know that my work with survivors has helped them reclaim their voices and live fuller lives. Some have told me, and that is always a blessing.
After trauma, I was deep in post traumatic stress, anxiety, panic, and full body flashbacks for years. Every step in my life helps me to get further from that intense pain and reliving. Still, if you are awake at 4:30 in the early morning of April 21, you can almost be sure that I am awake. My body still remembers that that was the moment I knew it was all over and that I had survived. That was the moment I was planning how I would leave and find safety. My body remembers even when my mind tells it to forget. Trauma lingers and probably always will to some extent. For me, I am constantly committed to a journey that finds reason and purpose and transforms that trauma into something meaningful.
This year, I have gone through the sadness and anxiousness leading up to today and more so tonight. I have also watched a non-profit blossoming so that we can help more people. I have watched more survivors transforming their lives because of Voices, Inc. I have seen my own life shift and change, and I have begun to more fully accept the nuances of trauma healing. While neither up or down, dark or light, I am sitting here today reaffirming that I have survived and there is so much meaning and purpose to my pain.
Beautiful and Dark
I am not a blogger. In fact, I am terrible at handling social media. I don’t tweet– at least, I don’t think that I do. I can barely handle Facebook. I am still figuring it all out, like a 87-year old woman might be figuring out a smart phone. I am, instead, someone who is incredibly passionate about her work, her voice, her survivorship.
I am a rape survivor. I was raped in college by someone I had dated. It was an experience that rattled my soul, and shook me to my very core. It took me years to find any sort of healing. It also catapulted me into the field in which I have worked tirelessly for over 11 years. Six and a half years after being raped, on a warm spring evening in April, I was drugged at a local bar, abducted by someone I did not know, and was raped in his home.
When I type these words, or say them, I sometimes still feel stunned. Like, how could this happen to someone? How could this happen to someone who worked in this field? How could this happen more than once to the same person? How could someone be hurt so baldy and still be standing? How am I still standing?
I know how I stand. I know, somehow, how I have found survival and healing beyond that. A lot of it has to do with using my voice, speaking out my trauma, getting out the pain, and doing whatever, at all costs, to stay on a path of absolute healing. In 2009, I founded a non-profit called Voices, Inc. It’s mission is to help survivors to create personal healing journeys through art, yoga, music, body movement, and other creative means along with connection with other survivors. We help loved ones of survivors to better understand the survivor in their life, and to heal their secondary trauma. We help professionals who handle trauma (first responders, counselors, advocates, etc.) to better understand trauma and trauma response, and to connect with one another to heal vicarious trauma from working with such pain. I founded the non-profit after I had found such great healing in yoga and art, and connected with pieces of myself that were lost. As I sat on my healing path, looking around at how I had literally caught myself as I was plummeting towards a very dark earth, I thought, “How is it fair that I had knowledge and access to healing when others may not know it exists?” What about the college student, accountant, lawyer, teacher? What about people who do not know about trauma and healing, but know that life feels so heavy after their victimization? I believe whole-heartedly that everyone deserves access to healing that works for them. No one should have to abandon the life they planned to live before someone/s hurt them so deeply.
I am blogging because I want others to know that they are not alone. I want to continue awareness-raising in every way possible so that we can truly work towards a place where all survivors are believed and supported, and rape culture is not tolerated in any way on any level.
In 2012, I gave birth to the most amazing gift in the entire world. My son is bright, funny, sensitive, sweet, kind, loving, affectionate, and amazing. He has truly changed so many lives since his birth. About a year ago, he started to voice just how beautiful he thought each day was. He would breathe in the crisp air on a bright, sunny morning and exclaim, “Mama! It is BEAUTIFUL outside!” It was always so wonderful to be reminded. No matter how stressed I was, no matter how difficult things might be, his pointing out the beauty in the day was a blessing. He then started to be concerned with the night. When it was dark, he would say, “It’s not beautiful. It’s dark outside.” We would talk for awhile about how the nighttime could be nice too– how there were stars in the sky, and it was quieter, and still, and how the weather could still feel nice and warm at night. Very quickly, my little one replaced his concern with, “Mama! It’s Beautiful AND dark.”
My little guy, at 2-years old, discovered something that adults, especially after difficult or traumatic situations, find so hard to see. He saw that life could be both beautiful and dark. Sometimes, when I look at my life, I see a lot of strife. The parts of my past that traumatized and left scars appear to be burning brightest. I can feel upset and uncomfortable with the pain I have survived. It even sometimes feels like I bear a scarlet letter. Healing trauma does not mean that you don’t feel bad, and it does not mean that you embrace every piece of your difficult past. It means that you wake up and take a deep breath and realize that you are real and you are alive, and that is all that needs to be. Everything else beyond that is extra.
–You have survived and it is for a reason.–
You might not know that reason. Or you might be acutely aware of why you survived and what your purpose may be. It does not matter where you are on that path. You take that first big breath in the morning, and you are on your way. When you look back on your past, it might hurt, but it is important because it shows you how far you have come– maybe steps, maybe miles, maybe leagues.
My healing is not linear. You do not go through stages of grief one, and then the next, and then the next. Healing is curvy, and hilly, and both dark and light. However, the most important thing as you look back on your past is that you realize that, while it may be dark, it is beautiful because it has made you you.
beautiful and dark 