I was so depressed that I could barely move. My brain and body were quickly shutting down from too much stress. This is what survival from childhood incest and illness felt like: lost, lonely, and lethargic. I needed strength to carry on.
I had been invited to take a group of classmates from my graduate school to El Salvador to learn about the history and the social, economic, and political challenges that continue to reign within the boarders of this small Central American country. During the Salvadoran Civil War there was a group of female American missionaries living and working there: Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, Dorothy Kazel, and Jean Donovan. On December 2, 1980, all four women were picked up by the National Guard funded by the United States Government and beaten, raped, and murdered. A memorial site was built for them at the location of their deaths. This violent act shocked the nation as many US citizens began to protest the US involvement in El Salvador.
My classmates and I pulled up to this memorial site and there were butterflies everywhere. They had made a home on top of the hole these women were pulled out of, where the plaque honoring their commitment to the poor and the sacrifice they made to serve them now stood. These butterflies transformed this horrific site into one of majestic beauty. It was shocking.
The consequences of survival had been weighing on me so much that I never thought about it as a privilege. These four courageous women were raped and then murdered. Many others have been raped and murdered. I too was raped numerous times, but survived. Post Traumatic Stress was the result, but also the sign that I was still alive. It was a fresh perspective that changed everything.
The Butterfly Effect is a theory that a small shift in the initial state of something, like the rustling wings of a butterfly on the wind, can have a great effect on the final outcome. Observing these butterflies transform a horrific place in history into something so beautiful was the exact shift I needed to encourage my journey into recovery. This small change of understanding that survival, although heavy, hard, and heartbreaking, was also a privilege, gave me the energy to move forward.Â
For ten years, I have moved through recovery at a caterpillar's pace: slow, steady, often straying from any linear or reasonable process. Eventually, I cocooned myself into the safety net of a new community, a stable career path, and a beautiful home. It turns out, however, that like butterflies, I wasn't meant to stay in that cocoon for long.
About a year ago, my safety net began to tear, I quit my sturdy job with my stable pay check, left my loving community behind, and started to test out these new things called wings. I admit that it's been a difficult adjustment this flying around. I have literally traveled to nearly ten cities in the last ten months, as I have reconnected with old loved ones, explored new professional endeavors, and tried to discover an identity apart from victim and survivor, apart from my slow-moving caterpillar-like life.
I am literally suffering from dizzy spells as my brain and body attempt to make sense of this butterfly life: all of these changes both good and challenging. I don't know where I'm going to live in two months from now, nor where my paycheck will come from. This is a new source of anxiety that I'm just learning how to manage. But as I was walking home yesterday, for the first time in my life I thought, "There's nothing else that I'd rather be doing with my life than what I am doing right now." Traveling, creating, learning, supporting, writing, connecting, healing: all true expressions of who I am.Â
The privilege of survival dared me to move at that memorial in El Salvador. It shook me from the cocoon of safety. And now it carries me into a life of flight where I am finally finding peace. Yesterday, I celebrated my 32nd birthday with gratitude for the life after rape, for the life through recovery, for the life unfolding before me- giving me direction, love, and energy- inviting me into flight.  Â
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