By: Survivor Warrior
Let me begin by telling you a little bit about my story. Yes, story- I write that word and feel a strong wave of emotion of all that I've been through in the last 2 years. I’m proud of myself. You see, I used to have a secret but now I have a story. My therapist used to tell me that secrets keep us sick. I really do believe that to be true.
I was sexually abused by my father when I was 2. It continued until around the age of 5. For a long time I didn't remember. However, it was jumbling around my nervous system, body and mind the whole time. My mind’s coping mechanism to deal with the abuse was an eating disorder and later alcohol abuse and self-harm. But I kept all that a secret too: if you had met me, you would’ve thought that I had it all together. I always had a smile on my face. People would often tell me that I was the happiest person they knew. Inside, though, I was slowly dying.
The flashbacks came back to me 7 years ago. I decided I was clearly crazy, sick and perverted and attempted to shove those memories back deep down inside me. I dove deeper into my eating disorder and alcohol abuse to cope while still maintaining my happy exterior mask. It wasn't until I had my two children that I had finally decided to get help for my eating disorder. Going to treatment was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life and I got endless shame from my family and community about doing so. But it was the best thing that I have ever done for myself.
Fast forward to my third time in treatment where I was forced to face the roots of my problems if I ever wanted to truly experience recovery and healing. I so desperately didn't want to face the abuse, but like I mentioned before: secrets keep us sick and I couldn’t get well because I wasn't willing to talk about my secrets. I kept attempting to metaphorically purge myself of the chaos I felt inside with my eating disorder, but it only made for more chaos in my life. So, finally I started talking about it. It was terrifying and so relieving at the same time. I wasn't crazy or broken; I was deeply wounded.
I came out to my siblings about the abuse one at a time. They all have kids and I had to protect them from my father. Also my family and community is a very patriarchal collectivist community with lots of get-togethers and having to see my father all the time was halting my recovery. At first, I felt hopeful about the support that I would receive, but I was quickly disappointed by my community’s betrayal. My soul was getting continually crushed.
My siblings did not want the truth to come out. They wanted me to continue to hold my secrets. They wanted to sweep it under the rug and staple it shut to the ground. I attempted to do as they wanted, but it was all at my expense. I couldn't live a lie and pretend this trauma didn't exist. Lies distorted my reality and made me feel crazy. I had PTSD and it was affecting every part of my life.
My refusal to go with the herd was not taken well. I got gaslighted all the time, which further reinforced the crazy feelings. I was battling my own confusion and holding their processes of denial, anger and minimization. I no longer fit into the puzzle of my family. My piece had changed and no matter how hard I tried to shove that piece back in, it just didn't fit anymore. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. These last 2 years wore on my marriage as well. My husband loves my family and my kids love their cousins. I had pressures from so many directions to stay within the family system.
Many times through this tornado I wanted to end my life, but my kids kept me going. I couldn't leave them behind. I also refused to sit back and watch them be raised in a family led by an abuser. I confronted my father and his reaction was something like, “Are you really going to hold me accountable for something I did so long ago?” He minimized years of abuse to a one time “petting.” My siblings continued to invalidate my experience and make me feel insane. Some believed me and some didn’t. I was even told by one brother that he believes I believe it to be true in my head, but that it wasn't actually true. Talk about trippy.
My siblings all had made one thing clear, that I was never ever to tell our mother about the abuse because it would literally kill her. How dare I ruin her life in her old age? That, however, is my choice to share or not share with whomever I want. Her pain would be my father’s doing, not mine. I have chosen not to tell her, yet anyway, as I know where I am with my mental health. I know the toll it would take on me if she didn't believe me or if she did and still chose to be with my father. That abandonment and betrayal is not something I can withstand in my current health, but I know one day when I’m a little more stable that I will tell her the truth.
Eventually, one other sister came forward about the same thing happening to her, but it made no difference. She stood by all the others in wanting to silence me. It actually made things harder as they used her as an example that it could just be easily forgiven and forgotten. She told me the mind is a powerful thing and I just had to tell myself the past was in the past and move on. I believe she is in denial and has never truly dealt with her abuse. But it isn’t my place to ever judge a survivor on how they survive living with their trauma. We all have our own journeys.
They say nobody can replace family, that family is always there for you. I thought to myself “Maybe... just maybe, I could pretend it all away, maybe I didn't have to lose my family.” I thought it was unfair to everyone else around me that was affected. It seemed everyone else was fine and I was the only problem around. And so, like I have done in moments before, I gave up for a bit again and decided I was just too tired to go on. I thought that maybe I could bury the secret once again, I could cover my face back up with the wrap of silence that blinded me before. I ended up back in treatment 4, 5, 6, 7 times. There, I learned to know better. I knew that secrets caused me to want to die while the truth inspired me to choose life.
I have endured a lot of pain in the last 2 years, but I also have experienced more beauty than I think most people experience in a lifetime. When in treatment for my eating disorder, I met the most extraordinary people. The authenticity and vulnerability I have lived and seen from others is a soul filling connection like no other. My choice to not live in silence was like ripping off the chains that had been wrapped around me by sexual abuse. It has been as if I lived in a coma for so long and now finally came to life again. I have gained so many tools for dealing with stuff that arises for me. Sometimes that means a jog, music, journaling, art and other times it means screaming into a pillow. Therapy has been life changing for me, it saved my life. Understanding how my brain was impacted by the abuse and why I do some of the things I do has allowed me to untangle the lies and destructive mechanisms I used to cope. I have resources within me and outside of me that help me build the beautiful life I want. I get to watch my kids grow up in a safe environment. I have the freedom of following my dreams and passions. My life is mine and not anyone else's. I get to call the shots. The choice was taken away from me when I was sexually abused, but now the choice is mine to heal and live the wonderful life I want and I'm working towards that daily. This on-going self-awareness journey has taught me that there are safe people in this world; there is so much beauty out there. I am a firm believer that my love overpowers any darkness that has been or is thrown my way.
It was here that I realized that I was at a crossroads in my journey. My two roads were either to continue pushing forward towards healing or give up and live in silence. I sat down exhausted staring at the roads before me. I could hear all the familiar voices of my family and community yelling and shouting to take the path of silence. They were so loud in my head that it was drowning out the other soft gentle loving voices of soul family I had accumulated along the way that were telling me to continue pushing forward towards healing, to do what was best for me not others. Both roads seemed to be awaiting me with open arms. When I took a closer look though, the road towards silence was dark and the people standing there cheering me on were angry and held arrows that they were ready to throw my way if I didn't listen to them as they had many times before.
I was angry that although I had already journeyed so far, I had to continue walking and continue to make tough decisions. In moments when I have lost all hope for myself, others have held it for me and that is what keeps me going. So I got up and walked down the path of continuing on my healing journey. And my heart rejoiced, inside I always knew which way was the right way to go. Even when I've felt I have given up in moments, I really haven't. I’m somehow always pointing and inching my way towards healing by all the little things I continue doing. Enlightenment has come painfully. But I wouldn’t take any of it back.
Eventually, I moved away from my family and came to accept the secrets of my past. But I still had to go through the grieving process of all that I had endured. I had finally gotten away from the fog of all the gaslighting and now finally had the chance and space to allow myself to grieve. I’m not going to try to sugar coat this one bit. This journey towards healing has been long and so excruciatingly painful. I have lost so much, I still get lost in the confusion at times. And I want to run away from all my problems in moments too.
But as I walk down this path of recovery, I realize that although I feared that my whole world was falling apart, I am actually watching it finally fall into place. I am choosing life. Life is not meant to be lived walking around gasping for air. The people that try to grab me and put a hand over my mouth to silence me, suppress my secrets, and take away my air aren’t my people. Choosing life for me means getting to live in truth and living life to its fullest by dropping all the baggage that others have tried to place on me to carry. That is not mine to carry. I finally realized that. Recovery and healing is getting to walk around freely towards the life I want that isn't confined by walls others try to place in my way. I’m not trapped, I’m no longer a victim. And I’m no longer ashamed of my secrets, for they have become my story. I’m proud of the little girl in me that survived things nobody should ever have had to endure. I welcome her with open arms and embrace her. She is a precious gem. I am her and she is me. Wounded, but not broken. Wounds heal. They need air to heal though and I finally have the air to do so.
I am choosing life.