Healing is messy
TW: This blog contains material about sexual assault, PTSD and eating disorders.
People talk about the healing journey in terms of its beginning and "end," but they tend to leave out the middle. So often, it is made out to be this positive and uplifting process, and the result usually is, but the path getting there can be really gruesome. Some days, it doesn't seem real how just a handful of moments have caused me years of pain, but the reality is that I am a survivor of sexual assault, and it sucks, but I can’t change it. It has been a few years since a person decided to rob me of my bodily autonomy and, by extension, a peaceful college experience, but I am healing. While many people leave out the ugly and the shameful parts, I’m not going to. In this blog, I want to share the good, bad, and messy aspects of my journey, hoping that one person may find it helpful or feel less alone in their trauma and its aftermath.
I choose not to go into details of the actual event because I don’t think it matters much now and don't think it will be helpful to anyone, including myself. It’s certainly an unpleasant and rattling experience that is forever burned into my brain. Every survivor’s reaction to trauma is unique to them and reflects who they are. In my case, I have never been one to show emotions outwardly, and that didn’t change after I got assaulted. As soon as I got home, I returned to my life as if nothing had happened. I told the people I was closest to what happened as if it was a chore, but never talked about how I felt about it, and I had no intention to do so. I was probably laughing when I told my two best friends; I tend to cope with humor which can make others uncomfortable, but it helps me. I was fine and regularly laughed about it for the month directly following my assault. I was taking care of my parents, who were, at the time, more upset about it than I was. As you might guess, this didn’t last, and when what happened hit me, it was indeed a rude awakening.
My whole life, I have been the one that's strong for everyone else in my life. I don’t cry, I don’t fall apart, and I try my best to keep my problems mine and not other people's. I lie and say, “I’m fine” when I’m not. My reaction to my SA was no exception, but this time I couldn’t hide the truth. After about a month and a half of pretending nothing happened, I started to crack. I had night terrors so vivid that I became afraid to fall asleep. For months I would wake up screaming with a pillow soaked in tears and a body paralyzed with fear. After a few weeks, I just told my parents to let me cry it out instead of getting up to check on me. At the time, I told myself that it was because I didn’t want to disrupt their sleep, but looking back, I know it was a foreshadowing of what was to come.
My SA happened at the end of a school year, and when summer ended, I struggled to reacclimate to campus life in the wake of my trauma. Before, my main concern was what my weekend plans were, and I surrounded myself with people who were the same. I continued with this approach when we returned to school, but my needs and priorities had changed. I didn’t need someone to blackout with or gossip with; that was actually what I needed the least. I was lying to myself and the people around me about what I needed out of those relationships, and it wasn't fair to either party. I think one of Wake’s biggest downfalls is that the culture can get really shallow; it’s great until it's not. When your only concern is greek life, grades, and drinking, Wake is the ideal place to be, but it's the worst environment one could be in when trying to deal with trauma. In my experience, I felt pressure to care about things that I no longer gave a shit; despite my best efforts, I couldn't convince myself that any of it mattered. Yet I indulged in all of it instead of dealing with my problems because I felt like I had to in order to be normal. I went with my friends to parties and darties, got drunk, and tried to feign contentment. It served as a distraction and a good cover for all the emotions I was hiding— until it didn't. Drinking with unresolved trauma can often be like drinking on an empty stomach; shit gets messy.
The year following my assault was absolute hell on earth. A hell that was in part my own making. The sleep deprivation alone made me more irritable than usual. As I mentioned before, I was lying to myself about what I needed in my friendships and so not only was I seeking out the wrong kinds of people, I was continuously getting hurt by my own expectations. During that period, I pushed away everyone who cared about me or even tried because having people see me as weak or vulnerable would have been the shit pile on top of the nightmare I was already living in. I got stuck in this cycle of making friends, getting super close, and then cutting them out as soon as they saw the slightest bit of vulnerability from me. I was hurt and couldn’t deal, so I hurt a ton of people in the process. Some of those people didn't want to be supportive in that way (and that's okay! We love boundaries), but others did, and I never gave them a chance. I didn’t want anyone's pity or to become a burden to the people I cared about. Unfortunately, my efforts to avoid those two things ended up being the leading players in their manifestation. In the rare moments when I wasn't drowning my sorrows in a cheap bottle, I was masking my pain with apathy. At best, I was a stone-cold bitch, and at worst, I was a drunk and emotional trainwreck.
The morning after my SA, when I realized what had happened, I knew it might fuck me up a little, but I didn't think it would affect every area of my life. I naively thought it would only affect my “love life” and also assumed that I would be strong enough to just “get over it” as I had with every other trauma in my past (a whole other can of worms). Of course, I hadn’t gotten over those either, but as I said, I had a habit of lying to myself about what I needed and how I was doing mental health-wise. This was never healthy, but it worked until this issue came into play. I think it affected so many areas of my life because I completely lost the capacity to trust others, including those closest to me. Fortunately and unfortunately, I have always placed the highest value on trust in any and all of my relationships. Whether it's family, friends, romantic partners, or even business relationships, I make a point not to associate even in the smallest of capacities with people I don’t trust. Also, I was already a more private person and had never been one to trust easily. Consequently, when I stopped trusting, I was pushed over the edge of what was functional. In hindsight, my issues with friendships make sense; I didn't trust anyone, and I treated people accordingly.
In terms of my “love life,” the same could be applied. I wasn't comfortable with people touching me on the shoulder, much less being physically intimate with someone. I had gone cold for a while, but as the desire for that kind of interaction returned, my aversion to new people remained stagnant. This meant letting toxic people back into my life solely because I felt physically comfortable with them. If you just cringed, you're not alone. I, too, have a visceral reaction when I think about how I went back to my ex. I guess that was a good indicator of where I was self-love wise too. Those close to me would tell you that I have always been incredibly independent and have an unshakable sense of integrity; it’s a significant part of my identity and immeasurably reflected in how I live my life. I wasn’t consciously aware of it at the time, but I had lost trust in myself. I dug myself into a place where I believed that I was irreparably broken; that I was of poor character and that my trauma was the universe's retribution. This was the domino that sparked the collapse of my identity as a whole. Without unwavering trust as a foundation, how can one be independent or uphold their integrity?
As I began to question my abilities, I also started questioning my values, my judgment and my character. I have always been an honest person, someone who people could trust and rely on, someone who always showed up, someone whose actions reflect their beliefs. I’m not trying to suggest that I am or have ever been a pillar for morality; I’m no saint and well aware of it. I'm sure many people would argue that my beliefs are immoral, and a few have expressed that to me. Still, when you derive your pride and self-worth on doing what you believe is “right,” the loss of moral certainty can be devastating. I’ve already talked about how that lack of trust played out in the realm of interpersonal relationships, but my contemptible relationship with myself created a self-fulfilling prophecy that perpetuated my problems with others. How could others trust me when I didn’t trust myself? Why would I trust or like anyone who put me through such an unfathomable trauma, even if it was me?
I quickly found that having no trust in myself meant that I could have no comfort either. After experiencing such an obscene violation, I felt like a prisoner in my own body. I felt betrayed by my own mind, body, and soul, repulsed by the very anatomy that was keeping me alive. The way I treated myself during that phase of my life echoed these sentiments. My body image dropped to the depths of hell; extending far beyond feeling unattractive. Struggling with self-esteem and self-image is a burden not exclusive to those who have experienced trauma, and many, including myself, would argue that those struggles are their own form of trauma. I’ll admit my intrapersonal relationship has never been fantastic, but it became one of the biggest atrocities in my journey. Before, I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, but it became an issue of not liking who I saw in the mirror. I had a relapse of the eating disorder that I had been fighting since early high school, put my liver through the wringer, and watched as the resentment I had for myself grew with each egregious mistake I made. All of this compounded into a truly unhinged amount of self-hatred. When I look back and consider the value I place on trust as a qualifier for what and who is worthy, it doesn't shock me that I could not maintain even an ounce of self-worth once the trust was lost.
That whole year I spent dissociated from reality and sleepwalking through my life still brings me immense shame. I hurt a lot of people and hurt myself too; I’m still grieving the loss of one of those friendships today, more than a year after its demise. As a silver lining, the pain from that lost relationship is what gave me the push I needed to start getting my shit together. It's easy to spiral into a place where you constantly beat yourself up for your mistakes, and once you’re there, it's a fight to get out. I spent too much time spiraling in self-loathing and had an annoyingly tricky time getting out. At the time, something that struck me was a quote from one of my favorite authors, Bryan Stevenson, who said, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we have ever done.” This was something I needed to internalize after taking a wrecking ball to my life and becoming the villain in my own story.
I had to forgive myself for my own actions that led to my assault, how I reacted, and who I had become. I had to allow myself the space to be hurt, to be depressed, to just be an absolute trainwreck. The easiest part was forgiving myself for my role in my assault because nothing excuses sexual assault. It didn't matter what I was wearing, how much I drank, or where I was. I made many bad decisions that day, and absolutely knew better. Had I not made those decisions, I probably would have been spared this lifelong stain on my mental health, and I know this is true. I also know that even with all of that being fact – it still wasn't my fault. It took me a while to get to a place where I really believed that; none of it was “easy,” but it was comparatively much easier to find the space to forgive myself for that than it was to forgive myself for everything after.
I know that at face value, it seems like one's reaction to trauma is solely their fault; it was my actions and my actions alone that wrecked my life, right? I don’t think it's that simple. Everyone’s reaction to this kind of trauma is different, and it’s greatly influenced by who that person is. I am someone who buries my problems and deals with them privately, someone who has always needed to appear strong and unphased in the face of adversity. My actions and reactions were my own, and I take accountability for that, but it would be silly to believe that I would try to deal with this issue differently than I did with every other problem in my life. This kind of trauma triggers a fight or flight response; no one prepared me for this specific trauma, nor did anyone hand me a guidebook on handling my own body being taken from me. The manner in which I reacted reflects something that makes me, me. Yes, that is “my fault,” but not in the same way that robbing a bank would be “my fault.”
This all goes to say that you shouldn’t beat yourself up for being you. It’s similar to social anxiety or test anxiety. No matter how cool or prepared you are, there are situations where you just freeze and flop; that's not your fault. I think sexual assault is one of those situations where all the rules fly out the window; it certainly did for me. While unhealthy, my coping mechanisms were semi-functional; they worked for what I had faced before, but sexual assault is a different beast. It was too much for me to handle in my usual way, but there was no way for me to know for sure until I tried and failed. Similarly, the things that fueled my self-loathing were taken out of context, and my spiral was based on a false reality of my own creation. I judged myself based on the standards of a life free of PTSD and the symptoms that result from intense trauma, a life that no longer existed for me. I had to stop fighting and accept that I wasn't invincible, that sexual assault is a big deal, and that true strength is often mistaken for weakness. It sounds so obvious and straightforward now, but it took me a long time and a lot of therapy to get there (go to therapy, therapy is cool!). Once I forgave myself for those more challenging bits, the real healing began.
It is so important to remember that HEALING IS NOT LINEAR, and it also doesn't happen overnight. During my healing journey, I found out that rock bottom has a basement, several actually. I had to recognize and accept that I was doing alright if my new low was slightly above my last. I still have good days and bad days, I still have trouble with trust and relationships (with myself and others), I still make mistakes, and I still find myself trying to push people away. I still struggle with self-worth, body image and have to fight my ED every day. The difference now is that I'm more self-aware. Now when shit hits the fan and I revert to my problematic coping methods, I can call myself on my bullshit. It doesn’t always make a difference, or it may be too late in some cases, but at least I know. It may not seem like much, but it's honest work, and I personally find a lot of peace in understanding why I am the way I am and why I act the way I act. In that same thread of “healing takes time,” I also don't believe it ever stops. As we face new phases and challenges in our lives, different feelings and fears connected to that trauma will inevitably come up; it's not a one-and-done kind of deal.
Like many people, the sexual assault scandal from last fall hit me like a ton of bricks. It reopened old wounds and brought me to a place of rage. During that year of turmoil, I dealt with school administration, and my interactions with the them probably account for half of my SA trauma. That encounter is a big reason I found it so hard to forgive myself for my reaction to what I had endured. I won’t rehash everything, but I’ll just say they did not appreciate my self-medication as a form of coping, and let me know that they felt all of my problems were due to that. It was victim-blaming at its finest and most aggressive. I really hope the first female president of this university makes changes that result in harsher punishments for offenders and provide better support for survivors from within the administration. I would have really appreciated having a female administrator present in that room. Anyways…
If you have made it this far, I would guess that you’re either a survivor going through it or part of the support system of someone who is. If you’re here as a friend of a survivor, I hope this helps you understand what might be going on with your loved one, and I urge you to stick by them. I had a few people who stood by me, and those people are honestly a huge reason I made it through that first year alive. I know it's tough, and I know hurt people hurt people, but it’s important to remember that they may be fighting for their lives and sanity; if you can avoid taking some things personally, it could be a massive help to both of you. I'm not suggesting that anyone should let their boundaries be violated, but if you’re a member of a survivor’s support system and can make space for that person to feel their feelings and ultimately grow, I think it might be worthwhile to stick around to watch. If you find yourself at a breaking point with someone dealing with SA trauma but have the desire and capacity to salvage that relationship, I think having a conversation about the situation and outlining boundaries may be helpful. If you explicitly express to that person that you want to be in their life but can’t if things don’t change, your feelings and concerns may be received better than you would expect. Again, if it’s irreparably broken and you don’t feel it would be worthwhile to save that relationship, you should do what's best for you. Even if you put in the effort, there are no guarantees. Both people need to be willing and able to do the work to save a relationship, and it won’t be easy, but it may be a better alternative to losing someone you love if you can help it.
To all the survivors reading this, I hope you know you’re not alone, and I hope you are healing. I hope you know that what happened is not and was never your fault. I hope you are surrounded by a village that shows you unconditional love and support. If my story and problems resonate with you and/or you’re in the trenches right now, I’m so sorry. For those of you who are like me, in that you are more guarded and are compelled to keep up a strong front, I encourage you to fight the urge to push people away. I shut everyone out, and all it did was hurt in the long run. I know how hard it is to let people in when you feel like you need to have it all together (or at least look that way), but my guess is that there are at least a few people in your life who love you for you and don’t want you to go through this alone, even if that means they see your imperfections.
I recommend listening to the concerns of your loved one if you find your relationship at a breaking point. It’s so tough to reckon with the knowledge that you have hurt the people you care about, but anyone who bothers to tell you is likely someone who cares enough about you to forgive your indiscretions with a bit of work from both parties. It’s essential to put yourself first, but both survivors and members of their support systems should consider their long-term well-being. In my experience and that of my people (who I talked to about this topic before writing), the work put into those relationships to overcome the rough patch was more than worth the emotional labor it took to get there. It’s easy to get caught up in the “gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss” mentality that tells you to cut out whatever is not serving you, and there are times when that is unequivocally the best move. Still, in my opinion, as both a survivor and a friend of several survivors, there are times when you're better served fixing what is broken instead of completely replacing it.
I also hope you continue to give yourself grace. Playing the blame game can be dangerous, and it certainly was for me. I never fully understood the saying “we accept the love we think we deserve” until I realized that I couldn't do right by others because I wasn’t doing right by myself, and until I got right with myself, I wouldn't be able to accept love or do right by others. While I needed to take accountability for my actions, I also needed to show myself compassion. I had to realize that I deserve more than what I was putting myself through; more than that I needed to believe it. We have to remind ourselves that we are our own harshest critics and I wholeheartedly believe that the way we speak to ourselves will always have a bigger impact than how others speak about us. This is a message I hope both survivors and nonsurvivors take away from this: the burden of other people's judgment is more than enough to go around; spare yourself the addition of your own. I know it’s easier said than done, but if you think about it, internalizing someone else's judgment, someone who doesn't know the whole story, is like taking medical advice from someone with a PhD. in literature just because they are a “Doctor”. I have work to do on this front; there are still a lot of days when that belief falters. But after years of fighting this battle with myself, I can say with certainty that every night you don’t lose sleep over judgment by others is a victory.
Above all, my advice for survivors is to find the space to forgive your mistakes and allow yourself to grow. This also means letting go of anyone who doesn't support your growth. I’ll note that the people who knew me prior had an easier time sticking around than those who entered my life following the incident. They knew who I was before I became the worst version of myself and were able to hold onto the good they knew was in me even when I was at my worst. Those who met me after were valid in their thinking; if I had met me in the two years after my SA I wouldn't think I was worth it either. Today, however, I draw on this experience to find empathy and forgiveness for others who may be acting as the worst version of themselves. Earlier I said I thought I was “broken,” and while this is a perfect word to describe how I was feeling, I hate using it because it implies that there is something to be fixed. In my eyes, my SA trauma is a deep cut on the body of my life. I tried to stitch it up myself first, but it got infected. I needed to seek the right kind of help (professional help) for it to begin healing and must continue to facilitate its healing with proper care so it does not get infected again. The scar it leaves will not go away, but will fade with time. To me, that permanence is proof of resilience, and every time I see it, I am reminded of the strength that lives within me. To anyone reading this, survivors especially, please know that you deserve unconditional and healthy love. Know that there is strength in vulnerability, that asking for help takes immense courage and that being lonely does not mean you are alone. I promise you aren’t broken; you’re just changing. Sometimes the catalyst is painful but embracing that change can lead to something better.
SA is a horrendous trauma that I wouldn't wish on anyone, but my silver lining is that it forced me to grow the fuck up. I’m not the same person I was before my SA, and the people that preferred who I was before were right not to stick around. I can’t say that the healing process will be the same or that my methods will be effective for others. I certainly can't tell you it will be peaceful or easy. I’m still healing and growing, but ultimately I like who I am now more than I like who I used to be, even though I don't fully know who I am now. It sucks that SA got me there, but I can't change the past and can only make moves to ensure that the future is brighter.
- (she/her) c/o 2022