Updated: April 13, 2017
Originally Published: December 21, 2012
Twenty-nine years ago, in a distant land, I endured a traumatic experience that would shape much of my life. Until now, only a select few were aware of my assault. As a young woman facing a terrifying situation, I chose not to report the incident, wishing instead to bury it and return to my normal life. Yet, escaping the shadows of that night was not as simple as I had hoped; it took years of therapy to break free from the grip of trauma. Despite this effort, I remained silent.
My silence was not born from fear of my attacker, as I was fortunate enough to return home shortly after the incident and didn’t have to worry about encountering him again. I remained quiet because I feared the identity of “victim” would overshadow me, and the thought of being seen through that lens, forever branded as “the girl who was assaulted,” was more distressing than the act itself.
Throughout high school and later in college, I witnessed how society treated survivors. There were whispers, rumors, and a palpable shame that hung in the air. I did not want to endure a life marked by pity or shame. I believed that by pretending nothing had happened, I could lead a fulfilling life.
When the allegations against a high-profile figure like Bill Cosby surfaced, it made me reflect on my own silence and its complicity in perpetuating a culture that enables sexual violence. My silence not only allowed my attacker to evade justice but also isolated other survivors. This created a vicious cycle: the culture of shame silences victims, and that silence, in turn, allows perpetrators to continue their actions unchecked. Is it possible to change this dynamic? Perhaps, if we can dismantle the stigma surrounding these experiences and stop defining individuals solely by their trauma. Only then might we see an increase in reporting and a decline in rape culture.
So, twenty-nine years later, I am reclaiming my voice.
I am not defined by my assault. It is merely one memory among countless others, and I refuse to allow it to dictate my identity. To those who know me, I ask that you not view me through this lens of victimhood.
- I am a mother.
- A partner.
- A legal professional.
- A friend.
- A daughter.
- A sister.
- An aunt.
- A casual blogger.
- A collector of cozy sweaters.
- An unapologetic user of expletives.
- A dedicated cook, despite my kids’ reluctance to eat my meals.
- A novice surfer.
- An expert in sleep training techniques.
- A struggling plant parent.
- An occasional Pinterest enthusiast.
I embody all these facets of life, but I will no longer remain silent.
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In summary, reclaiming one’s voice and identity after trauma is essential for healing. By sharing my story, I hope to encourage others to break their silence and challenge the stigma surrounding such experiences.