I have a story to share, one that rings true for countless others. It’s a narrative that unfolds far too often, a reality many face every day.
At just 14, my introduction to intimacy was marred by assault. There were three offenders, including one adult. I won’t delve into the aftermath of that horrific night; the weight of it is something many of you understand without needing to hear the details because you’ve endured your own tragic experiences.
I confided in only one person—my best friend, who was also just a child. She held me as I cried, unsure of how to comfort someone so young who had encountered such darkness.
I turned to my body, inflicting harm as a means to express my pain. My thoughts spiraled in a relentless loop, and I felt trapped in a narrative that always ended in despair. Then, one day, I grew weary of the battle that raged within me.
I became angry—furious and determined. I vowed to ensure that no one else would suffer as I had. And so, I began to tell my story.
I shared it with a male school counselor, a male police officer, a male district attorney, a male defense attorney, and ultimately, a mostly male jury. And do you know what their response was?
They told me to write it down, scrutinizing every detail for inconsistency. They questioned what I wore as if my gray hoodie and jeans were invitations to violence. They asked why I didn’t fight back or run. Not once did they consider the real question: Why didn’t they respect me? Why didn’t they leave me alone?
But I was no longer afraid. I held my head high, speaking my truth to room after room of strangers. And in unison, they replied, “We don’t believe you.”
All three of my assailants walked free. Do you know what that does to a young girl with a shattered heart and a broken spirit? It tells her she doesn’t matter. She never did.
This message can haunt her through life, clouding her path with shadows and shame. She shares her story with a male psychiatrist after a suicide attempt, seeking solace in fleeting connections. She tells it to every man she allows into her bed, hoping for a semblance of love. She confides in a male therapist, who eventually crosses a line. She even shares it with the man who inflicts pain and claims it’s love.
Yet, despite the pain, she persists. With claws and determination, she nurtures a tiny flame within her. It flickers, undiminished by the darkness, and she continues to forge ahead, often alone.
She works hard, riding the waves of healing and heartache. Then, unexpectedly, she finds someone—a man who takes her hands and says, “I see you. I love you. You didn’t deserve this.”
On some days, she believes him; on others, she doesn’t. One voice, no matter how powerful, cannot drown out the cacophony of doubt.
But with love and grace, she grows. She becomes a mother to sons, vowing to raise them to create a better world, one that changes the narrative. Then she becomes a mother to a daughter, and suddenly, all the pain resurfaces.
That beautiful girl in her arms is a mirror, reflecting the wounds of her past. How can I keep her safe? How can I prevent her from inheriting this story?
The truth is, I don’t have the answers. I navigate a world that often feels hopeless.
We are Survivors. We are Mothers. We are Daughters in a society where men can assault without consequence, leaving our bodies discarded like trash. In a world where gropers can issue half-hearted apologies to protect their image, and where those with multiple allegations can still rise to power.
What does this do to women with broken hearts and ravaged bodies? The message is clear: it doesn’t matter. It never did.
So what can we do with our silent, painful stories? I believe we must share them.
Louder. Louder. Louder. Until our voices resonate. Stand up. Scream. Shout. It’s time to reclaim our narratives.
We need to connect with one another—courageous and united, lifting our chins higher. We must remind ourselves and each other:
- You, who were not honored.
- You, who were not believed.
- You, who did not receive justice.
- You, with scars and shattered self-worth.
- You, who kept the flame alive.
- You, with daughters and worries.
You are not alone in this journey toward healing. You are not alone in facing injustice. You are not alone in your story. You are not alone in your ascent.
You never deserved to be pushed down, but you have always deserved to rise.
So, I will continue to tell my story, in countless ways, until I am seen and heard. I will take your hand, listen to you, and ensure you are also recognized.
I will hold my daughter close, not out of fear, but as we rise together. We may not change our past, but we can ensure our stories reshape the future.
And if you’re interested in exploring parenthood options, check out our post on the Cryobaby at Home Insemination Kit for more insights. For those curious about the impact of lifestyle choices on fertility, this article on marijuana and fertility offers valuable information. And for a comprehensive guide to pregnancy and home insemination, visit Healthline.
Summary
This powerful message emphasizes the importance of sharing stories of survival and healing from sexual assault. It addresses the pain and challenges faced by survivors while encouraging unity and resilience. It recognizes individual struggles and the need for collective voices to advocate for change, all while highlighting resources for those on the journey to parenthood.