Finding My Voice, And The Courage To Use It
This opportunity to share has been brewing inside of me for some time now. Just waiting for me to listen, waiting for me to be ready. But I realize that if I wait until I am completely ready, I will never step into the light.
I would like to share a bit of my story with you. But before I do, I would like to tell you why. For so long, I felt deeply alone, misunderstood and out of place because my story and I didn’t seem to fit anywhere--I thought we were too much. I want to share because I now know I am never too much, and I am never alone. I want to share because my story could touch someone else’s life or start a conversation about issues that are so often neglected, and those reasons are more than enough for me.
Growing up being me was hard. I wore a mask and put on an act that could lead others to believe otherwise, but I was just trying my best to blend in and be like everyone else because I was ashamed. I was so afraid of what others would think of me and that somehow who I was would have been tainted by the truth of what I had been through. So, I kept the dark parts of my life hidden in the shadows. I learned how to lead a double life: the one I portrayed and the one filled with abuse.
At age 5, the sexual abuse began. I was molested multiple times by my stepfather who I trusted and loved. Being so young, I didn’t understand what was happening to me, but I do remember feeling uncomfortable and scared. After some time, I found the courage to tell my mom that something had happened. Child Protective Services conducted an investigation that came up inconclusive, and my abuser returned to my life. From that point until age 12, my abuser didn’t hurt me anymore. I figured my speaking up had changed something in him since he was still a major part of my life. During those years, my abuser gained my trust, love and respect, and he ultimately became the closest adult to me. He was my biggest support system and the father figure I always hoped I would have; however, everything changed when I turned 12.
At this point, the sexual abuse resurfaced, but the difference was that I had no voice left to speak up. From the time I was a 12-year-old sixth grader until I was an 18-year-old high school graduate, I was molested and raped by the person I grew to love the most. Since my stepfather had my trust, he was able to manipulate me to say nothing to anyone. He coaxed me with bribes, special treatment, lies, and many other tactics over time. Once I lost hope that the abuse would ever end, I stopped fighting it. I had lost a part of myself that I am still working to recover. In an attempt to compensate for the lack of control I felt in that area of my life, I turned my attention to some positives that I could control like doing well in school, making friends, and seeming well put together on the exterior as well as some destructive behaviors like premature sexual exploration and constantly being dishonest. I didn’t want anyone to take a close enough look at me because I was afraid they would see through the cracks to who I really was. The only thing that truly motivated me was graduating from high school, so I could move to college and away from the dark cloud that was my life. On my way to this goal, I compartmentalized my feelings, built walls, pushed down depression and anxiety, and told countless lies to protect my dark secret and my stepfather.
In fall 2013, I began my first year of college. As we know, starting college is a tough transition for any 18-year-old, but it was especially difficult for me. Until I went off to college and the abuse finally ended, I didn’t have a name for what had happened to me all of those years before. Sexual abuse was never something I thought pertained to my situation. My abuser masked it as love and made it seem like we both had equal responsibility in what had happened, which I now know was never true. It was just another way he controlled me. I only made the realization for myself during a training session to become an advocate for sexual assault and harrasment survivors on campus when the speaker touched on grooming and retraumatization. For the first time since leaving my abusive household, I felt myself detach from my body as this woman spoke generally to a room full of students about how to help others. Meanwhile, I was finally realizing that something was very wrong in my own life, but I pushed those feelings down just as I always had. For the remainder of freshman year, I held on to my shame, guilt and pain with a death grip as my abuser continued to contact me and play a major role in my life.
I had never told anyone my story up to this point, and I had vowed to myself years before that I would carry it to my grave. That if I just got to college, everything would be okay. I continued putting on the act and pretending like I could forget everything like it had never happened, but I was sadly mistaken. During the winter break of my freshman year in college, I was raped while on a date in NYC. I knew something was wrong because I knew I didn’t want what had happened, but I froze and couldn’t react. What happened in NYC felt too similar to what I had experienced all of those years before. Nothing in my life was making sense anymore, and the slow downward spiral began. I decided to see a counselor on campus to talk about what had happened in NYC but ONLY about that. I still said nothing about my lifetime of trauma because I honestly didn’t have the language or the courage yet. I received counseling for the rest of the year, so I figured I was good enough to stop going when I returned for my sophomore year. Little did I know, that was when everything really fell apart.
As hard as I tried to keep everything together, all of my traumatic memories, including the ones I had deeply suppressed from ages five and six, bubbled to the surface. They were on replay all day, everyday. During class, walking around campus, during extracurriculars, and every single time I closed my eyes. It was as if Pandora’s box had flung wide open, and there was no way to close it. Not this time. I plummeted into a deep depression, heavily self-medicated and tried to numb my way through life because feeling was too much to handle, but nothing seemed to work. I was completely alone with my memories and suicidal thoughts, which soon followed, because I was too afraid of what would happen if others knew the truth. I was also afraid of my stepfather’s reaction, and questions began swirling in my mind like a merry go round: Does he know what he did? Does he think I forgot about what happened when I was five? How can he say he cares about me? Does he know how much he has broken me?
After finding myself in the hospital at my rock bottom, I finally admitted that I needed help. At age 19, I told an adult for the first time about the abuse and restarted counseling immediately. This time, I was ready to let my counselor all the way in. From that point on, I started doing the hard work of addressing my trauma with the hope of understanding and healing my wounds. Counseling has been the most crucial, yet the most difficult, part of my journey because I actually had to look inward. For the first time, I was more vulnerable than I had ever been. For the first time, I fully trusted someone. For the first time, I let go of the idea that any of the abuse was my fault. For the first time, I gave up the notion that being strong meant holding everything in. For the first time, I grieved the loss of my innocence and a childhood without pain. For the first time, I didn’t feel alone.
Fast forward to my second semester of senior year. I was in the best place I had ever been emotionally, mentally and physically up until that point. I had confided in a few more people over the years who made me feel loved, supported and seen, and it felt amazing to finally have people in my life who knew all of me, even the parts that I had once deemed unlovable. I had accepted the reality that my stepfather would always be a part of my life in some way, and I adjusted the amount of time I spent around my family, which was difficult because it meant distancing from my siblings as well. I didn’t want to break my family apart or stir up the past because I deeply believed he had only ever hurt me, so I figured I could live with it; however, I began to have suspicions. I began to worry that he was hurting someone else, so my desire to keep my story quiet and heal on my own for the sake of those close to me completely dissolved. I knew I had to speak up just as my 6-year-old self had tried to do so many years before, but I was petrified. At age 21, I told my family for the very first time. Those were honestly the hardest conversations I have ever had in my life. While balancing a full undergraduate course load, a part time job, a head resident position, senior research, an internship abroad, and graduation quickly approaching, I secretly participated in a criminal investigation against my abuser. After eight months of investigations, hearings, impact statements (see below) and retelling my story more times than I ever had, my abuser was charged with an 18 year prison sentence. For the very first time in my life, I felt free.
I am still healing, unlearning, relearning, growing and reflecting now as much as ever, but every day is a step closer to my true self--the woman I am still getting to know. Recently, I was listening to a podcast about sexual healing, and the host made a striking analogy between healing from sexual trauma and healing from a broken bone. In our society, we do a great job at accessing the break, resetting the bone, putting on the cast, and even removing the cast; however, there is an extreme disconnection after the bone is physically and anatomically healed. What about re-education about how to use our newly healed limb after its alteration? What about physical therapy to ensure that we are strengthening the bone and the surrounding muscles? When it comes to sexual healing, we are often left to figure things out after our metaphorical cast comes off, if we are fortunate enough to even get that far. There is a flaw in the system of healing from sexual trauma that so many of us face, and it is time to expose it for what it is. I believe that we do better once we know better, and I am still learning what that looks like for me and exposing the toxic behaviors that I have adopted as my normal over three years after naming my abuser. Nearly two decades after the abuse first began. It is a journey that can be turbulent and trying, but I have never felt more alive.
I can finally say that I love myself unconditionally, which has been a huge part of my continued healing. I am also learning what makes me happy, and I prioritize putting my needs by listening to my body and my inner voice, which were both muted for a long time. I am learning that healing takes a lifetime, and that realization has taken so much pressure off of my shoulders. I still have hard days, flashbacks, struggles with sexual connection and trust, and moments of dissociation during sex to name a few things, but now I have healthy coping mechanisms, support systems, and a relationship with God that keeps me grounded and hopeful. Healing isn’t linear, but every part has purpose, which becomes clearer everyday. The road to this point has had its fair share of detours and roadblocks, but I claim every part of it. It has all been part of my beautiful journey to the woman I am meant to become, so I am deeply grateful for the full spectrum.
After years of silence, secrecy and shame, I am stepping into the light with nothing but love, gratitude and faith in my heart. I have decided to turn past pain into something hopeful. Something that could touch other people’s lives, even if it’s only in a small way. I have learned that we are never alone, it was never our fault, and there is a light at the end of the tunnel--no matter how long the tunnel seems. We will not hurt forever, and our pain will transform us into the strongest, bravest, boldest versions of ourselves if we can just give it time, remain faithful, and refuse to close off the parts of ourselves that make us who we are, even as we wade through troubled waters. For whoever needs to hear this, I am here for you and with you. Our stories matter because we matter. We never really know the contents of the emotional load others may carry with them, so I challenge you to strive to meet others with kindness and compassion often because it can make a world of difference. As much as my story is about me, I strongly believe it is also about all of us as a collective whole. I believe that we are stronger together and that vulnerability makes us beautiful because healing the world begins with first healing ourselves. When we speak our truths, it gives others permission and courage to do the same. So, here I am, unapologetically stepping into the light.
My Impact Statement (previously read aloud in court)
Your Honor,
As I reflect on all that has happened throughout my 22 years of life, it is difficult to fully capture how the abuse that I endured impacted me since being sexually abused became a normalized part of my life over time. It was a secret part of my life that I never wanted to admit while simultaneously being a part that I could not escape since it all began at home with the person I trusted most. He was the one person I would do anything for because I thought he always had my best interest in mind and that he truly cared about me. However, I slowly learned after coming to college that this person did not actually care about me the way he always told me he did. Every part of the relationship I had with him was characterized by manipulation, coercion, and deception, and he conditioned me to trust in him at all costs from a very young age, which lead to years of sexual abuse followed by years of mental and emotional turmoil as a result. Being sexually abused as a child by my stepfather negatively impacted my life in a multitude of ways that I was not necessarily aware of at the time but have slowly become apparent as I have matured and acquired more education.
My stepfather’s differential treatment of me at home interfered with and prevented me from having close and healthy relationships with both my mother and siblings. He outwardly treated me better than my other immediate family members, which led them to blame and ostracize me as a result. He created negative feelings in both my mom and myself, towards each other, which have hindered the development of a healthy mother-daughter relationship, even to this day.
Similarly, his preferential treatment of me over my siblings caused them to have some negative feelings towards me as well. They did not understand why he did not give me the same consequences and limitations that he gave them. He interfered with my ability to develop healthy relationships with my siblings, and that interference still impacts my relationship with them as well.
Throughout high school, I had very poor boundaries with romantic partners and even friends as a result of the sexual abuse. I did not understand what a normal romantic relationship was, and this is something I still struggle with.
He did not treat me like a father should treat a daughter, and he never has. He treated me as if I were his romantic partner and an adult even when the abuse resurfaced at age 12. During the years that I should have been hanging out with friends and learning about opposite sex relationships with my peers, his sexual abuse and psychological control completely interrupted my ability to develop normally. Unfortunately, because my relationship with him took place throughout the entire duration of my adolescence, it was not until I got to college that I realized that the relationship between my abuser and I was not normal, and was instead, extremely abusive.
When I went off to college, I was trying desperately to both make sense of what had happened to me when I was a child and forget my secret past simultaneously. This internal battle led me to engage in risky behaviors as I attempted to make sense of my life. And even though I was in college and living solely on campus, he continued to pursue me by texting, pressuring, and guilting me into engaging in a physical relationship with him. It was very hard for me to make sense of my past and figure out how to be a college student while still having him pursuing me. All of this severely took away from my focus, which should have been solely on doing well academically and navigating the new world of college.
During the winter break of my freshman year of college, I was raped while in New York City during a trip with college friends. Being abused by my stepfather for so many years had conditioned me to know how to accept abuse of this kind and turn a blind eye to it. I did not fight. I did not flee. I just froze as I had done so many times before. Being raped in college prompted a great deal of internal confusion because the experience felt so similar and normal to me. That is when I began to realize that my stepfather had been doing the same thing to me for years while masking it as something else.
During my sophomore year of college, I was coming to the realization that my seemingly normal life was not normal at all, and I could not continue keeping up the facade of being “perfect” any longer. I finally understood and acknowledged everything he had done to me, even the molestation that took place when I was five and six years old, which are memories that I am sure my stepfather hoped I had forgotten. In college, I slowly learned more about what healthy parent-child and peer-peer relationships looked like, and I realized how vastly different those relationships were from the relationship I had with him. The more I learned about healthy relationships, boundaries, and abuse from my personal experiences involvement as an advocate for survivors of sexual harassment and assault on campus, the more I learned about my unhealthy relationship with my stepdad. This caused me to slowly distance myself from him for the remainder of my time in college until it came to a point where I would only visit home a couple times a year and refused to spend the night at all. The combination of his physical presence and the flashbacks I would experience when walking by certain parts of the house made it easy for me to detach from my family as I attempted to build a new life in college.
For so long, I was able to rationalize what happened to me from ages 12 to 18 and pretend that everything before 12 did not happen at all. I lied to myself to make it seem okay because I trusted and loved him, but everything I had suppressed while growing up finally surfaced in college. The overwhelming realization of years of abuse and trauma caused me to become suicidal, and it landed me in the hospital. I did not want to be alive anymore, and no one knew. No one in my family, and very few friends knew about where I was emotionally or why. No one knew about how depressed and dark I was except for my counselor, who helped me when I felt like I had no one else to turn to.
Despite all that I was going through from depression to self-hate and shame, my stepfather was always fine. He was living his life carefree and happy without a worry in the world. Without a thought about how what he did to me actually affected me. I was at the lowest point in my life, and he did not seem to bat an eye to any of it. It was not fair. He had gotten everything he wanted from me and got away with it all. He thought he had conditioned and brainwashed me well enough that I would never say anything to anyone about what had happened for all of those years because of the responsibility he placed on me as being an equal contributor in a mutualistic relationship. However, my stepfather did not stop to consider the exposure and knowledge I would gain while in college that would ultimately lead me to find my voice to speak out against what he had done.
In addition to the emotional and physical trauma that the abuse has caused, my stepfather has also caused me financial burdens since being in college. Since my relationship with him was more than just father-daughter, he felt comfortable enough to ask me for money to pay for household bills or items for the family business. I felt as though I had an obligation to loan him money to help with these things since he made it seem like he could not go to anyone else for help. The borrowing of money was something he asked me to keep from my mom because he did not want to worry her with the issues, but the distance between my mom and I just continued to increase, and she wasn’t even aware of it. Throughout my time in college, he borrowed thousands of dollars from me that I had started saving when I was 16-years-old, and he only repaid about one thousand dollars of that money back to me. It came to a point where I gave up on trying to reclaim the money since he always had an excuse or reason why he did not have the money. Allowing my stepdad to borrow money when I only worked 10 hours a week while being a full time college student put a financial burden on me that I am still recovering from.
At this point in my life, I have moved past the anger that I harbored towards my stepfather because I know he is finally answering to the consequences that will result from his actions. But there are still a few things that I want him to know. I want him to know that all that I have achieved in my life thus far and will achieve in the future has been despite him. I rose above a potentially crippling situation that could have broken me, but I came out on the other side stronger than ever. I am now strong enough to stand on my own two feet even when I thought I could never do anything without him or his approval. Through the hardest of times, I found resilience within myself that will continue to motivate me in the next stages of my life. A life that he will never again be a part of. My stepfather may have taken my childhood and adolescence from me, but he will never take my spirit, resilience, persistence, or strength because I finally believe in myself and what I am capable of achieving without him.