In the last year, I have started speaking more about my assaults, which has been cathartic and freeing, but also extremely emotional and draining. I had this notion that finally sharing my story would be a magical fix – the clouds would part and the guilt, shame, and trauma would wash away. I thought my flashbacks would cease, my triggers would no longer set off a fire inside me, & I would gain back the self-confidence and trust I lost long ago.
As you can imagine, that wasn’t the case. Speaking up did give me a quick adrenaline boost and a feeling of pride and closure. It was short lived, though. It was followed by disappointment – disappointment in not feeling “healed”, in not speaking up sooner, in opening a door I could no longer shut. Exposing yourself and your deepest, most vulnerable experiences is truly terrifying, especially on the internet.
I spent so many years avoiding posting about my assaults because I didn’t want to make OTHER people uncomfortable. I didn’t want them to look at me with pity at events or family gatherings. I didn’t want them talking about me when I wasn’t around. Or telling me how they would have “handled the situation”. Or telling me about a similar situation they’d been in with no lead up. I am all for supporting other survivors and am more than happy to listen if you want to confide in me, but it can’t be unprompted. That is very triggering.
I have this debilitating and seemingly unavoidable habit of immediately trivializing my own assaults after hearing about someone else’s. Being reminded how common sexual assault is makes me feel less alone, but it also makes me increasingly disgusted with humanity, and, most importantly, it makes me question why I can’t seem to process it and work through it as fast as other people. If these assaults are why I don’t have my shit together, but other people with similar stories do have theirs together, then there must be something wrong with me. That’s how my brain thinks about it. Hearing about a person who has a similar story and is now thriving should, logically, give me hope. But instead it makes me feel inadequate. And then it’s just one more thing I’m “bad” at – healing.
I need to be in the right head space or it can set me back. It may sound selfish, but is a boundary I feel strongly about. In order to be the best support system I can for someone, I need to have the mental capacity to commit to helping.
Talking Through Trauma 