I Am Transformation, You Are Too

Sometimes I think with deep sadness that my name is Carol, like a Christmas song.

My uncle once described a crime that occurred every Christmas at a dinner when he had been drinking. My mother says I didn’t hear it, but he described an act against humanity that recurred every Christmas Eve. Suddenly, I understood the biases in his jokes as a way of defending him against this pain.

I look at my Christmas dishes sometimes and think back in time to that moment.

In the second grade, I remember my grandfather molesting me on a porch made out of marble slabs by his farmhouse under the pine trees. He told me that my body was basically a toy for playing with.

There was an attic to the farmhouse where more happened to me and my cousins. I won’t burden you with the words. I did that to an audience once, and they started to hear things that I didn’t even say. I realized at that moment that nobody really knows you; we are constantly transforming and evolving as human beings.

I walked that line of danger for a long time–I thought I could balance an unsafe environment with screaming “stop” in my own way.

But I remember one day when the whole family left me alone with him, because that was the day I screamed at him to stop so loudly that my great aunt must have heard me from the kitchen where she was doing the dishes.

I walked that line of danger for a long time–I thought I could balance an unsafe environment with screaming “stop” in my own way.

On that journey, I found alcohol. But it was not my friend; the most frightening things would happen when I would drink. Whether during a drinking game or on a trip to China where we drank the bar out of vodka, I learned the worst happened when I drank.

Relationships with men never worked for me, because there would always be some drama, and it was a reflection of the drama I was living. Everything about my life was out of control, and I liked it that way. It was like being in the middle of abuse and saying “stop.”

The “stop” never seemed to stick until I started clinging to my therapist.

I saw her because the most painful drama of my life ended with me being suicidal. My father told me not to use his insurance because he didn’t want to get fired from his company. I got angry, and instead of writing sad songs, I picked up the phone and called her.

Our session turned her stomach, and she had to excuse herself. But that day I began climbing out, with her as a lifeline, one step at a time.

The first step was changing into more conservative clothing that my therapist suggested I wear. I had emulated my definition of beauty through my clothes, which were short and revealing. While I had a right to wear what I wanted, it sent a signal to men that I didn’t really want to send. I began respecting my body and mind but dressed differently. This was one symbolic step, mirrored by others: I stopped drinking, set boundaries, and asked for what I wanted from my life.

I chiseled out a career with baby steps. I decided to seek out marriage instead of whirlwind relationships. I learned to name my boundaries with sophistication and keep them.

With the help of medication and diving into the arts, I found some tranquility. I sang, I drew, I sculpted. I released my feelings on paper or with the camera. There were self-help books and creativity books. Best of all, there was advocacy–standing with other women to say “stop” in my work with the National Human Trafficking Survivor Network.

There was education, where I got my master’s degree before my mind exploded, reliving my experiences over and over in psychotic episodes. My degree allowed me to switch jobs. When things got rough due to sexual harassment or a moment of illness, there was always something else to move on to. I’ve always landed on my feet and have had more than nine lives.

While today I’m focused on suicide prevention, the journey has always allowed me to assist others in creating their own meaningful ladders out of the turmoil of a loss of emotional well-being.

Above all, my education has served me best. I climbed the corporate ladder with a certification in peer support and then jumped off the ladder, while still having a job, because my skills have always allowed me to do something meaningful in a paid capacity. While today I’m focused on suicide prevention, the journey has always allowed me to assist others in creating their own meaningful ladders out of the turmoil of a loss of emotional well-being.

Sometimes I still create dramas by holding secrets inside, but I hold on to the discipline of my faith in Jesus Christ to draw me out. He is the father I never had that loves me always. Sometimes I get stuck reliving my traumas and just sit on the couch, afraid to move. The laughter of my son and his love of basketball and acting draws me out. My husband encourages me to get moving and get outside.

It is these human connections that link us to moving forward with the goals of our lives. When we are alone, one can feel losses in a way that drags us down. When we receive that gift of empathy, we get unstuck and move onward in life.

I am constantly transforming as a person—in my faith, in my relationship skills, as a mother, as an artist, as a wife, and in my career. I am Carol, a name related to the joy of Christ’s birth at Christmas. I am not a toy.