I Let Go of Shame

I am a sexual assault survivor.

At age 14, I was assaulted by multiple perpetrators. I managed to hide my physical injuries from my family for many years. I knew that my home was a space where there was a lot of confusion. My parents were wonderful people and I don’t blame them. However, my father drank too much, too often, and my mother tried very hard not to cause the unpredictability that would inevitably follow if my father had too much to drink. I knew my parents would be ashamed and that, at that time, they wouldn’t really have the ability to handle any type of search for justice. At 17, my younger sister passed away from a brief illness. A few months later, I gave birth to my first child. I married my son’s father knowing that he was addicted to drugs, just to get out of the house. We separated three months after getting married and divorced not long after.

When I was 26, I remarried and the relationship quickly became abusive. I experienced physical, emotional, financial, and intellectual violence for 15 years. I stayed in the marriage so that my kids would have a stable childhood. I had no idea that they were being traumatized by witnessing their mother being abused, over and over again. It took time and strength to leave, but doing so was freeing.

After my marriage ended, I decided that I needed to be educated and enrolled in school. I was already in another toxic relationship — this partner’s addiction was sex. There was persistent, recurring infidelity, and after three years, we broke up. For most of the relationship, my mother was fighting a battle with brain cancer. My partner was unsupportive and selfish, so I was unable to process my feelings and subsequent grief when my mother died a few months later. My fiancé didn’t attend the funeral and was very upset that I would choose to spend some extra time with my family. At that point, I chose my dreams over the relationship — I ended my engagement and broke up with my fiancé, and continued to go to school and work, both full-time.

I still felt that I was not enough on my own — that I was incomplete unless I was in a relationship. So I got into a relationship with someone new. He was kinder and not conventionally abusive, but he was controlling. Every time I expressed my dislike at the level of control or my unhappiness about his emotional unavailability, he would break up with me, then come back with an apology not long after. That mess lasted two and a half years, punctuated by 19 breakups.

During this relationship, I sought out a therapist. Luckily, the person who did the intake asked the right questions and suggested that I speak with a trauma therapist. So, I committed to trauma therapy. For the next three years, I saw my therapist, as many as three times a week. The pain of speaking about the reality of the horrifying sexual assault was excruciating! It was like healing from third-degree psychic burns. It took at least a year for me to come to terms with the fact that none of the abuse — sexual or domestic — was my fault. The process upset my controlling boyfriend. My independence would prompt him to accuse the therapist of poisoning my mind and sabotaging the relationship. Somehow this made me see the progress I was making. I became bolder. I was able to say no when I didn’t want to do something and leave his house when he started to lecture me about my appearance, my job, my kids, or my friends. Finally, my point of view changed. I saw him as the problem and solved it by ending the relationship.

That was the moment I became the priority. I didn’t have time to focus on someone who was not emotionally available to me. By the time I graduated with my BA in history, I was on my own and felt strong. I enrolled in graduate school. Right after that, I got laid off from my job so I decided that I would just take time for myself. I went to school and therapy. That was it! The rest of the time, I went to the beach, hung out with friends, and became a rape trauma advocate. I started speaking to women’s groups. I spoke at high schools. I learned to attend a sexual assault examination — for the survivor’s support — at a local emergency room.

Towards the end of the second year of my time by myself, I began to realize I was strong. I knew I had survived everything because I have a unique understanding of how to recover, even if I didn’t acknowledge my sexual assault or domestic violence in real-time. I learned that when I served others, I healed. It is a remarkable feeling.

However, around this time, my children became very unhappy. They believe that I had changed into someone they didn’t know because I was never happy just being their mother. They’d go for long periods where they didn’t speak to me. My children felt that they didn’t know me. Earlier in their lives, when they would tell me to do something, I did it. If I asked them for something and they chose to say no, there were no repercussions. That was no longer the case. I have boundaries and that’s that. It hurts, but we are no longer close. Maybe I’m no longer the woman who raised them, but I choose not to look back.

I was alone, but I loved it. It was at this time I stopped therapy because I felt strong and I knew that if I was going to make mistakes, they would be new mistakes, unrelated to unprocessed trauma.  

Then I met someone. He was newly separated and I was very afraid that he would not be available for me. But he was. He needed love, he wanted to give me love, and I accepted it. It was a strange situation but it was perfect for us. I was an unemployed student and he was a single dad working the night shift. We were available for each other at odd hours and weird days and it was blissful. Around the time I got my master’s degree, he got his divorce. After five years, we moved in together. We are best friends who watch a lot of sports and take a lot of trips. I have a job I enjoy, as well. I’m a care manager for a nonprofit insurance company and I love my members. I’m happy and free. I have the life I want. I have the life anyone would want. And I owe it all to therapy.

I also continue to volunteer for sexual assault hotlines and local emergency rooms with voluntary rape trauma advocacy, for up to 30 hours a week. I provide critical support for survivors who need a safe place to talk about what happened. I had to handle my sexual assault alone. I don’t want anyone else to have to do that. I want other survivors to know how important and how healing it can be to tell someone what happened. I believe it’s vitally important to see sexual assault in the same light as any other crime and to view the experience without shame. When you let go of shame, you’re free.