Finding Support & Saying the Words Aloud

I used to say that I was thankful for all my experiences, good and bad, because they made me stronger. But then last year, someone who saw past my smile to the built up unexpressed anguish, a fellow survivor, looked me straight in the eyes and said:

You are not stronger simply because of what happened to you; you are the strong, resilient being you were meant to be, despite what happened to you.

That was one of the most beautiful, perspective shifting things anyone has ever said to me.

In her words, I was able to see that I had been telling myself my entire life that I wouldn't be as strong had x, y, or z not happened. I had it all backwards.

I never thought to give myself credit for being resilient enough to pull through the darkness on my own, for being able to survive all on my own. Having this fellow survivor see my pain, honor my strength and resilience, and share her story and wisdom with me is what inspired me to find a therapist for good and begin to heal the wounds I've been trying to hide my entire life. After 9 months of weekly therapy, feeling a lack of connection that can't be gained from my spouse or therapist, I joined a support group for the first time.

In January of 2021, I nervously waited for my first session to begin via zoom. I was sweating and shaking. My mind was racing. I wanted to make excuses and run, yet I sat in the discomfort and watched as the minutes rolled over, approaching 6 PM. I had my notebook beside me, ready with my scripted introduction that was written down neatly in a large font. I took a few minutes to check in with myself:

Alright everyone, here we go! We're going to attend our first group session. It's going to be okay, I promise. Whoever would like to show up and participate is welcome; even if you just want to sit and listen that is fine; alternatively, you can stay in your safe space while we attend group. I love you all so much.

When I first started these internal check ins, where I'm literally talking to myself, I felt a bit crazy. It seemed insane to me that there were these parts inside, each holding their own pain causing me to feel and behave in certain ways that didn't make sense to me. Despite any questioning or feelings of insanity, I trusted my therapist and her guidance, so I stuck with the internal check ins any time I felt heightened emotions. Nine months in, I felt fairly confident in my ability to check in and know that I'm making a connection with these parts. I've learned that they are indeed real, they do hold pain, and they do need to express themselves and heal. Joining a group was one of the ways I planned on allowing my parts to find their voice, at their own pace.

After my check in, I felt calm. My breathing became more controlled, my heart rate slowed, and my mind began to clear. It was go time. The zoom meeting began. I had my first experience with saying the words aloud,

Hi my name is Cristianna, and I am a survivor of childhood and teenage sexual trauma.

Just because we're able to say the words doesn't make it easy.

The word survivor always made me feel like I was taking a title I didn't deserve, so I didn't like saying it. It's taken me three months since starting group to understand why. Everyone has different experiences with rape. The lack of sexual consent, rape, isn't always violent. I was taken advantage of and raped by someone I loved and trusted when I was around the age of 6, which made me susceptible to abuse and exploitation as I grew older. The manipulation that's used with grooming practices can wreak havoc psychologically, at any age. Your mind is warped into thinking that what is or was happening is somehow okay because of your relationship, their title, and a seemingly shared bond of trust. I didn't tell my mom or anyone what was happening to me. At such a young age, dissociation became a way of coping with the trauma that was too overwhelming for my adolescent mind to comprehend.

Being a survivor means that you're continuing to exist despite what was taken from you against your will.

Unfortunately for some survivors, such as myself, re-victimization is common. I was raped when I was 14 while drinking with my best friend and a few guys she knew, who were strangers to me. At that time, I blamed myself. I told myself it was my fault because I was too drunk. I told myself that if I didn't remember the entire evening it didn't give me the right to accuse someone of rape. I told myself that I must have been asking for it, despite knowing I wanted to wait until I was 18 to start having sex. I convinced myself that what happened wasn't that bad and that I didn't need to tell anyone or talk about it. I went back to school after winter break wondering if I was pregnant because I wasn't on birth control. Once my period came, I began drinking and partying excessively, and sleeping around as if to take ownership of the title and role these men had given me.

Continuing to exist doesn't always looks healthy, which also makes it hard to take the survivor title. For many years I numbed myself with drugs and alcohol, thinking that I was evading the discomfort that lingered. Different versions of myself have emerged to get through each new phase of surviving.

Being in a new phase, one where I am committed to healing, is inspiring. I'm learning to release myself from shame, and lean into discomfort. I am a survivor. Though many are silent about their experiences, as they also navigate their own versions of themselves and phases of life, whatever they be, it can be comforting to hear:

You are resilient, you are strong, and you are brave, despite what happened to you.

I'm cheering for you on your journey and celebrating you.

After all, you're the one who got you here.