I knew when I started this blog that it was all for this one entry. I didn’t think I would be ready to write it this soon. In reality, I’ll never really be “ready,” but I’ve known for a long time that I have to share my experiences. I share because I hope that in doing so I am somehow helping someone else, and I share because I’ve realized it’s a heavy load to carry alone.
I love making lists. To-do lists, guest lists, planning lists, lists of presidents… my mind is always grouping things and filling itself with more (largely useless) information. There is one list that I work hard to avoid making. I know that these things are alike, but their combined impact is much larger than the individual components. While seeing all my home improvement to-do’s on one sheet is somehow calming, grouping these things together overwhelms, terrifies and depresses me.
Ladies and Gentlemen, for the first time appearing on paper together, I bring you:
My Life Traumas
- I was molested by my grandfather throughout my childhood.
- I grew up in a roach-infested trailer and shared a room with my brother until I was fourteen.
- I was raped by an acquaintance when I was seventeen.
- I married a man who was addicted to pornography and became physically and verbally abusive.
- The love of my life (not my ex-husband) didn’t love me enough to stay.
- I’ve suffered from depression most of my life, and have attempted suicide.
One in six women is a victim of sexual assault. An estimated 12% of high school girls have been sexually abused. Nearly one-third of American women report being physically or sexually abused by a husband or boyfriend in their lifetimes. A friend says that I’m carrying a bigger load to spare a few others.
Of course, the list just scratches the surface of the real impact of these events. I’ve tried to create a list of after-affects, but that list seems to grow and change too often to keep up. When I think I’m stabilized, an aftershock hits.
Every day, I am reminded of something on the list. I wish I knew how to erase the pains and memories, but they are deep stains. But that’s not the important part of my story. The important part is that I stopped letting my past ruin my present and future.
My life used to be a dichotomy. I wanted nothing more than to help other people overcome their challenges, but I secretly loathed them for their weaknesses. I felt the pain others’ broken hearts, broken homes, and broken lives, while simultaneously feeling disrespect at their inability to cope.
In hindsight, that seems absurd. I was no better. I had this big chip on my shoulder that said, “You think you have problems? You should see my list. THAT is what real problems look like.”
Statistically, I should be an alcoholic and drug addict with major sexual dysfunction. Thankfully, none of those apply to me, but because I didn’t have those obvious physical symptoms, I thought I was fine. While other people use addictions and reckless behaviors to escape their trauma, I escaped by disappearing.
The magic of my disappearing was that no one was able to see it happening. I went to school and made good grades. I went to work and completed all that was asked of me, often earning promotions. I had friends. I dated. I spent time with my family. What seemed like a good life on the outside was really just going through the motions to avoid talking about what was happening on the inside.
The invisible me created illnesses and crises so that I could lay in bed for days at a time. I pretended to have a life that was too busy for me to answer calls when I really just didn’t want to talk. I sat crying in my shower until the water was so cold I could hardly stand. Then I turned the water off and sat there crying some more. Usually, I didn’t even know why.
I still struggle. Now, it usually lasts hours or days rather than weeks or months. The big difference is that I’ve opened up about my problems. Now, friends know how to see me disappearing and help me reappear. I’ve also recognized how deep my troubles run and conscientiously choose to make life better rather than dwell in the past. As simple as it seems, that can still be a hard choice to make.
When a teenager is in love, there is nothing you can say that will dissuade her from a slimeball boyfriend. She has to get to a place where she can see his warts for herself. In the same sense, I’ve learned the hard way that no one will move beyond old hurts until they make the choice for themselves that they are ready to heal.
I still want to help people. When they are ready, I am here. It pains me to see lives frozen by past events, but I know everyone must handle their lists at their own pace. Thank you for helping me work through mine. I hope that everyone is able to release the past and enjoy today.
