Once upon a time, I was a vibrant grad student, juggling classes and laughter until one fateful night changed everything. After a bit too much to drink, I woke up feeling as if my very essence had been stripped away. I had been assaulted, and in that darkness, I lost not only my voice but the joy of living.
The aftermath was brutal. Losing your voice is like losing a part of your identity. You walk around with your head down, praying no one sees your pain. You convince yourself it was a nightmare, that somehow you’re to blame. It’s a twisted game of survival where you feel grateful just to be alive, even if you’re haunted by the thought that it could have been worse. You stop enjoying life, you stop drinking, you stop laughing — everything that once defined you fades into the background.
The excruciating part? You often feel so numb that you don’t realize the true depth of your pain. You’re just trying to get through each day, hoping tomorrow will be a little less terrifying. Thankfully, with time and the right support, I began to reclaim my voice. I found incredible people who helped me heal — a loving partner, encouraging family, and therapists who guided me through the fog of confusion and despair.
Fast forward ten years, and I’m thriving. I have a beautiful family and a life I can be proud of. I’ve regained my voice, largely thanks to my amazing husband, supportive friends, and fulfilling work. But every so often, reminders of my past creep in, like the recent news of a sexual assault at Stanford. I usually steer clear of such stories because they can trigger painful memories. But when I came across the victim’s raw, powerful impact statement, I couldn’t look away. Her words echoed my own experiences, and I found myself in tears, feeling the weight of shared pain.
The truth is, the scars of assault don’t disappear. You can move forward, but certain triggers can thrust you back into the depths of that trauma. While these moments happen less frequently now, they still leave me feeling vulnerable and isolated. It’s hard to share these feelings, even with my loving husband. His frustration and anger only add to my silence, and I don’t want to burden him with the shadows of my past.
I keep these struggles to myself, feeling shame even though I know better. I don’t confide in my friends or family either. So, I endure these episodes in silence, grappling with feelings I can’t express. I find myself taking longer showers, trying to wash away the invisible stains of my past, or lying awake at night, haunted by nightmares.
However, I’ve learned that when triggers arise, they no longer consume me entirely. Instead of spiraling into depression, I take those days to nurture myself. When I read another survivor’s story, I cry not only for myself but for every woman who has faced similar horrors.
Now that I have a daughter, my fears shift from my own safety to worrying for hers. It’s an unbearable thought that keeps me awake at night. I know I need to talk about these fears, even if it’s uncomfortable.
Sexual assault is a heavy topic, but it’s crucial that we educate our children about respect, consent, and healthy relationships. Silence only breeds confusion and perpetuates the cycle of trauma. So, to all the moms out there, please have those tough conversations with your kids. Teach them the importance of consent and how to treat others well. We must break this cycle of silence and empower one another.
In summary, reclaiming my voice has been a journey filled with ups and downs. While I may still have moments of struggle, I find strength in community and conversation. Together, we can foster understanding and healing.
For more insights on navigating this complex journey, check out resources like this guide on fertility and this informative article that covers essential topics related to home insemination. Additionally, Make a Mom provides valuable information on couples’ fertility journeys.