Excerpts of an untold tragedy…

Have you ever written a story that’s torn apart your soul? I have. In my quest for healing I wrote a book. First draft complete, I threw it out into the world. That may sound crazy to some of you that read this. I needed it though. I didn’t question, I didn’t leave room for doubt, I just hit that button to share. A few months ago I finally got around to pulling it down so I could work on it again. It’s rough, but it’s getting better. I wanted everyone here to see though. To understand the story that made me who I am today. Granted, this is only a small part of it. It’s a very important part though. One I’ve often not shared because shame and guilt had me biting my tongue. Talking about our stories is how we truly connect though. In those vulnerable moments we’re able to open up, to let the light in, to heal. So this is my reminder to women and little girls across the world: You survived. You are here. You deserve better than the blows that were dealt to you.

I’ve shared a scene from my book below. This is your trigger warning for anyone that’s suffered sexual abuse before. It isn’t as graphic as other parts in my book, yet it’s still able to give a brief glimpse into what some victims go through.

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As the wind whipped around her, the scenes playing before her were not what she wanted to see. This time everything went in reverse, for a moment and it was like watching a movie on rewind. One she didn’t want to see. At first it was just that little girl, holding onto her knees and crying. As Avanna looked on she realized that in these memories she was even younger than before. Realization started to dawn on her, but it was already too late. The scenes spun faster and faster before her eyes. She turned away and tried to cry out, but couldn’t when the air was slammed out of her lungs. She was laying on a concrete floor. Knowing this was different, Avanna took a moment to brace herself. She was afraid to look up but she knew it was the only way to get back to her friends. So she did. She watched as her younger self peered out the window. Watched as strangers made their way into her home. She kept looking as she became friends with these new companions, her daddy’s other family from before. Still, she watched, as she shared her room with a mother and little girl. Avanna swore she could physically feel the milk dripping onto her bunk from the little girls bottle. She wasn’t her daddy’s daughter, but Avanna had loved her all the same.  The scenes kept coming and she watched as her younger self tried fruitlessly to spend time with her older brothers. She felt the pang of loneliness as time and time again she was shoved aside to take care of the baby girl. Her heart squeezed as the scene she had been dreading was before her eyes. The boys had started a club. She wanted so desperately to be a part of it. Too desperately. That’s when it began. Still, Avanna watched as she was first molested. She forced her eyes to stay open as the scenes played out and she was raped repeatedly. She heard every word whispered in her ear and felt the wounds reopen in her heart. Worthless. Nothing more than a whore. She wanted this torture. She wouldn’t say a word. These words had long since become her mental prison. It was the voice she heard any time she looked in a mirror. Avanna saw her younger self alone and scared in her room; saw the blood. She watched as it happened over and over again. So many times she lost count. The grief welled up inside her and she was sure she would explode from the emotions. Her heart hurt so much it felt as if it was a battering ram rather than the organ keeping her alive. Tears threatened to burst from her eyes but instead came out in silent rivers. “Be quiet. Be obedient. Do what you’re told and don’t get hurt.” This was the mantra playing through her mind with each scene that came forward. Avanna’s heart broke a thousand times over and she wasn’t sure she could take much more. Then, suddenly…nothingness. Avanna blinked, trying to see through her tears. Before her was the very person she so desperately feared. A thin boy with a too narrow face. Cunning eyes weighed down by dark circles, his arm was outstretched. A small smile played on his lips as he gazed down at her.  “Wanna play? You know you do.” He smirked as the venom poured through his lips.

When I wrote this scene it nearly drained me. Even two decades, years of therapy, shadow work, and all different kinds of growth later – these memories are still in my nightmares. It’s been a while since I’ve had one so severe that I’ve woken up frozen in fear. Not so long since I’ve had the panic attacks that began back then, yet even those have gotten fewer and farther between.

I used to be ashamed to tell my story. I always said it made people look at me differently. I couldn’t stand the pity in their eyes as I shared my darkest secrets. The horror they felt as I detailed even the smallest of ways I had been violated. Now I know. I know I’m no longer a victim. I’m a survivor and I’ve grown into a thriving life.

It isn’t without its hardships or low moments. I still fight the depression and whispers that come from the dark. I know that it will never truly be over but every time I spiral back to that place – I come back stronger than before. I know that I’ll never get to a point where I wear my trauma like a trophy as some people do. I’ll never allow it to excuse me acting poorly. I’ll forever try to be aware of how it can affect the decisions I’m making, especially as I remember my teenage years and the additional trauma I brought upon myself.

I’ll forever continue trying to grow. Releasing these traumas each time they resurface, and forever trying to forgive. Compassion, empathy, and service to others is etched into my very core because it’s all the things I never received during that time of my life. I swore I’d never let the shit from my past harden my heart or turn me bitter. I stand by that to this day. I was a seven year old little girl when my innocence was ripped apart. I allowed it to haunt me for years. I took any positive attention as love, because from a young age my view of love was skewed. I sealed off my heart and to this day I don’t open up to many people. It’s hard to trust people. It’s hard to believe that people care.

I fight a “fawn response” every time I’m faced with rejection or heartache. I’m just now learning that you don’t have to earn the right to be loved. I fight myself to stay vulnerable and not think of it as a weakness. I go to war against this world every day, trying to add light and love into it. I’ve struggled to learn healthy boundaries and how to set them. I’ve lost my temper over seemingly meaningless things, that to me hit way too close to home. I bend over backwards for a woman in need because I know what it’s like to be her. I strive every day to learn what it means to love yourself. I drown out that voice in my head with my own voice of reason, and sometimes with music. I fight. Every day I fight, even when I’m tired.

Some days this trauma and several others, also spoken about in my book, are too much to bear. Some days I seem to do nothing. Some days I’m queen of the world. There are even days when I don’t think about my past at all. Every day I wake up is another day I’ve survived. Every step I take forward is another chance to thrive. Life can break you in a moment and sometimes it takes a lifetime to recover. All I ask is that you remember you are NOT alone. Tell your story and do not be ashamed. Heal, queens. Heal and know that this world can give us lives that are so much better than what we came from or where we’ve been.