The Shift

Torn, hurting, and angry,

I rebelled.

I did some things I shouldn't have. I lashed out at people who didn't deserve it. I dropped friends in favor of those with looser values. Sometimes, I ignored schoolwork. I sought companionship with anyone willing, knowing it was wrong.

No one knew that I was torn, hurting, and angry, least of all, why.

I hid it well.

A smile hides much.

I chose one confidant. I discovered I had chosen the wrong person in whom to confide. I was out of her league to assist, so I was pawned off. It felt like a slap in the face.

Help was offered, but it would have meant adult scrutiny. Male adult scrutiny. Exactly who I was most eager to rebel against. I didn't pursue it.

No longer did I believe in authority.

No longer did I believe close friendship was possible.

What did I believe in?

Authority had let me down.

Religion had let me down.

People had let me down.

At that moment, I believed in fun. I believed in trying to find love — any love. I believed in hiding my status as a victim.

Why face what had happened when it was easy to pretend nothing had happened at all? Why admit that which would have felt shameful?

Why should I do anything about it when I thought it could pass?

Little did I know. Being a victim doesn't pass.

*

Then, the shift began.

• I became an adult.
• I had a career.
• I had a real relationship.
• I became a mother.

I had to believe in those new roles if I were to continue to operate on a day-to-day basis. I continued to hide what had happened.

My reality became more important than the past.

My fun became outings, birthday parties, Halloween, Christmas. I did have fun. It wasn't just an act.

Yet, all of those things were distractions from that which I was suppressing. No matter how much I didn't want to acknowledge it, it remained there, lurking in the background, unaddressed, festering.

As my children grew, so, too, did I. But still, something wasn't right. Once in a while, my temper flared. Now and then, I'd say something that I didn't mean to say. Sometimes, I did something I grew to regret. I knew the victim in me was creeping to the surface.

*

The shift continued.

Writing became an escape. A therapy.

I could say in writing what I couldn't bring myself to utter aloud.

I could pretend that I was writing about a character. Not me. Someone else had those issues. Someone else was the victim. Then, gradually I made my writing more personal. I shed light on that which tried to remain in the dark. It gave me courage.

*

Eventually, I did admit some of what happened to those closest. It no longer mattered if it was met with disbelief or shock. It was a release to get it out.

I had words of forgiveness for myself in my vocabulary. I could breathe more easily, laugh more readily, live more freely. I could feel honorable again.

I believed in me.

The shift complete,

I was no longer a victim.

I had become a survivor.

* * *

If you or someone you love has experienced trauma of any kind, please seek help. The following numbers are for the states.

For domestic abuse, call: 1-800-799-SAFE.

For child abuse, call: 1-800-422-4453.

For sexual abuse, call: 1-800-656-HOPE.

Talk with a trusted friend, a relative, or a minister. Find anyone at all who will listen. Silence is a killer.