Moving on from Trauma
By Leo Schelly (he/they)
Countless times before, we have come to see how sexual assault victims choose to hide their stories. This could be due to a wide list of reasons, whether it be from fear or feeling confused and out of sorts. Victims don’t often share their stories, but when it does happen, you can see a positive growth in their own self-esteem. I was a victim of sexual assault, and while I wish the entire event never occurred, I feel as though by sharing my story, others could feel empowered to follow suit.
I share my dark side with you all because I stress how important it is to let it all out and not be afraid of what others may think. It will be better to let people know your situation instead of hiding and keeping whatever may be brewing inside you. Some people may claim that by reliving the pain and anguish it can cause even more grief. However, the way I see it, it becomes easier knowing that there are loved ones who I can rely on. The recovery process may be excruciating, but I know that the end result will be worth it.
Now personally, it took me months before I could even feel comfortable to tell my friends. And even today, I am still going through the recovery process, trying to get over the situation. By sharing my story, I have been able to release a massive weight off my shoulders. But, since I’m not like anyone else, I can only share my own experience.
Sophomore year, one of my closest friends sexually assaulted me and changed my life forever. It was a Friday in April 2022. My friends and I ended up going to the pool at one of our apartments. It started off great as we each acted chill and did our own thing. However, once I was in the hot tub with Dick, my life changed for the worse. Dick had been a friend of mine since my first year of middle school, but he was a schmuck who never understood boundaries. Dick believed that it would be funny to suddenly grab my private parts. I hollered and screamed no to him, but it did not stop, which made me realize that I just might be screwed. Thrashing around, I tried to escape the tub but to no avail—my frail 130-pound self could not push away all of the 220 lbs this guy had on him. The next thing I knew, I was thrown down, head first into the water. He repeatedly touched me, and as I called out, nobody heard. For what felt like ten minutes, I was stuck there suffering from this incident, until my friends saw and realized that it wasn’t a joke as I was genuinely crying for help. What hurt the most was a few of my closest friends believed that Dick did not understand what he was doing, justifying his innocence. Obviously, I did not agree but, in fear of losing my friends, I decided to not report the incident. Even today, I’m sure that if I were to tell my friends exactly how traumatized I was from the incident they would understand, but still, it hurts to even acknowledge that I am a victim. For months, I tried convincing myself that it was just a small incident, that it wasn’t a case of assault, and that I should move on. But it stayed there, gnawing away at me as I kept to myself.
It was agony, living through the event by myself. I lost faith in everyone, not just the person who hurt me or the bystanders, but friends too. I isolated myself and hid all the emotions swirling inside me, avoiding any possibility of an intervention. I felt as though the only thing I could control was my distance between the people I cared about. I was punishing them even though they had done nothing wrong because I needed to ensure that no one else could hurt me. Unable to share with others, I developed insomnia and stayed awake thinking about what people might say if they found out. Until very recently, I have never told my family out of fear of their reaction. I know they wouldn’t be upset with me, but I just don’t want anyone to worry for me and take action into their own hands. At the end of the day, I wanted to solve my problems by myself without hurting the people around me and those that I care about. I thought I would be a burden causing my friends and family to worry about me when they had so much going on themselves.
As I slowly became a social recluse, I noticed my life slipping away from me. The relationships that I had made seemed to be slipping away because I was never there to be with them. Because no one knew my story, I seemed as though I was simply avoiding people. I was in a dark place, reliving the incident over and over again in my head.
My life spiraled down, as I began to stop eating as much and ended up secluding myself from social events. Of course, I was still there for my friends, but I always felt as though I didn’t inhabit my body, as if I wasn’t there at the time. At some points, I wanted to escape but never followed through because I knew that it would affect those around me. I was locked in a prison of emotion, my thoughts were my warden, and the people I loved were separated from me.
My friends would always ask me if I was okay which led me to realize that they wanted me to let it all out, to speak honestly, and become content with who I am. It was long and arduous, but the realization that I shouldn’t bottle it all up and that sometimes it's okay to release all your emotions truly did wonders for me.
I knew that to start my recovery, I needed to talk about the assault. Telling my friends what happened was the hardest thing I have ever done. With eyes fastened to the floor, lips glued shut, I couldn’t even look up when I told them that I needed to talk.
As I began to voice my story, I felt nothing but their worry and love for me. The special souls around me lifted the massive weight off my chest and I exhaled the deep breath I had held inside for so long. Though it was not and continues not to be linear, my healing began on this day, and my friends’ support allowed me to thrive in ways I never thought possible.
As human beings, we are one of the few creatures to have empathy and as such, we should use that to our advantage. Don’t just toughen up and keep to yourself, share your story.
As for me, by sharing my experience, I took that first step towards recovery, with my second treating life like a barbell, adding plates to both sides and hefting the weight on my shoulders— this time of my own accord. I’ve taken command of who I am, putting full effort into what makes me happy, whether it was being the number one fan of my friend’s band, or pursuing my academic interests, or even just helping out the community in any way I could. I pushed to make sure that inequities and pain would become a thing of the past, consoling those who had to deal with such strain alone because no one should ever have to endure the agony of something beyond their control. As time went on, my old fears were ripped to shreds like old muscles and replaced with better, stronger feelings of confidence and fulfillment.
My thoughts will always be my warden, but now I’m in control. This incident will always be a part of me, but it doesn’t define me. By overcoming this nightmare, I know that I can get through anything. My growth, aided by the ones I love, cannot be accurately quantified or articulated, but my journey does not stop here. I have overcome my pain, but many others are still hurting. As I opened up, many of my peers gained the courage to share their stories with me, allowing me to become that same beacon of hope that my friends were for me. Because I know this pain and how it chains you up and locks you away, I want to devote my life to helping others, ensuring that I share the key with anyone who has been locked away by their minds, just as I was.
Trust me when I tell you this, there are always people out there to support you. So share your story because while our experiences may be different, I know that at the end of the day, we are all humans. Understand that someone will always be out there as a shoulder to lean on. Everyone has their own unique meaningful life, and we should express what we feel on a day-to-day basis. Without letting your heart out, you won’t ever be able to uplift yourself from the gutters of life. Take care of yourself and learn to rely on people.
Our lives are only so long and if you don’t stop to get help along the way, you may lose it all.
Note: while the perpetrator’s name has been purposefully changed, the name used is a nickname for his real one. I ask you not to assume who the person is.
