I Am a Survivor, Not a Victim, and I’m Grateful for My Pain
TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of sexual abuse and may be triggering to some people. “Emotional pain cannot kill you but running from it can. Allow. Embrace. Let yourself feel. Let your yourself heal.” ~ Vironika Tugaleva I was nine years old, sitting on the couch with my dad, watching a Very Brady Christmas (on my sister’s birthday, December 20 th ) when he first molested me. Terror, confusion, disbelief, and shame comingled to create a cocktail that would poison me for many years to come. We grew up in a family that, from the outside, seemed ideal. We would attend church with my mom’s side of the family every Sunday, going to breakfast at a restaurant after. My brothers, sister, and I spent weekends partaking in fun activities that would range from spending the whole day building towns made out of clay to rollerskating while my mom baked homemade bread. To anyone that knew us, we seemed like the perfect family. And then one day we weren’t anymore. After that...