A week ago I had the truly empowered experience of attending a #TIMESUP event at the Tribeca Film Festival where I got to spend a whole six hours having my ears filled with stories of female strength, creativity and fearlessness by a number of legends including – Robin Morgan, Tarana Burke, Mira Sorvino, Marisa Tomei, Wade Davis, Lupita Nyongo and Ashley Judd (just to name a few).
Amongst a mountain of highlights, in fact the whole day was just one big highlight in my LIFE to date, but the one I want to focus on here is Ashley Judd, her story and Letter to Survivors she had written and shared with us. The letter speaks for itself and doesn’t really require any other words except for the ones already beautifully put together within it, so I will leave you to just soak in it.
There is a video of Judd speaking this live on our Instagram so be sure to check that out, enjoy every word in this letter and lets always remember our preciousness, our fierceness and that “healing, damn it, is our birth right”.
We can heal. That has been my experience. We may not, admittedly, know how to, or even from what we need to heal. It may be the event itself, or vivid or dull memories of it, and it is entirely plausible that we don’t even remember the event. There is a police record of a time I was sexually assaulted in high school. I was wearing a green and gold cheerleader uniform, my mother tells me. It was in a local store, and I have no memory of that crime. We may not even think we need to heal, that maybe we’ve just had some crappy relationships. Whatever trauma looks like in our lives, feelings can be healed.
Healing is our birthright. It was not our birthright to be sexually harassed or assaulted or raped based on social constructs of gender, biology, sex, identity, orientation, ethnicity, race, ability, or any intersection thereof. It is our birthright to know in our bones that it wasn’t our fault. We humans hurt each other, and sometimes we hurt ourselves, but we can make decisions and take actions that free us.
Everyone’s freedom may look a little different. For some it is calling the police, or reporting to HR, or contacting the legal defense fund. Often choices include healthy, cathartic processing with a safe, wise friend or a trauma-informed specialist. The particular freedom I’m describing does have one universal quality: It’s an inside job. It is peace of mind. Yes, we can have peace of mind, even as survivors of violent sexual assault. It does take work, and it does take time. It requires transformation, and we are worth it.
This meta-transformation is a powerful journey from being a disempowered victim who was aggressed upon to the wound becoming an integrated part of the whole that we are. Trauma lives in the cells of our bodies and it affects the neuroanatomical pathways of our brain; it is completely natural for being a victim to be a part of our bodies. It is, I am here to tell you, impermanent.
There’s no universal timeframe for this trajectory of healing, and everyone’s work looks a little different. For some, talking about it drives the trauma deeper into the brainstem, and for others, divulging every nuance and detail is liberating. Professional modalities have helped hundreds of thousands of us get relief from impossible burdens. Inpatient treatment, workshops, and retreats have brought us together and set us free. Experiential work and movement are necessary. Breathing is free, and it intercepts PTSD. Meditation is clinically proven to ameliorate the trauma that lies triggered and wired in our brains, waiting for life to trip us up. Exercise is still the best pill around. Twelve-step programs and other resources are so helpful because many of us, in our efforts to self-soothe, to find peace where there has been turmoil, turn to alcohol or give it a cookie, take it shopping, seek out relationships. And those behaviors can become out of hand or even compulsive.
Eventually, though, what happened to us becomes externalized, and we may hold it in our hands and look at it objectively. The facts remain the facts, but by God, we change. Resilience kicks in.
This is not fair. Let’s be plain. It isn’t right or fair that 1 out of 4 girls or 1 out of 6 boys will be sexually assaulted, by conservative estimates, by the age of 18, amongst other catastrophic statistics. But—and this is everything, my friends—when we become aware of our pain, and have some education about it, we become responsible for addressing our pain in effective and healthy ways. What happened to us will always have been wrong, sexist, and criminal, yet we are fundamentally and ultimately responsible, respondable to our own lives. This may sound harsh, but it means we have autonomy, we are powerful, and we have agency.
The final stage is that what happened to us merely becomes a story we tell that may be of service to another human being. Perhaps placed in God’s hands, or some other benevolent, compassionate higher power’s hands, this story makes life so worthwhile and meaningful now. With it, we can help others avert death and misery.
You are not alone, I believe you, and it wasn’t your fault, by now are our internal paradigm. We learn how to trust people who are trustworthy and have discernment about those who are not. We can artfully set and maintain healthy boundaries. We use our voices, we weather retaliation and act up anyway. We cease taking people, places, and things so personally, and what was that rage Tarana [Burke] spoke about becomes our strength, our energy, and our motivation. What was depression becomes expression, and self-pity and helplessness are transformed into dignity, integrity, and courage. We celebrate and enjoy our sexuality. We prosecute and forgive at the same time.
There will still be the hard days. The facts do remain the facts, but we know our preciousness and our fierceness. Healing, damn it, is our birthright.