Assaulted: Metamorphosis from Victim to Warrior

 

Throughout our lifetime, we face all sorts of situations that wake us up, alter our perception of the world, and lend us guidance as we navigate the waters of who we truly believe we are.

Then there are the experiences we are forced to take into our “learning repertoire” as we are thrown into icy cold waters without a life vest, challenging us beyond comprehension. Floating alone in the deep end, we realize we are faced with three options: we either flee, freeze, or fight. Do you sink to the bottom, slowly drowning? Swim for your life without any sense of direction? Or are you prepared to raise your chin and your fists and take the challenge head-on?

Up to a certain point, I had gained a sort of cockiness - believing I had experienced enough to really be able to handle anything without being too violently shaken. I was wrong. Obtaining sexual assault into my training arsenal was not something I was prepared to collect. There was a certain Garden of Eden I had obliviously existed within that I hadn't realized was a part of me until I was robbed of it.

I was wrong. I was raped.

Just typing that word allows the floodgates to burst open. Every fiber of my being instantly imagines it all again as though it’s a current memory. My throat is tightening… insides clench into themselves…  a quiver is sent from my fingertips to the base of my neck…  stomach descends into oblivion. I can feel it all again: the fear taking over, until the assiduously trained lion-heart courage steps in to take over, proudly interjecting, “Strength, darling one. Strength is your choice. Own it now. Believe it.”

CourageLionHeart

 

I have the distinct theory and understanding that this incident was no coincidence. It was not the wrong place wrong time, though it would be something I happily would exchange with a great many other participations.

Through this, I recognize that I have a voice. I have a platform through rapidly paced typing, expansive syntax, and indestructible wit by virtue of the art of storytelling.

I have identified my role to relay this story to the cosmos, powerfully and nonjudgmentally with a rejection to succumb to another’s interjection of my personal boundaries.

I present myself open-heartedly through honest vulnerability in order for other girls to bloom and flourish.

To manifest women the ability to recognize the colossal strength within to reclaim ownership over their bodies, their spirits, their lives.

To free the space in their mind for greater things.

To encourage empowerment through learning, progressing, accepting and above-all: refusing to be controlled by any man through the perception of power.

The greatest power we all own and obtain exists within. It is innate. It is tough and magnificent and resolute and fucking fierce because it is personal. It is ours. It can only be given away by choice, not taken away by force.

Through this, I vow to share my story, encouraging the empowerment of all empresses across the ether, near and far, to choose to keep their power through the acknowledgment and understanding that they are supported, they are loved, and they are each a unique goddess with a vigorous, inextinguishable flame which can never be dismissed or diminished.

 

 

For weeks I had been stalked. Followed, by a seemingly friendly face simply tagging along. Hunted deliberately, by someone perceivably harmless to a celebratory going away party before I embarked on my journey to another country to explore and have many adventures with my new love. Many of us were scheduled to arrive together at our old piano bar to make memories and share laughs over drinks to make up for the upcoming absence. He joined in, as anyone within our shared courtyard was welcome to enjoy the festivities.

The night was wrapping up, tabs were closed, gradually they left, one by one, until only a small handful remained. Roommate number one went home in a cab. Roommate number two took her scooter home with all the belongings in my purse aside from my keys. My car remained in the nearby parking lot where I left it before my work-shift. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, “My car is there, too.”

But that’s not what happened. He preyed on the moment that I created from a series of stacked dominos which one-by-one cumulated into the perfect storm of vulnerability.

Forcing me onto him, into my own car, he assaulted me. Shoving himself into me, he assaulted me. Growling and gripping and digging and pinning and trapping and biting, he violated me. A seemingly friendly face, morphed just as quickly as he came, into that of a monster. With a villainous smirk, he left me cold and shivering and alone in the back of my car, my bruised and abused body. I didn’t want it anymore. I wanted to curl inside myself and die. To perish away as I heaved and sobbed in the backseat of my freshly tampered safe space. I vomited, two or three times, cursing myself, hating myself, wondering how I let this happen to me. How a beautiful night mutated so violently.

 

I didn’t see him for four years.

Four years I managed to never brush shoulders or bump elbows in this big city.

Enough for the bruises to recover and my mind to rest assured.

I didn’t see him for four years, until last week.

I walked into the grocery store with my man, briskly dividing and conquering, eager to grab some food for lunch, when I spotted him.

There he was.

Carrying his shopping bags out the door - with her. Her who. It didn’t matter who. I didn’t need to know her to want to help her. To sprint out the door, shouting stay away, stay away - he’s a barbarian, stay the fuck away. I wanted to help her. My first instinct was to help.

 

Instead I froze, ducking slightly behind the fruit-stand. He didn’t see me.

I became aware of myself. My head spun. Black splotches coated my vision as I whirled around, frantically searching for my sea-legs. All of the feelings rushed back, all at once. Violated. Afraid. Nauseated. Pins, needles, cold sweats.

I felt my body shutting down, debating whether to faint, vomit or cry. I felt the hysterics welling up.

Where was my man? Where was Iain? Frantically I reached around, grabbing at any surface nearby, navigating blindly through the store. Avoiding strangers, I bumped a little too close into a display, sending a sea of vegetables onto the aisle floor. I left my body for a minute, watching above as the frantic, discombobulated girl on the ground helped a stranger pick the tomatoes up, making muddled conversation, hectically searching for my soul one. I needed help.

He was there - grabbing a bottle of water. There he was: the love of my life - my light, my rock. In all his gentle, protective glory, with fear in his eyes as he saw my pale, shaken face. It’s nothing, it’s nothing, we have to go, I said. We have to go to the car. A new car. A new car without imprinted memories of assault. The same car I fearfully lost my virginity in ten years prior. A new car, representing safety and a fresh start.

I collapsed in his arms, shivering as a tsunami of tears erupted into his sleeves. What happened? What happened? He wondered, quickly shifting to Where is he? Where the fuck is he?

It wasn’t worth it. The jail time. The deportation. The energy. The vibration. He let me cry in his arms as he channeled as much loving strength as he could, pumping it from his lion heart to mine. You must be brave, he said, lifting my chin. You are strong. You are. You choose where your strength lives - in there. Nobody owns that but you.

I gathered myself, refusing to give in again. Refusing to admit fault, blame, or shame.

 

WeAreOne

 

Sinister, creepy, weak men often prey on those they see as the weak to seek revenge for their own shortcomings. The smallest. The one with low self esteem. The oblivious. The sad. The sweet.

Utilizing the soonest opportunity, they use whatever power they feel they have to forcefully violate an innocent victim’s personal, mental and emotional boundaries and basic human rights.

How do they feel once they finish and walk away? Victorious? Proud? Is there any sliver of guilt?

And what are the side effects for women crawling away? Shame. Self-loathing. Depression. Psychological damage. Psychotherapy. Physical pain, bruising, bleeding. A doctor’s visit, tests, emergency costs. Antibiotics. Pain relievers. Taking work off. Becoming introverted through self-loathing depression. Fear.

So. Much. Fear.

Again we face the demon of fear. It creeps in like a cancer, venomously shutting down our sense of freedom. Are we safe in a parking lot? At a bar? When it’s dark? In our own car? In our own home? Without the protection of someone else? One by one, our independence fades to phobia, questioning and second guessing every move we make, every desire we have, every choice we take.

The fear is the problem. The fear is paralysis. The fear is optional.

Fear is a choice. Any state of being in which we exist, is a conscious decision we can either live within, or go without. We choose if we wish to seek strength to step outside of the worry and dismay and revulsion.

Fear is a space in which we decide we live, by capitulating to its allure through rapid-release firecrackers and stress bombs.

But fear is an illusion of being, which is built by the ego in our mind, when we feel the brunt of trauma and don’t want to get burned again. What we must choose in these moments of panic is the mirror modality; the mirror modality is a defense mechanism against our own psyche to draw attention to our thought patterns, with the intent of simply recognizing where and how we’re going off the rails through objectification. There is no judgment involved, here - only understanding. By being sympathetic to our own thoughts, and acknowledging the growth we intended for our deepest soul through the initial cosmic choices set out by our Highest Self before coming into this skin suit, we acknowledge that we are not victim to our thoughts.

We are not suffering because of something that has happened to us.

We are not pawns in someone else’s playfield.

Every day we are faced with choices. The option to go left, right, here, there, stay home, be productive, interact or ignore, step-up or run for the hills. Telling yourself repeatedly that this is something you did not choose, it happened to you uninvitedly, is an affirmation of denial that you are in control.

Let me be clear, I am not stating that assault is something you had control over but you let it happen to you anyway. What I am saying, is that whatever choices you make post-trauma, are your choices. That is your power. That is where your dynamism lies - not in docile, yielding behaviors that only serve to drill you further into the pity-pit. This is the tough stuff. This is where that feeling of difficulty really arises and tempts you to sink instead of swim.

 

 

I once read that gratitude and fear are not capable of coexisting.

While I am definitely not grateful for the brute who fucked me against my will, I find gratitude within the grace of how I have allowed it to propel and inspire me to be bigger with my energy and my intentions. To quit thinking, seeing, acting and playing small.

To transform something hideous into something of encouraging gallantry.

To overcome and outgrow the habitual pattern of playing victim and launch into the role of warrior of my own presence. We consistently have interactions whereby we consciously choose how we are affected in one way or another; we also have the means to decide who we are through those choices, and live with how those choices define the subsequent days every day. Others may interact with us, but we have the opportunity of good fortune to live with ourselves in every moment. It is a blessing to be able to have a mind whereby we can designate how we remain affected by something or someone, and in which direction we launch ourselves.

 

I would rather live in a state of gratitude through appreciation of understanding how and why my experiences and choices have evolved my soul.

I feel thankful and more peaceful through taking those learnings and appropriating them to expand my consciousness.

I vow to accept my choices as learnings which have no other purpose but to benefit and expand my spirit to the greatest good and not through fear.

Choosing fear is actively doing yourself a disservice through insult to what you deserve and what you feel you are ready to accept.

I vow to accept, respect, appreciate, acknowledge and understand myself, no matter how much time, tenacity, control or concentration it takes. Because I deserve only love, positivity and respect - from myself, first and foremost. Everything and everyone else is secondary.

Throughout our lifetime, we face all sorts of situations that wake us up, alter our perception of the world, and lend us guidance as we navigate the waters of who we truly believe we are.

 

I believe I am

Courageous + Deserving + Invaluable

Powerful + Magnificent + Radiant

Magic + Luminous + Gifted

Prolific + Unstoppable + Infinite

 

Through our words, we affirm our worth.

Through our beliefs, we confirm our story.

Through our intentions, we define our identity.

Word I am word, through my intentions, word I am word.