What I Didn’t Talk About

I have been greatly blessed in my life.

This is something I say often, though it took me a long time to get to the place, where I could say this and truly mean it.

I have spent years talking about “when I was attacked” at the age of 27. How can you not, when everyone around you knows about it, because it made the news? 

What I didn’t talk about, was the attack that had taken place a few years before, when I was in college and dating someone I knew was dangerous. I’d come home from college on a Thursday evening, with plans to spend Friday studying and working on a paper I had to write. This guy decided to take half the day off from work and “surprise” me. 

My heart sank, when I saw him, because I had so much to get done; and, I knew he would expect me to give him my undivided attention. I was right. All my pleas for him to leave, so I could work fell on deaf ears. Before I could stop him, he was on top of me. I begged for him to stop, but he wouldn’t. My tears didn’t matter to him. The fact that he hurt me didn’t matter to him, either.

For years I remained silent about being sexually assaulted, telling no one. Not my Mother. Not my sister. Not my closest friend and confidant. I told absolutely no one.

The truth is, I was so ashamed and so embarrassed, that I couldn’t possibly tell anyone. I truly felt as though it was all my fault. I was the one, dumb enough to put myself into the situation, in the first place. When people tried to warn me about him, I was too proud, too scared, too hurt to admit I was in trouble and needed help. 

Looking back, I wonder why I had so much trouble asking for help. Instead, I carried that pain inside of me and allowed myself to dwell on the idea that it was all my fault, for years.

Not many people in life would say that being attacked, nearly murdered, and hospitalized for three days would be a blessing in their lives. At the time, though, I realized that I was blessed with an army of support. I had family, friends, coworkers, and people I barely knew praying for me, helping with food and groceries, assisting with bills, making sure my daughter had a party for her 3rd birthday, and so much more. They were there with kindnesses and gifts and support, that I didn’t even know I needed or didn’t know to ask for. I was lifted up in ways, that still amaze me 22 years later.

I won’t lie. There were many dark days, after that second attack. One of the unforeseen blessings, though, was that I learned not to carry the pain of what I didn’t talk about, anymore. I learned that it wasn’t my fault. Once I sought counseling and began to work through the anxiety, PTSD, and depression, it was such a blessing to realize that sometimes, there are bad people, who do bad things. And, I survived.