Til’ It Happens to You

Shout out to Lady Gaga, a talented artist and bold activist who, along with Diane Warren, recently wrote, "Till It Happens to You," a song dedicated to victims of sexual violence.

Till it happens to you, you won't know how it feels.

Till it happens to you, it won't be real.

You tell me, hold your head up, hold your head up and be strong.

Cause when you fall, you gotta get up

You gotta get up and move on.

Don’t ever be a victim, I often heard others say. You don’t want to be one of those people. You can either choose to be a victim or you can choose to move on with your life. Shake it off. Forgive. Be the bigger person. Don’t allow yourself to be affected. After all, attitude is everything.

From a young age, I deeply misunderstood and internalized this notion. It taunted me for years, daring me to be accountable not only for my actions, but for the actions of others. I understand the extreme importance of having a good attitude and not allowing your circumstances dictate your life, and I agree with these principles a zillion percent! But there is an enormous difference between playing the victim and being one. I wish I had understood this distinction much sooner.

I never chose to be a victim, but because of the inappropriate actions of others, I became one anyway. And no matter how I tried, I had no idea how to suddenly "not be one." For years, the shameful stigma of victimhood had me thoroughly convinced me that any pain I felt, any lasting consequences I experienced, any trauma I carried, was the result of me not having a good enough attitude, or enough faith, or enough strength to overcome my circumstances.

I get where the “don’t be a victim” thing derives from. Unfortunately, there are those who do choose to be “victims” by unabashedly playing the damsel in distress. Such people are attention-seeking, manipulative, dramatic, obnoxious, and even toxic. We all have [at least] one person in our lives like this, who doesn’t take ownership or accountability for their own actions. Instead, everything is always somebody else’s fault, even when nobody but them is to blame. 

I was always paranoid to be unfairly lumped in with these people. The last thing I ever wanted was to be a burden on anyone. I didn’t want to be some damsel in distress, pathetically waiting for someone to save me. I didn’t want people to think I was weak, immature, or dramatic. I didn’t want any attention. So, I desperately applied the “don’t be a victim” mentality to me. I didn’t-under any circumstances-want to be that girl. I wanted to be courageous and triumphant instead. I mean, life is 10 percent what happens to you, and 90 percent how you respond to it, right? I didn’t want my circumstances to overcome me-I wanted to fiercely conquer them!

As I ashamedly kept my trauma to myself for years, I watched all types of people react to other victims of sexual violence. Such reactions made me want to bury my own pain even deeper.

Are you sure that's what happened? Are you sure it wasn't consensual? I just can't picture him being like that. No way-he would never! You're just being too emotional. You're probably exaggerating. Your perception must be tainted.

Did you see what she was wearing? Of course she was taken advantage of! She was totally asking for it. She’s always been kind of a slut. She probably enjoyed it! She just doesn't want to get in trouble, so she's making up lies. Plus, she can’t handle her liquor. Shouldn't have been so drunk in the first place. What do you expect? 

Here’s a wild idea. Maybe - just MAYBE - we should expect human beings to not rape or assault other human beings. I don’t care if someone is wearing snow pants or a string bikini. I don't care what someone's blood alcohol level is. There’s never an excusable time to assault somebody. Period. End of story. 

While I’ve always had a natural desire and ability to boldly advocate on behalf of others and stick up for the underdogs, for some reason I've always been completely mortified to ever stick up for me. Perhaps my biggest strength is my genuine and deeply felt compassion for other people. But my biggest flaw is that I am not so compassionate to myself. I have always viewed others as capable and resilient. I'm fiercely loyal and supportive to those around me, all while letting myself drown in constant self-doubt and deep inadequacy, inhibiting my ability to draw boundaries and be assertive.

In my quest to be proactive and in charge of the outcome of my life, I attempted a lot of different coping methods to avoid becoming just another ‘helpless victim.’ I prayed a lot. I got medicated. I developed an eating disorder. I missed about 13 years of sleep from insomnia. And the worst part? I got myself stuck in some pretty dangerous relationships. I cringe to admit it even now, but I became a victim again. And again. And again.

The problem was that I refused to admit the problem. In order to actually move forward in a healthy, positive direction, I needed to face my trauma. Only then, would I truly be able to overcome it. But the truth was far too shameful! It was much easier to silently carry my burden alone.

On top of the shame factor and not wanting to seem like I had an ungrateful, negative attitude, I thought I didn't deserve help. People went through WAY worse things! I beat myself up for even being affected and told myself I was fine. People have survived the Holocaust. Darfur. Slavery. Countless wars and natural disasters. Indescribable torture. Horrific crimes. My life was not hard. I’ve been blessed with an amazing family! Incredible friends! The Gospel of Jesus Christ!

Besides, I was messed up now anyway. Dirty. Tainted. A bland, chewed up wad of gum. Who in the hell would want to associate with me if they knew? Who in the hell would still like me? Who in the HELL would have compassion toward me without any bit of judgment? No one. NO. One.

NO ONE! 

It echoed in the back of my mind since I was young, threatening me, taunting me, daring me how devalued I was. And for a long time, I believed every bit of it. Thanks to denial, self-loathing and comparing my experiences to victims of the Holocaust, I could ignore the problem well enough. But ignoring it did not alleviate my pain or help me move on in a productive, positive way. As I finally got brave enough to share fragments of my story, my fear became reality. I was not only disregarded at times; I was blamed, mocked, and judged for being too weak. For being a victim. 

Why didn't you just say no? Did you even try and stop it? What were you wearing? Were you drinking? I mean, boys will be boys. I get hard things happen, but you need to get over it. No point crying about it. Forgive and move on. Be more like Jesus. Turn the other cheek. You don't want to be bitter. Life is supposed to be hard. Maybe you're the problem-you’re too nice. If you weren’t so nice and such a pushover, none of this would have happened. Besides, wasn’t it fun? You enjoyed it a little, right?

Imagine breaking your leg and not seeing a doctor. I mean, why see a doctor for that? Suck it up! Don’t be such a girl! (looking at you, sexist rhetoric) Instead of getting x-rays, crutches and a cast, you decide to live with excruciating pain and a low-functioning limb. Otherwise, people will think you're nothing but a ridiculous, dramatic baby. If you get help, you run the risk of being disbelieved, criticized, or even blamed for your injury. You could be mocked, invalidated, or stigmatized. Now that you think about it, it probably was your fault anyway, so quit moping. If you hadn't done that or looked like that, none of this would’ve happened. So, you live each day with a broken leg, because by living with the pain and not allowing your wound to heal properly, you're at least not being a pathetic victim, right?

I lived with a “broken leg” for decades. My “coping mechanisms” did nothing but exacerbate the problem. I needed a cast and instead used boxes upon boxes of Band-Aids. The silence of keeping it to myself for years grew deafening. 

Eventually, at age 20, I finally confided in a wonderful friend who insisted I tell someone. Thanks to her coaxing, I did just that, and he believed me without the slightest bit of scrutiny. Instead of reacting with disgust, blame, disbelief, or uncomfortable silence, he cried his eyes out and told me how sorry he was for my loss. He said how much he loved me and how I deserved to heal, then gave me the biggest hug a person's ever given in the history of humanity. I love you, Dad. 

His response to the truth I’d suppressed for so long made what I thought would be the hardest conversation of my life one of the most empowering moments I will ever experience. I was believed! I was accepted! And above all, I was heard. For the record, I should never have expected my dad to respond any other way than he did (he's tied with my mom for most compassionate human who's ever lived), but shame has a powerfully disturbing way of convincing you that even those who adore you will find you repulsive and unworthy.

Sometimes all that “life is what you make it” crap can feel so invalidating, especially when you're already doing your best to be a positive person, who tries their hardest to embody gratitude, kindness, humor, and happiness. Because, YES, you can move forward. You can find treatment. YES, you can rise above the odds and come out victorious. 

They do it in the movies all the time.

YES. I one-ZILLION percent believe attitude matters immensely-and you don't have to remain captive to anyone or anything. There are many empowering resources to aid you in your journey of healing. Utilize them! But before you can do ANY of that successfully, the first step is to admit you need help. Only then can you seek the healing you so desperately deserve.

If there was anything I could tell victims of sexual violence, it’s this: Give yourself time and space to mourn your loss. Don’t force yourself to go numb. Be sad, be angry. Feeling pain does not mean you are ungrateful or negative. It doesn't mean you're “playing the victim.” It means you’re human; a human who has been violated in perhaps the worst way a human can be. On some level, you’ve been broken. Be broken. That might sound odd, but allow yourself room to be broken, with the hope-NOT the expectation, but the HOPE-that one day you won't be. Stop feeling like you have to constantly keep glued together. Be broken to those in your life who love every piece of you, no matter how many pieces might be on the floor. As you start to pick up those pieces, hopefully with the help of those you love, you will realize the strength that’s been inside you all along. I also recommend having a wiener dog on call at all times. Just trust me. 

And remember—as tough as you are, bravery doesn’t always look brave. ESPECIALLY to those who have never been in your shoes. Stop being hard on yourself. Comparing yourself to those who have survived worse horrors will not enable you to overcome the ones YOU so badly need to beat. 

You can gain tools to help you cope and move forward effectively. You can learn how to handle triggers and grief so they don’t become permanently debilitating. And by all means, stay positive! But when you’re feeling anything but, let yourself! Having a good attitude doesn’t mean being grateful for trauma or injustice. Having a good attitude means knowing even though you are in critical condition and your pain is unbearable, you still have so much light to shine.

Ashamedly sweeping things under the rug will not get you there. Neither will years of denial. Or anorexia. Or having poor boundaries and allowing yourself to be a punching bag for other people. The silence needs to stop. For years, I let it consume me. For years, I believed I was not worthy. I was convinced I was nothing but a useless, fragile person pretending to be strong.

I was dead wrong about me. So were a lot of other people. I was never useless or fragile. And I was not pretending to be strong. I just was. I just am.

Please don’t mistake my self-discovery as arrogance. I would not be where, or who I am, without God and loads of amazing people in my life I am so beyond blessed to call mine. Thanks to my faith, family, and friends, I’m a much tougher sap than I-and others-often give me credit for.

It takes strength to keep a tender heart from being consumed by cynicism. My empathy and sensitivity for others have allowed me to love profoundly and dare greatly. I am so much more than my experiences, but my experiences have also shaped me into who I am. I was silenced for a long time by fear, but I'm finding my voice again. And good grief, it can be pretty damn loud.  

We can all do a much better job at combatting sexual violence simply by stopping the silence. That doesn't only mean more talking, but also more listening. The way to heal is to connect. The way to overcome trauma is to be heard. 

If there was anything I could say to those who haven’t experienced sexual violence, it’s this: until it happens to you, you DON'T know how it feels. Be compassionate. Show empathy. No need for pity. Pity doesn’t promote healing. Understanding does. Realize that trauma is not resolved simply by having a good attitude. It’s not cured by merely holding your head up and acting strong. Overcoming trauma is a complex process. Remember, there is a big difference between people who play the victim and people who have legitimately been victimized. Don't be so quick to judge the side effects victims of sexual violence are sure to endure or the lingering damage in their lives that may never fully dissipate.

The complexity of sexual trauma is profound and real. Until it happens to you, you DON'T know. You WON'T know. So above all, be kind. I promise that kindness is really not as hard as we sometimes make it.

You tell me it gets better, it gets better in time. 

You say I'll pull myself together, pull it together

You'll be fine

Tell me what the hell do you know

What do you know

Tell me how the hell could you know

How could you know

During all those of years of living with a throbbing, broken leg, I already knew I needed to move forward. That is ALL I ever wanted to do! I only wish I had known I was worthy of doing so sooner. Better late than never, right? 

'Til your world burns and crashes

'Til you're at the end, the end of your rope

'Til you're standing in my shoes

I don't wanna hear a thing from you, from you, from you

'Cause you don't know

Til it happens to you, you won't know how I feel.

Thanks again to Lady Gaga and Diane Warren, for understanding the importance of validating the lifelong consequences of the most victimizing of crimes, and paying tribute to those who have, as well as those who haven't, survived them.