I knew safety was the first step towards healing after trauma. But I had thought that simply meant pushing my assailants out of my life and locking the door behind them. Done. I hadn’t understood that was only the beginning of the beginning. Safety is not achieved by the absence of the perpetrator. Safety isContinue reading “Safety”
Tag Archives: post-traumatic stress disorder
The Stations of the Cross
Nothing, other than chronic illness, has acquainted me more intimately with death than trauma. Through the violence that one body can do to another, trauma demonstrated my fragility, my transience, my mortality. It showed me, too vividly, that my bodily autonomy, and even my life, could end at any moment if a man decided toContinue reading “The Stations of the Cross”
After He Strangled Me
The next morning I went downstairs to breakfast in the dining hall as usual, but it wasn’t usual. I sat beside my brother, poking my spoon into the cereal I’d let go soggy, and I avoided looking up from my bowl. My hands were shaking. My pulse throbbed in my throat. I had done everythingContinue reading “After He Strangled Me”
In the Aftermath
Jonathan’s assault was among the least violent of the assaults I’ve survived. In fact, to some people, it isn’t an assault at all. But its effects have been every bit as long-lasting and devastating as the rest of the abuse. * * * It wasn’t what he did. It was who he was. He wasContinue reading “In the Aftermath”
The Eighth Assault
You think you know someone. You let your guard down because you tell yourself they wouldn’t. They couldn’t possibly. They’re practically family. Maybe they’re shitty to other people sometimes, other women. But not to you. Never you. * * * I’d known Jonathan since he was in junior high. He had come home with myContinue reading “The Eighth Assault”
My Breakdown in a Bus Depot
And then I went to New York. If you have been asleep, New York will slap you out of it. I boarded the Q47 bus and watched the sunrise from the bus window, mentally reviewing Manhattan’s grid of streets and the carefully plotted route that would take me to the Hotel Chelsea for a nightContinue reading “My Breakdown in a Bus Depot”
What We Talk About When We Talk About Triggers
When survivors call a film “triggering,” we are paying it a compliment. Whether it’s a vet watching SAVING PRIVATE RYAN or a rape survivor watching HIGH LIFE, it makes no difference. If we say a movie was triggering, we are saying the director did their homework. They got it right. It means what you areContinue reading “What We Talk About When We Talk About Triggers”
The Discovery of No
I was 25, and I had just learned it was possible to say no. And just like a giddy two-year-old, I began to slap down this word in the midst of conversations, relationships, workdays. One of my library managers planned all our Halloween costumes that fall. We would all dress up as characters from The WizardContinue reading “The Discovery of No”
Shelving Books
Libraries are not what you think. They are not havens. They are not sanctuaries of peace and learning. Each morning I unlocked the book drop-off bins and wheeled the returned books into the library. Sometimes orange juice or applesauce had been spilled on a book jacket. Other times, the stench from a pile of spyContinue reading “Shelving Books”
Becoming an Abuser
I wince at the images of female strength and power in the media. Women in armor swinging automatic weapons over crowds. Women in bikinis shouting into microphones that respect means spending thousands on a ring you can’t afford. Women in Spandex punching other people into submission. These aren’t so much portraits of strength as theyContinue reading “Becoming an Abuser”
The Trailer Park MFA 