2015...New Year, New Leaps, New Knowledge

It's been 3 years since I last posted.

A lot has changed. For the better.

I quit the day job at the after school because it was just another mismanaged non-profit, and they hired a completely incompetent Director with a Napoleonic complex.
I started working full time with Athena's as their Connection Coordinator, helping new distributors navigate their new business.
I got engaged to a man who means the universe to me, and I've never felt so lucky to have a person like him on my side.
I am trying to focus more on the sexuality field, and I've done quite a bit of different activities to further my career, including presenting at conferences.

As another BARCC Walk for Change nears (Sunday, April 12th), I want to acknowledge several things.

It's been amazing to be part of the Survivor Speakers Bureau. I've met some amazing people, and every time we meet, it's a reminder of the strength in our stories and our voices. We're all at different parts of our healing, and it's simply beautiful.

I still have a lot of trouble asking for help. I am definitely of the mind frame of 1. Not bothering people and 2. Wanting to have control over a situation. It's still a work in progress, and will probably be for the rest of my life....and that's okay.

This week has been a week of re-traumatization. In 2013, the Boston Marathon Bombing occurred. Just yesterday (April 8th), the accused bomber was found guilty of all charges. On the day that the entire city was on lock down, I found myself glued to the news. I wanted to know everything that was going on, even if it was nothing at all. At one point, I fell asleep on the couch because I was just so tired. My therapist pointed out that a lot of people end up doing the same when they're in a somewhat traumatic situation. It's a way for the brain to cope with the traumatic event. When they started announcing the verdict, I quickly went to a live-stream of the local news. I had all the sounds of it playing in my ear buds. At night time, I watched the news even though it was all the same as earlier.

One of the survivors spoke to the media about how she felt that she had to be present in the court. They asked her, "Why did you think you needed to be there?" She said that she needed to be there for her, as part of her healing. She wanted to "see it through."

I get that. I totally get that.

For me, Knowledge is Power.

Knowing what's about to happen, what can happen, and what I can do about it is very important. It's my way of quietly controlling a situation. Well, at least, it's a way of quietly controlling myself and my immediate surroundings in a situation.

Last night, however, I was reminded that sometimes trauma will sneak up on you when you least expect it.

My partner and I were starting to be intimate, and suddenly I watched memories of the incident with my uncle flash behind my eyelids as though I was back in that place. I tried to fight them, I tried to remind myself that I had come so far from that. But I couldn't get past it back to being sexual.

I'm a sexuality educator. I talk about sex all the time. I'm very comfortable with sex.

But this wasn't about sex. It was about trauma. Sadly, trauma linked to sex.

So, while I am quite knowledgeable about sex and sexuality, trauma doesn't give a fuck.

I am thankful that I felt in tune with myself enough to know that I couldn't continue being intimate with him in that way. I am thankful that I felt comfortable enough with him to know that he would understand the second I uttered the word "trigger." I am thankful to know that we could still be intimate in other ways that didn't involve sex.

I'm also thankful to recognize when I need to reach out to my therapist, and very thankful that my next appointment is coming up next week.

The "knowing" is an interesting part of being a survivor. I imagine that some prefer not to know things because they know it will trigger them, while others want to know to stop the trigger dead in its tracks. I don't think there's a right or wrong way to do it, as long as it's not directly harming the person or another being.

For now, I will acknowledge the knowledge that I carry with me. Hopefully next time, I can acknowledge the trigger and know that, no matter how I deal with it, it doesn't make me less of a survivor, less of a sexuality professional, or less powerful.

Stumbles and Strides

Last year, 2012, happened to be a very good year.

In the first half of the year, I became involved in the Vagina Monologues, which was a sort of voice-challenge I gave myself.  I had seen the show several times, and it had always resonated with me.  But last year, I joined the cast, and it felt freeing to be part of such a wonderful group of women.

In the latter half of the year, I joined the Survivor's Theater Workshop, which also challenged me to use more of my body.  It involved using different facets of expression - physical, vocal, and artistic.  I got to meet other survivors, and kind of get down and dirty with all the emotions we hold on to.  It was certainly a pleasure to be part of this group.

In the process, I learned to listen to my body more.  Sometimes, I neglect it and I ended up getting quite sick several times during the year.  But, I also have the tendency to "act" strong for the sake of others.  Because I work so hard on keeping strong, I end up crumbling down at some unforeseen time because I'm not taking care of my own needs first.

This happened shortly after my first session with the Survivor's Theater Workshop.  To make it on time for the 4 sessions, I had to leave work early.  I managed to request Sick Time for these sessions since they were virtually theraputic sessions.

But, I didn't articulate what this was clearly enough, and my supervisor and the head of the HR department didn't realize what it was really for.  The following day after the first session, I was pulled into the HR office and was basically questioned on why I was taking Sick Time for these sessions.  I explained that it was a workshop for survivors of sexual violence, and that I was participating in it.  For some reason, they thought that I was facilitating the workshops and abusing the Sick Time policy.  But I knew that I could use it for appointment and meetings like this. 

Still, that explanation didn't seem to go through.  I explained again that I was attending these workshops AS a survivor of sexual violence.  The HR person looked at me quizzically.  I don't remember if she asked me point blank if I was a survivor, but I felt the need to explain further.  So, I explained that I was molested as a child and that I was attending these workshops as a form of therapy.  She suddenly seemed uncomfortable with my disclosure.  But I felt that she had basically asked me to do so.  I told her that it was fine because I speak about my experience a lot.  She then asked me to speak with my supervisor about it so that they could both be on the same page.  She asked me if it was okay for me to tell him, and I said that it was.

As I walked away from her office, I suddenly felt the tears trying to break through.  I felt trapped.  Where was I going to go so that I could release them?  I couldn't go into our work room because all my coworkers, some of whom I trust deeply, were there and I knew I would just break down and never stop.  I ran to the nearest restroom just to find them occupied.  I needed to hurry.  The tears were threatening a tsunami.  So I ran to the next private restroom, which required me to go through the school's main office.

Once the door was locked, the sobbing arrived.  I couldn't stop it.  But I let myself cry for a little, but I knew that it would soon be time to greet the children at my program.  The sobbing was uncontrollable.  I somehow managed to get myself together to then face my supervisor.

As I walked into his office and sat down, saying that HR wanted me to talk with him about the workshops, he asked if I was facilitating the workshops or participating in them.  I managed to choke out the word "participating" before once again bursting into a sobbing fit.  He quickly got up to give me space, while our secretary gave me a box of tissues.  I couldn't control it.  Whatever it was that was pent up inside me, coupled with the fact that my participation in such a workshop was questioned, had finally knocked down the door and demanded attention.

Eventually, my co-group leader helped me collect my bearings in time to see the kids.  But later that night, on the way home with my boyfriend, the tears slowly seeped out as he comforted me.

Later on, when I was telling my therapist about the experience, she helped me see that it was perhaps because their questioning caught me off guard.  I don't think I've ever had anyone question me about my experience before in such a manner in such a place

The experience was jarring.  Yet, it made me much more conscious of things that might trigger me.  It also made me much more conscious of the fact that I need to ask for help, and that it's okay to do so.  It's okay to ask for extra support, especially from people who love and care about me.  I can only be strong for myself for so long sometimes, but I can't do it alone.

Honestly, I'm thankful for that.