Unmolding

I did—I had a crush on him. He was young, cute, athletic and especially nice to me. He was also my coach. Sophomore year, when he brought me extra snacks at practice and drove me home after, I felt special. At fifteen, it was very flattering knowing that a guy liked you, and the fact that the guy happened to be older and still found me attractive was even more exciting.

He’d pick me up on the weekends for additional practice. The first time he grabbed my hand in the car, I was so surprised I just continued to sit in the passenger seat as if nothing had happened. As things between us escalated physically, I lacked the knowledge to understand what was happening. No one had ever educated me about sex or sexual health, formally or informally. These “weekend practices” continued throughout the season, and my feelings towards him changed. No longer was I flattered by his attention. Instead, I felt uncomfortable, unsafe, and helpless. Fearing his response, I told no one about him.

At the time, I lacked the knowledge to understand the gravity of the situation. My coach had sexually abused me, but I felt responsible for years after. I cannot fully express how much confusion I experienced. He would touch me, and my body would respond while in my head I was screaming no. It wasn't until I began group therapy in college that I learned such a response was common. Knowing this, I was finally relieved of the belief that I was responsible for the actions of my perpetrator. This changed everything.

I had tried really hard to think of sex a simple, physical act. I downplayed its power because then, in my mind, what happened to me in high school didn’t hurt as much. With this framework, I was only physically violated, not mentally or emotionally. Looking back, I now see this approach towards sex as a coping mechanism I used to navigate the pain. I wasn't left with physical scars—I was left with mental and emotional scars, and these hurt a lot more.

Sometimes, when I step into an elevator alone with a man, my heart rate goes up. My mind starts to race. The space suddenly feels very small, and my breaths come quicker. I try to calm myself down, but that short minute in the elevator feels like eternity.

When a man catcalls me on the street, I experience a strong spike of anxiety. When I get into an Uber, I am often scared of the man behind the wheel. At parties, I rarely drink in fear of a man taking advantage of me. For many women, these experiences are not uncommon. For me and other survivors, the anxiety and fear that these situations induce can be debilitating.

What happened to me briefly in high school molded my future thoughts, fears, hopes, and actions. My sense of safety was taken from me. When my friends head out on Thursday nights, they are free—free to run from frat house to frat house in the dark, free to dance with a new guy, free of consuming, anxiety-ridden thoughts. My thoughts, at times, hold me hostage.

That being said, my friends are my biggest allies. I have not healed alone. In fact, my continual healing is a direct result of the constant support from those around me. One bad experience resulted in an exponentially greater outpouring of love and friendship, a response I once never imagined possible.

Today, I am still healing and still trying to grasp and understand what happened to me. Name any emotion, and I can assure you I’ve felt it—confusion, indifference, anger, peace, sadness, loneliness, joy, embarrassment, hope, love…the list goes on. As a survivor, it is difficult to fully express my story in adequate words. The subtleties of my emotions and experiences cannot be realized on paper. I do, however, want to make clear that because of this experience, I am stronger—not weaker. Sometimes it takes a lot of courage to face the day, but I choose to face it anyways, head on. With a community of survivors and friends walking beside me, loving and supporting me each day, I know that I will be okay. I’m moving forward, becoming stronger, wiser, and freer with every step.

#facingmentalhealth