This upcoming weekend I will remember that 3 years ago I was assaulted by a female doctor in the greater Indy community.
I’ve been gentle with myself as I know that the anniversary is marked in my body in some way. I’m not engaging in reliving the trauma, yet I will simply make space to acknowledge it. I’m hanging out with a dear friend on Saturday, which helps a great deal.
I’m writing to acknowledge my own power, my own agency, and all the healing that has occurred.
When I wrote about my story last summer, (see Post #1, Post #2, Post #3, Post #4), the Larry Nassar case was gaining traction, yet was not headline news. He had not yet been charged with any crime. The brave women’s impact statements were not readily available. I wrote following my body’s intuition, that the time was right to share my story. I felt stuck; and I wanted to tell the truth.
Yet, I was following the Nassar story, and these women were given me courage. Our stories were all too similar. And I knew that my own healing meant speaking up. Speaking up knowing that nothing judicially may come of the situation. But I knew that my silence was eating me up inside; the shame from being publicly quiet was harming me, and I didn’t deserve to be harmed anymore. And so I spoke up.
Of course speaking up means that I’ve gotten a lot of questions. Whether it’s, “Why don’t you publish her name?” or “What kind of doctor was she really?” or “Are you sure that’s what really happened?”
Of course speaking up means that there’s plenty who have decided not to believe me. There’s also numerous people who do; and for that I’m deeply grateful.
Of course speaking up has meant entering into a more complex situation. The pressure to keep quiet is strong. The pressure not to critique the medical profession, even stronger.
Several months ago, a friend asked me, “Why speak up when you are pretty sure that you won’t be taken seriously?” It’s a good question. One I’ve thought a lot about. It’s ultimately about my healing & me believing myself. Believing my story and what I know to be true. It’s about trusting my intuition and believing that my body knows how to heal. Voicing my truth is a huge part of healing.
When I formally reported her to the medical board this past December, there was this sense of closure. I had done my part. I couldn’t control the rest. She is still a practicing doctor in the Indy area, and I still drive past her office 4 times per week.
Most mornings I simply pray, “I hope nothing bad happens in that office today.” Sometimes I just scream in my car, letting that excess energy find expression.
I write this in gratitude of the numerous people who have helped me heal, through conversations over coffee, texts I received after reading my blog, healers who listened, took me seriously, and who have taught me how to feel safe both in my own body, and in healing spaces in general again.
Because I no longer participate in yoga classes and have flashbacks or be on constant alert in healing spaces or question the motives of women in authority. This healing wasn’t instantaneous. I have experienced healing because dozens of people created safe space for me–and left room for me to come home to my body, to myself. Created room for anger and tears and fear to be witnessed. Created enough space so I could sit with a female therapist again and process all the varying and interconnected ways, I have experienced powerlessness, to feel the anxiety in my body, to tell a story that was once jumbled, and now can be told in a linear fashion.
To let go and still be in control—the paradox in therapy that I learned again and again as I plumbed the depths of my story, in the room of a female healer that I had learned to trust. That I respect deeply.
I am here today in a really good place. A place full of gratitude-not for what happened to me-but for living into the reality of how much healing truly is possible.