Navigating Trauma: The Journey to Justice

I haven’t posted in almost five months. The reason is simple: I’m still in the thick of the court system, and it’s exhausting. Over the summer, there was a significant event in the process that completely drained me. It left me feeling like I had nothing left to give—not to my writing, not to advocacy, not even to myself.

There’s a constant internal battle between pushing forward—writing, advocating, fighting for others—and recognizing when I need to step back and care for myself. For a while, the best way I knew how to cope was by pretending my sexual assault didn’t happen and focusing on living life as normally as possible. And for the most part, I’ve done that to the best of my ability.

But the thing about the court process is that it doesn’t let you ignore what happened. It forces you to confront it over and over again. And when I can’t push it aside anymore, this space—this blog—is where I turn.

This morning, walking into work on a gorgeous, crisp late-fall morning, my phone rang. The trial date is set.

My nervous system didn’t care whether the trial was tomorrow or six months from now. It reacted as though the assault had happened yesterday. The anxiety hit me like a tidal wave—tight chest, shaky hands, heart pounding, as if I were back in the moment that changed everything.

This is the reality of seeking justice. It feels like riding a rollercoaster you never asked to get on—a ride that never seems to end. You try to move forward, to heal, but every step of the legal process pulls you back into the trauma. Each milestone—court hearings, depositions, trial dates—demands that you relive an event that you’ve fought so hard to try to push out of your mind. While trying to rebuild your life, you’re forced to alternate between desperately trying to forget and painstakingly recalling every detail of the most traumatic event you’ve ever endured.

The moments in between court hearings or depositions might offer a false sense of calm. You try to focus on work, friendships, hobbies—anything that feels normal. But normalcy feels fragile and then, the milestones come. A court date. A meeting with your attorney. A deposition. Each one forces you to drag the memories back into sharp focus. Dates, times, conversations, physical sensations—it all has to be recalled and shared in sterile, public settings with people who dissect your words and scrutinize your pain. Even when you’ve tried your hardest to move forward, these moments yank you back to the day everything changed.

It’s not just the act of remembering that’s exhausting. It’s the emotional whiplash. You might feel guilt for how much you’ve forgotten or doubt over how much you remember. You might feel anger at the system for making you relive the worst day of your life, and shame for how much that anger takes out of you.

Then there’s the emotional limbo. Justice feels like it’s always just out of reach. Cases can take months or years, and each delay can chip away at the hope you’re holding onto. You might feel alone, even when surrounded by loved ones, because the process is so deeply personal—and so hard to explain to someone who hasn’t lived it.

The process is relentless. It’s exhausting. And it’s lonely in ways I struggle to put into words. You want to advocate, to fight, to make something good come from what happened to you—but you also want to protect yourself, to retreat, to rest.

If you’re in this fight, please know you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel tired, to take breaks, to focus on yourself when the weight of it all feels unbearable. The journey toward justice is brutal, but it’s also brave.

For now, I’m giving myself grace. I’m letting myself feel what I need to feel, one day at a time. Writing this post is my way of honoring where I am in this moment, messy and exhausted as it may be.

And if you’re reading this and feeling something similar, I hope you give yourself grace too. There’s no “right” way to navigate it, and there’s no shame in acknowledging how hard it is. Healing is not linear. Fighting for justice is not easy. But together, by sharing our stories and supporting one another, we can remind each other that we are so much more than what happened to us. You are stronger than you feel in these moments of doubt and exhaustion.

Take care of yourself. Seek support when you need it. And remember that pursuing justice—even when it feels like it’s breaking you—is an act of courage that matters, both for yourself and for others who might be walking this road in the future.

You are not just surviving. You are rising.

In love and solidarity,

M

Healing Out Loud: Breaking the Silence Together


I am really struggling right now. I’m in the middle of the legal process from my assault, and there are days I want to give up—not on life, but on my case. I so badly want my peaceful life back. Digging this all up after a year and knowing it most likely won’t be resolved in court for at least another year is beyond daunting. Every day feels like walking in quicksand, fighting to keep myself from being pulled under.

I chose early on to be open with my story with my loved ones and recently also with colleagues. I did not make that decision lightly, and I wish I could say I am always confident with it, but I am far from it. I constantly worry if people look at me differently—if they believe me, judge me, or judge my decision to share. Most days, I feel a bit like an animal in a zoo, on display for everyone to watch from afar but never get close enough to connect.

Then there are days like today that remind me why I am healing out loud. A young lady in my office reached out with her own story, seeking advice. I wish I could say this never happens, because it means another survivor, but unfortunately, it happens often.


When I first started sharing my story, it felt like stepping into an abyss. The fear, the shame, and the stigma surrounding sexual assault are powerful forces designed to keep survivors silent. But I chose to heal out loud, and here’s why.

Silence Breeds Isolation

One of the most insidious effects of sexual assault is the isolation it creates. The trauma can make you feel like you’re the only one, fostering a deep sense of loneliness. By speaking out, I aim to shatter that illusion. You’re not alone. We are many, and together, our voices form a chorus of strength and resilience.

Power in Vulnerability

Healing is a journey, not a destination. For me, part of that journey involves embracing vulnerability. Sharing my story is not just about recounting past events; it’s about reclaiming my power. It’s about standing tall and saying, “This happened to me, but it does not define me.” Every time I share, I take a step away from the shadows of my past and into the light of my future.

Creating a Safe Space

When I speak out, I hope to create a safe space for others to do the same. Society often tells us to keep quiet, to bury our pain. But when we share our stories, we challenge that narrative. We create a community where survivors can find solace, understanding, and support. We build a world where silence is no longer the norm, and healing is.

Raising Awareness

Every story shared is a beacon of awareness. It highlights the prevalence of sexual assault and the urgent need for change. By healing out loud, I hope to contribute to a culture that supports survivors, holds perpetrators accountable, and ultimately, works towards preventing sexual assault.

Empowering Others

Healing out loud is not just about my journey; it’s about empowering others to embark on their own. When survivors see someone like them speaking out, it can inspire them to find their voice. It can give them the courage to seek help, to share their story, and to start their own path to healing.

Breaking the Cycle

Silence perpetuates the cycle of abuse. By speaking out, we disrupt that cycle. We shine a light on the dark corners where abuse thrives. We educate others about the signs, the impact, and the importance of consent. Every voice raised against sexual assault is a step towards breaking the cycle and creating a safer world for future generations.

Healing out loud is not easy, but it is powerful. It is a declaration that we will not be silenced by our trauma. It is a commitment to ourselves and to others, that we will seek healing and help others do the same. Together, we can transform our pain into a powerful force for change. If my story helps just one person feel less alone, then every word has been worth it.

So, to all the survivors out there: I see you. I hear you. Your voice matters. Let’s heal together, out loud and unafraid.

In love and solidarity,

M

How to Support a Survivor: A Guide for Loved Ones

Dear friends, family, and partners of survivors,

I want to start by thanking you for clicking on this post and expressing a willingness to support someone you care about who has experienced trauma. Your love and support can make an incredible difference in their healing journey. As a survivor myself, I know firsthand how vital the support of loved ones can be during such challenging times.

When I reported my assault, the officer I first talked to told me, “this is going to be an extremely isolating process, lean on your people.” I shrugged this off immediately. I have a large tribe and am no stranger to trauma and my people always come through. I figured that was just a warning the officer gave everyone that didn’t apply to me. At the hospital I heard this warning of isolation twice more. Still, I thought, not me.

The day I reported was the longest of my life. My best friend was with me the entire time and took me home with her to stay with her and her family. That night when things finally settled down and I went to bed alone I experienced my first feelings of isolation. Not just because I was physically alone. It’s impossible to explain the violating feeling of someone forcing themselves not only on you but into you. I can tell my story 100 times and it still doesn’t register to an outsider the way it felt to be me. The only time the feeling of isolation went away was sharing with another survivor. Unfortunately, I had more of these shared experiences than I wish but survivors share something we can’t explain, and we don’t have to. We know.

I started this blog hoping to connect more of us to diminish as much of the pain of isolation as possible. Not everyone wants to discuss their experience with their loved ones. It’s an incredibly vulnerable thing to share with anyone. But, I have found incredible strength and power through the conversations and connections I have built with other survivors.

While the below is just a guide, and everyone is different, I encourage you to ASK your loved one what they need. They might not know, show up anyway. You will not say the right thing, because there is no right thing to say to make this go away for them. Just show up and tell them you are there for them. A huge part of my isolation came in the weeks and months after I had told most of the people closest to me. No one knows what to say or do so they say nothing. The fear of bringing it up at a bad time, saying the wrong thing, or having an uncomfortable conversation stopped a lot of people from reaching out at all. Most went back to their lives seemingly unchanged while I struggled daily, forever changed.

My mom came from out of town and cleaned my house, one friend showed up at the place I was staying, another girlfriend texted me consistently just telling me she loved me, others offered a shoulder and helped with my dog. I am really lucky for the support that I had and that I never had the feeling of not being believed. I did, however, have several people tell me what they would have done if they had been me. That they would have “fought for their lives.” I know I don’t need to explain how unnecessary, unhelpful, and insensitive comments like this are. But, they happen. I am able to find a lot of grace for these comments now, knowing it comes from a place of misunderstanding. So, I hope this post helps someone better navigate supporting a loved one through this.

Here are a few tips to support your loved one:

  1. Believe Them: One of the most important things you can do is to believe the survivor. It takes immense courage to speak up about experiences of sexual violence, and your belief in them can validate their feelings and experiences.
  2. Listen, Don’t Judge: Create a safe space for the survivor to share their feelings and experiences without fear of judgment. Sometimes, survivors just need someone to listen without offering advice or trying to “fix” the situation.
  3. Respect Boundaries: Every survivor copes with trauma differently, and it’s essential to respect their boundaries. Allow them to set the pace for discussing their experience and participating in activities.
  4. Offer Practical Support: Survivors may struggle with everyday tasks while coping with trauma. Offer practical support such as cooking meals, running errands, or assisting with childcare if needed.
  5. Educate Yourself: Take the time to educate yourself about the effects of trauma and how it impacts survivors. This will help you better understand their experiences and provide more effective support.
  6. Encourage Professional Help: Encourage the survivor to seek professional help if they’re open to it. Therapy can be incredibly beneficial in processing trauma and developing coping strategies.
  7. Be Patient: Healing from trauma takes time, and there may be setbacks along the way. Be patient and understanding, and let the survivor know that you’re there for them no matter what.
  8. Self-Care: Supporting a survivor can be emotionally challenging, so remember to take care of yourself as well. Seek support from friends, family, or a therapist if needed.
  9. Validate Their Feelings: Let the survivor know that their feelings are valid and normal. Avoid minimizing or dismissing their emotions, even if you don’t fully understand them.
  10. Be Their Ally: Stand up for the survivor and advocate for their needs, whether it’s in personal relationships, at work, or within the community. Your support can empower them to reclaim their voice and agency.

Remember, your support as a loved one is invaluable to the survivor’s healing process. Your presence, compassion, and understanding can make a world of difference. Thank you for being a source of strength and support during this challenging time.

Other survivors, please share anything your loved ones did that helped you!

With love and solidarity,
M

Embracing the Nonlinear Journey

As we navigate the tumultuous waters of healing from any trauma, it’s crucial to understand that the path to recovery is not a straight line. It’s not a neat, linear progression from trauma to triumph. Instead, it’s a complex, often messy journey with ups and downs, twists and turns. In this blog post, we’ll explore why healing from trauma is not linear and how embracing the nonlinear nature of our journey can be empowering and liberating.


The Myth of Linear Healing:

Society often perpetuates the myth that healing from trauma, including sexual assault, follows a linear trajectory. We’re told to “move on” or “get over it,” as if healing were a checklist to be completed within a certain timeframe. However, the reality is far more nuanced. Healing is a deeply personal and individual process, and it unfolds differently for each survivor.

Let me get personal with this-

My assault happened in July of 2023. It’s been almost 7 months. Some days feel like it was years ago and other days feel like it was yesterday. You know that feeling of losing a loved one and you wake up and for a few moments before you are fully conscious, life is good? The first few weeks after my assault, I didn’t have that. The day after, I remember waking up and feeling like I had been crying in my sleep. Maybe I never fully slept or maybe I went so quickly from the subconscious to the conscious that those precious blissfully unaware seconds had no time to be felt. Either way that first day feeling bled into every day that first two weeks. There was no relief. I drifted in and out of sadness, anger, shock, terror, and panic. I stayed with friends 30 miles outside of town, too scared to go back to my own home. The assault occurred in my home so it no longer felt like a safe space.

I remember talking to coworkers online, or friends in person or on the phone and being so jealous that anyone could talk about anything else. Traumatic events like this might stop our world but it doesn’t stop the world around us from happening. It was such a complex and confusing feeling to feel grateful for the topic change that I knew was a distraction attempt via loved ones but there was absolutely no distraction that could pull me out of the mess in my head and my body. I felt physically ill that entire first week. The lack of nutrition, sleep and overall stress wreaked havoc on my body and my mind. 

Every time I think I am on the other side of this, I am jolted back onto the roller coaster that I never asked to be on. I’ve gone for weeks and most recently, months without a tear, any significant burst of anger or shame dragging me down but today knocked me on my ass. I have heard nothing about my case since before Christmas. I have been able to live in lala land a little bit since then, putting my case and this awful man to the back of my mind as much as possible.

Today, I was going about my morning getting ready for the work day to start when I got a call with an update from the detective assigned to my case. It never matters if the content of the update is significant or particularly upsetting. The content never matters- it’s the jolt back to July 30th and a brutal reminder that this really did happen. It took me from just another normal day where I feel like myself to those first few weeks where I feel like I am suffocating again and I struggle with the fact that the world continues on as if I am not drowning. It hasn’t just magically gone away and there is still so much agony that I will have to face before this is finally “over”. And is it ever really over? I don’t know yet. I just know it still hurts. I’m still angry. There is still shame, but it’s all under the surface and it comes back up in moments I don’t expect.  I am still unbelievably disgusted that people like this exist and are walking around like normal humans among us. These days make me want to throw in the towel legally. I want to quit all of it, run away and live my life as if this never happened.

In the past I would have let this “regressive” state make me feel like I am weak or haven’t healed enough. This triggered state could easily send me (and has) down a dark tunnel that I cannot get out of for days. Once I learned more about how the path of healing actually works I began to give myself more grace.

Healing from any trauma is nonlinear for several reasons:

  1. Triggers and Flashbacks: Survivors may experience triggers or flashbacks that evoke intense emotions and memories associated with the trauma. These triggers can occur unexpectedly, disrupting the healing process and causing setbacks.
  2. Healing Isn’t Linear: The journey of healing is filled with peaks and valleys, progress and setbacks. One day, you may feel empowered and hopeful, while the next, you may struggle with overwhelming emotions or symptoms of PTSD. This ebb and flow is natural and doesn’t diminish your progress or strength.
  3. Healing is Cyclical: Just as the seasons change and cycles repeat, healing from sexual assault often follows a cyclical pattern. You may revisit certain emotions or memories multiple times, each time gaining new insights and perspectives.
  4. Growth and Regression: Healing involves periods of growth and regression. You may make significant strides forward, only to encounter challenges that prompt a temporary regression. This doesn’t mean you’ve failed; it’s simply a natural part of the healing process.
  5. Self-Discovery: Healing from sexual assault is not just about overcoming trauma; it’s also a journey of self-discovery and self-compassion. Along the way, you may uncover layers of yourself, confront deeply ingrained beliefs, and redefine your identity in empowering ways.

I won’t lie and say that I am not still taken aback by these waves. They still take my breath away and completely stop me in my tracks. I have to actively acknowledge what is happening and do my best to move through it. I cry, I write, a call a trusted friend, I move my body, and I remind myself how far I have come.

Instead of viewing the nonlinear nature of healing as a sign of weakness or failure, we can embrace it as a source of strength and resilience. Embracing the nonlinear journey means:

  1. Practicing Self-Compassion: Be gentle with yourself on the difficult days. Acknowledge your progress, no matter how small, and offer yourself kindness and understanding.
  2. Seeking Support: Surround yourself with a supportive network of friends, family, therapists, and fellow survivors who understand the complexities of healing.
  3. Honoring Your Needs: Listen to your body and mind, and honor your needs in each moment. Whether it’s taking a break, practicing self-care, or seeking professional help, prioritize your well-being.
  4. Celebrating Victories: Celebrate your victories, no matter how small. Whether it’s setting boundaries, speaking your truth, or reclaiming your joy, every step forward is worth celebrating.

I do not wish trauma of any kind on anyone, but as cliche as it sounds, we cannot have rainbows without rain. I try to view my trauma as an opportunity to grow into a stronger and more resilient woman. I have learned so much about myself, my intuition, and my ability to do things I never thought I could that I may not otherwise have ever fully realized. We don’t have a lot of control over others and the harm they cause us but there is something extraordinarily powerful in knowing the control we have over our reactions and who we become through those experiences.

Healing from trauma is a nonlinear journey, filled with twists and turns, ups and downs. It’s okay to not be okay, and it’s okay to embrace the messiness of your healing process. Remember, healing is not about reaching a destination; it’s about embracing the journey, embracing your strength, and embracing yourself.

With love and solidarity,

M