Strength for broken spirits

I cried yesterday. That doesn’t happen often. I cried until my eyes were swollen, my body exhausted, and the cats freaked out because they didn’t know what to do about me. But that is generally the way – most people (and evidently cats) don’t know how to react to someone’s sadness or tragedy.

The cause of yesterday’s crying jag might have been because I was working on my memoir and memories were stirring deep. It might have been because of the post I read by Final Girl over at Kelly Sundberg’s site*. Whatever the reason, that crying session felt really good.

While I’m not particularly prone to crying, I’ve done my fair share of boohooing over the last year and a half. I’ve shed tears because of family and friends who have been silent. I’ve cried because of arguments with my son as he tried to reach through my trauma. I’ve cried over triggers (always a surprise) and an assortment of issues which were really uncomfortable.

Yesterday was different. I cried for me. I cried for the person I was twenty years ago, the person I was seven years ago, three years ago, and for the person I am today. I apologized to all those women. Naive and trusting. Scared and alone. Empowered and strong.

***

People often tell me how strong I am. They have been telling me this all my life. They tell me so often that it has began to feel dismissive. So, what does it means to be strong and what does it mean when we are told we are strong?

It’s meant to be a reassurance, telling someone they are strong. But very often people think that because someone is strong it means they will be fine. I can tell you, a person who has undergone trauma is not fine and it matters not one iota how strong they are. They are weak and vulnerable. They have been forever changed. Their belief systems have been shaken; so much so that regions of their brain undergo alteration. The tentacles of PTSD or cPTSD can wrap around them causing depression, severe anxiety, mistrust, flashbacks, hyper-vigilance, insomnia, and social isolation. They may heal. They may recover. But trauma will always be a part of their experience.

Roxane Gay wrote, “Just because you survive something does not mean you are strong.”

Domestic violence and sexual abuse are dark icky subjects. We don’t like to talk about them and we don’t want to be reminded of how prevalent they are. These topics make people uncomfortable, often not knowing what to say except perhaps, “You are strong. You’ll get through this”.

But what does that mean? Often it means “peace out”. “You’re on your own.” You’re strong. You’re strong. We don’t have to worry about you. If you need us, then call. But that doesn’t mean anyone will pick up the phone.

Zosia Bielski, writing for The Globe and Mail, reviews Roxane Gay’s new book, Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture (How irresponsible of us that rape has become a culture). The book pulls together writings of 29 contributors voicing different perspectives of their experiences of sexual abuse.

Bielski begins her article writing about contributor Sharisse Tracey:

Sharisse Tracey was 13 when her father, a photographer, sexually assaulted her after taking her “glamour shots,” photos Tracey hoped would make her feel “pretty and important” at school.

Tracey told her mother, expecting she’d throw him out. Instead, the three of them sat down with a counselor, a family friend who pressured Tracey to forgive her father and, in a bizarre bid to make it all go away, convinced them to take a grotesque family trip to an amusement park called Magic Mountain. Desperate to escape her home, Tracey wrote letters to family, friends and fellow churchgoers, pleading for help. Nobody wrote back.

Tracey’s story is both horrifying and common: A woman survives sexual assault only to face gaslighting and the abject failure of her family, friends and community to help.

There’s a conflict between wanting to do what’s compassionate, responsible, and right, and the urge to turn away. This turning away, even in interpersonal relationships, is what leads to the widespread minimization of abuse and allows it to fester behind closed doors and in dark corners.

What people fail to understand is that when approached by a survivor for support, they often don’t need to say or do a thing. They just need to be there. Listen. Just because someone is strong doesn’t mean they should have to walk the path of recovery alone. They shouldn’t have to be forced to be voiceless too.

There have been those who reached out to me. I’ll be forever grateful. The people who remain close no longer tell me I’m strong. They know I’m strong. I know I’m strong. But we all know that sometimes everyone needs love and support.

*Unfortunately, Kelly Sundberg’s website is offline at the time of this writing. I assume this is in attempt to update the site in preparation for her new book, Goodbye, Sweet Girl, due out on June 5, 2018. Once Ms. Sundberg’s site is back online I will include the link here for you.

Lisa Mikulski is a freelance writer and photographer based in Boston, MA. Available for print or online publications. Editorial, features, content development, and creative. She is presently working on her first memoir.