“To step into your power means to trust yourself, your instincts, and your intuition. To let the fear go and the shame and tell the stories which need to be told.” – Sharon Blackie – Author, Psychologist,

Author’s Note: Most of this essay was written a few years ago. While I got the words out on paper, I still wasn’t able to share them with the world. Today, I am emboldened by the Epstein survivors, just as I had been by the Kavanaugh trial, the #MeToo movement, Chanel Miller’s memoir “Know my Name,” and countless other stories and confessions.

There is shame, confusion, and a suffocating sensation of holding in rage when you’ve been a victim of sexual violation. The screams that want to come out, the horrible sensation of powerlessness, the anger and ick that lives inside you and can’t ever be fully released, the prayers for some kind of exorcism to rid yourself of it all.

I’m always on the verge of talking big, of writing a book, of giving a talk—and then I shrink back into my protective shell.

And while sharing this makes me so incredibly uncomfortable, I know that it’s time to start talking. It’s time to release the clenched throat chakra that’s tightened in an energetic noose around my neck. And damn it, Anne Lamott, you are so very, very right: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

Own your stories.

Write them.

Speak them.

Share them.

 

Originally written in 2023:

I walked blindly into a trauma trap.

My husband was out of town, my daughter was out with friends, and I thought it would be a good time to catch up on some of the Oscar-nominated films. I decided to watch “Women Talking,” having heard good things and knowing that Frances McDormand had a key role in making it. Loving all things Frances, I didn’t need to know anything more. I settled into my couch and turned on the TV.

What I came to learn in the next 104 minutes is that “Women Talking” is an important, beautifully crafted film that tackles a myriad of critical themes such as misuse of power, trust in our knowing what God expects of us, the patriarchy, sexual violence against women, and so much more. As you can imagine, it’s a lot.

The movie, set in an isolated religious community, shows the women gathered in a barn, having come together to decide their fate. Will they take action against the sexual violence that has been inflicted upon them, or will they collectively leave?

In a lot of ways, it reminded me of the film version of “12 Angry Men.” And that, in turn, reminded me of my own traumatic experience of being on a jury. In 2019, I was selected to be a juror on a murder/rape trial. It was a cold case that had been reopened based on the availability of modern-day DNA testing. During the deliberations, for which I had volunteered as foreperson, the jury was locked in a stalemate that eventually triggered a panic attack for me. I was trapped in the deliberation room with no end in sight. The experience was so difficult that I wrote a blog about it to help heal the trauma it induced: How to Get Away with Murder. But that experience is not why I wrote this.

When the credits rolled on “Women Talking,” I found myself in somewhat of a trance, unable to move from the couch. Eventually, alone in my house, I numbingly wandered into the kitchen and began to make dinner, microwaving rice and stuffing it in my mouth, no salt, no butter, just something to start to plug the hole. I reheated some pulled pork, set my steamer up for my veggies, and began to cry. Then the tears gushed forward, exploding from my body in gasping coughs of rage.

Like in the movie, I once lived in a spiritual community, isolated from the world.

When I was 10, my parents moved our family to an intentional community deep in the cornfields of Illinois. The closest town was miles away. Our community had it’s share of cult-like properties and, as I presume happens in many closed communities, there was rampant abuse.

I was not spared.

Watching “Women Talking” brought out that thing inside of me, that thread that an untrustworthy neighbor stitched through me with his fingers at the tender age of 11. In our community, women were to wear skirts. Of course, this gave men easy access to our private parts.

“True healing occurs when I give myself permission to feel whatever feelings live below the triggers.” So reads a card in my “The Universe Has Your Back” deck by Gabrielle Bernstein.

I repeatedly draw this card.

“Women Talking” was a massive trigger, and we must use the triggers life presents us as guides on our healing journey. Should I not have watched this movie? Without the movie, I wouldn’t have accessed the rage. I wouldn’t have been alerted to the fact that there was major unprocessed crap still buried deep inside me. It’s movies like this that spark each of us to speak louder, to stand for change. Movies like this wake up our souls.

An actress in the film wonders what she would be like had the attacks never occurred. I frequently wonder the same thing. Who would I have been without this trauma? What were the other possible paths my childhood self could have gone down? What if my family had stayed in New Jersey and never moved? And yet the trauma sealed my destiny, awakening me to the call for women’s empowerment. It’s a driving force in my work.

As I was crying hysterically last night, I wondered why, at 51 years old, that I’m still crying about something that happened a handful of times when I was 11. Why can’t I stop crying?

Well, I’ll start with a big ol’ “Fuck you!” to Larry.

Fuck you for taking my innocence and implanting this agony that resurfaces periodically, a flame that won’t go out.

Fuck you for telling me that it was our little secret and not to tell my parents.

My parents. Why didn’t they know to ask me what was wrong? When I was 15, and I would see Larry at community events, such as our annual 4th of July reunion, I’d scream “Fuck you!” in my head and snarl at him. Why didn’t they ask me what was going on? Why didn’t anyone reach into my broken-girl soul and help me find the strength to talk? Why couldn’t they see this and help me? As a parent, I know how ridiculous this is. Our kids rarely let us see their deepest fears. Even with the best parenting, some things are unknowable.

I was 11 and you were my fucking babysitter, Larry. You were supposed to be protecting me.

I would have been safer alone.

I would have literally been safer alone.

I’ve come to learn in a more intimate way than I ever wanted to understand that utopia doesn’t exist. Intentional communities that purport to be safe communities are so often, or maybe always, hotbeds of abuse. In a town like ours, sexual predators could find refuge, as everyone was welcomed and trusted. We didn’t lock our doors. My friend Katrina shared some wisdom she once received when talking about our little town to a spiritual mentor: “Where is the darkness and what’s in the shadows? There is always darkness.” This was our shadow.

The majority of my friends from this community have stories of their own. We’re way more than the 1-in-5 statistic of women who have suffered sexual violation.

For years when after I was intimate with a man, I would curl up in the fetal position and cry uncontrollably. I didn’t understand the connection. I was embarrassed at the feelings. I tried to push them away. I felt intense shame at the reaction, and I wished they would stop occurring so I could be normal. During a summer in college, I had quickly built a deeply emotional connection with a boyfriend. He was the first person who heard my story. I was 20. I’d held onto this secret, and all the shame that went with it for nearly a decade. While he held me tight, he encouraged me to find someone to talk to. I never did.

Over the years, I’ve also gotten very curious about trauma. The movie prompted me to begin a trauma-recovery journey. I’m looking to untangle this web of shame and clear it from my energy field. I don’t want this inside me anymore. Carpe diem. I’m in my 50s now. If not now, when?

Raising a daughter of my own, I’m so empowered to find a way to stop the cycle of abuse. Getting my daughter past the age of 11 with no sexual trauma was an imperative mission. At 14, she’s still a prime target and will be for years to come. I’ve shared my abuse story with her and continually drive home the message that none of this is OK. I remind her that she has power even when she feels she doesn’t.

So, I raise my hand with the #MeToo movement and encourage you to always believe women. No one wants to talk about these matters. I have zero interest in having you know this about me, for having my wounds exposed to the world. I only do so because I know this is my healing, and that my healing is connected to the greater healing of our world, for women taking back their voices and their bodies.

I’d like to help release women of these embodied tethers that keep us connected to experiences that trap our souls.

We must stop this nonsense that women only share their stories for revenge and publicity. It’s simply not true. I assure you that no woman who has a real story ever wants to share it. No one chooses to shine a light on their deepest shame. When women share, it’s because they have to. They’re compelled to come forth. It takes massive courage.

It took me 40 years.

 

I’ll bring you back now, to present day. It’s September, 2025 and if I’m being honest with you, dear reader, I’m still really, really, really uncomfortable with the idea of publishing this piece. As Carrie Fisher, Princess Leia herself, famously said, “Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow.”

So, if you too have a story, I encourage you to release the grip that the trauma has over you, so you can start to really heal. In addition to writing, I’ve done a lot of reiki and shamanic healing work around this, cutting cords and detaching from energetic patterns. I’ve talked openly about my experience with friends and family.

In darkness, secrets fester and grow. It’s only in light that their power begins to dissipate.

True healing comes when we release our stories. Thank you for reading mine.