Memories of a Sexual Assault Survivor
April is Sexual Assault Awareness month and I contemplated for some time on what to write. I can share with you the countless statistics floating around, but you can do an easy search. I could share with you the steps to healing, as it gives a quick and easy answer, but you could look it up through artificial intelligence quick search machines. But the truth is, it's messy and you really get to witness the full range of life through all your emotions and associated body sensations.
I stumbled upon a piece I wrote 5 years ago in the throes of the pandemic as I took on a Wild Women Writing challenge hosted by Ecodesignhive. Writing helped to acknowledge and validate all the emotions that arose in my healing journey with my own therapist. Paper and pen were the healing tools on the days or weeks in between sessions.
Lost
I lost my way many times in my journey to 31 years old. I call it PTSD. Drowning. Healing. Finding my way back to my wildish self. Running away to a place of safety.
Today and after yesterday's conversation to take up yet another substitute task, I decided that this role is not for me. I need stability in my life and this job offers chaos. Community organizing, too, seeks my presence. I question right and wrong.
She tells me, “I’m sorry this is inconvenient for you. It’s better this way for everybody.”
“Except me.” I thought.
I am in New York, living in a pandemic of COVID-19, femicide and racism. Jackson Heights, where I still find beauty in community.
I am lost in the world of capitalism, in a non-profit industrial complex that values my burnout above all else. That gives managers all the work to hold, all the discipline to hold. Much pressure without sustainability. I realize that this lifestyle is not for me.
I feel lost. Perhaps it is for me but not this form and shape. Resistance to change. Resistance to growth. I feel a heavy weight on my chest that requires a Internal Family Systems intervention, but all of me is tired.
Lost in the forest. I sit and observe the birds. Much lessons being still in silence and noticing the pain. Not shooing it away, not shaming. Just seeing all that is there.
Swans are graceful. Cleansing each of its feathers. Self-care as a natural order of things first. They feed themselves. Their creation. Wing span massive and towering over ducks. They eat small fish and fly in flocks. In their communities. Their sounds, different from sparrows and starlings and mourning doves of the city. Hues of orange amass their beaks with a black strip that meets their face. I contemplate on how simple it can be to live in your purpose and with the right beings.
I’ve received warnings from guides, elders, therapist, that I will not find the peace I yearn for in my job. This world was designed to dehumanize and the answer will not be found making scraps and drowning in heavy debt. I was not meant to survive in the world, they say. Think in abundance, they say. Lost in the whirlwind of dualities and gray matter. Lost in a social work career. Lost, on my search for my real gift while all the factors try to drown me in.
It’s difficult to be found here. It seems I must stay here, 7 years as a golden number to transform with grace.
They will get mad at my lack of presence. They will also see my value and what I hold. And I will too.
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The journey to healing involves alchemizing the assault on the body, mind and spirit caused by sexual assault. It’s a journey that re-awakens parts of ourselves we’ve hid away for protection. This shows up in work, relationships, finding our unique gifts and speaking from our truth. Those protective or exiled parts may repeat cycles they are used to.
Writing alongside a therapeutic healing space has helped me overcome patterns imprinted within generations to appease, to self-sabotage or have a distorted view of relationships.
My name is Princess Manuel, LCSW and I am a mental health clinician focusing on healing present-day and generational traumas. I utilize various healing arts practices to support survivors heal through trauma including indigenous-based practices such as herbalism, bodywork and earth-centered ritual practice as well as mental health training through academic institutions. Survivors need a compassionate space that sees all of them. I often reverberate from personal experiences to the weight of the world - historically, environmentally and politically to support survivors in putting the puzzle pieces together of their unique experiences. After that awareness, we get into the real work of finding the choice-points in breaking cycles.