You Know My Name, You Don't Know My Story

A wise and wonderful woman once taught me, "You know my name, but you don't know my story." How true those words are. I used to claim open-mindedness when it suited me, but I was often guilty of jumping to conclusions based on appearences. My worst example of this flaw was evident when I was behind the wheel: if somebody cut me off, it was because he was an obvious douchebag with no consideration for other people. Now I am able to rein myself in and think, "Maybe that person just got some bad news. Maybe he's had a rough day. Maybe he or someone he loves is sick. Or maybe - just maybe - he didn't even see me there." That little shift in thinking has worked miracles for my own peace of mind.

I want to take it a step further, though, and use this point to shed a little light on the silent sufferers in our midst. I have had occasion over the last year and a half to share my story - my whole, unedited, often unpretty story - with a lot of people. I can't tell you the number of times I have heard, "I would never have guessed you'd been through that." There's the truth - we can never guess what another person has endured, what she has seen and survived and experienced. Even the people we think we know best often have little pockets of shame within them that keep their secrets hidden. Part of my own past - childhood sexual abuse and trauma - is one of the most intensely concealed skeletons in people's closets. The disgusting and tragic reality is that one in every six women and one out in every 33 men will survive a rape or attempted rape in their lifetimes, and that 500,000 babies born THIS year in THIS country will be sexually abused by their 18th birthdays. This problem is not just prevalent, it is epidemic.

You know survivors, I guaruntee it. It may be your sister, your best friend, your dad, the sweet teenager who babysits your kids, the older gentleman who sings in the church choir, or even that guy who cut me off on the freeway. We are everywhere, in every walk of life, in every socioeconomic sphere. We are Christians, Jews, and Muslims, we are children and the elderly, we are gay and straight, we are white, black, and every other color in the crayon box. You may know our names, but you probably don't know our stories.

My intent in sharing this is not to repulse you with the statistics nor to shame you for passing judgement without having all the information. My goal is to make you aware, as I have been made aware, that survivors are all around us, sometimes candid about their stories but often struggling in silence. Be kind to each other, my friends. You never really know what anyone else has gone through.

(And a little sidenote, my beautiful friends: my page has been viewed over 4,000 times now. I am incredibly humbled and immensely grateful to have reached so many people, and I pray that all of you will take a little something away from my story. Peace be with you all!)