The Gift of Pain

Today I made the step to become a victim advocate for my local police department.  I have shared parts of my story in this blog and I have spoken at some local high schools about what I have survived, but this will take my experience to the next level.

I have endured both child molestation and rape.  I know trauma; it is my bedfellow, my compatriate, my constant companion.  Even after years of therapy and honesty, there are nights when I wake up wailing.  

Surviving a violent crime consists of far more than making it out alive.  In the immediate aftermath there is a tidal wave of shame, the demons of "I should have..." overtaking your mind.  There are the visceral reminders: scent, sound, taste, touch, visual cues.  There is the gaping, astonishing solitude.  The absolute belief that, "I have been poisoned, and I am different from everyone else."

I have been through some pretty horrific things.  Please don't pity me, though.  Please don't treat me with kid gloves.  For though my past is painful, it has equipped me with a tremendous gift to relate to the survivors of today's crimes.  I get it.  I know how it feels.  I want to help.

What is your story?  What traumas have you endured?  How can you turn your pain into action?  That's what it's all about, really.  We find meaning in our hurt by reaching out to others who are hurting.  When we help our neighbors heal, we are able to heal ourselves.