By Faith
Nothing puts you more in your own head quite like a secret.
In the wake of my rape, after realizing that my first instinct to not tell a soul was not an option, I found myself only comfortable telling those in proximity. My chosen family became my first line of defense and held me close for a long time.
My biological family, separated by states and continents, had never felt farther away.
I didn’t fear their judgment. I was fortunate to know that they wouldn’t raise an eyebrow or even remotely consider blaming me for what happened, but I couldn’t imagine telling them and causing that kind of pain. Our distance makes it all too easy to withhold information, particularly when it’s the kind that you’re looking to avoid yourself.
I kept my secret for nearly two years. It wasn’t until I decided to press charges that I knew I had to say something.
Nothing makes you calculated quite like a secret.
I plotted the order and whereabouts of who I would tell and when I would tell them. I considered who would be easiest, who would need to rely on whom for consolation, and who would give me the courage I needed to lead me to the next.
My sister. My mother. Then my dad.
…
“Do you have a few minutes?”
I remember how eerily I sounded like a damn telemarketer the night I called my sister and told her over the phone. But with that, and a deep breath, I launched into the spiel that I had developed over time. Start by telling person you’re ok, you’re doing much better, really, drop the news, remind person you’re doing well, allow for questions, stammering, silence. Take a breath.
“I love you... I’m sorry... I’m here in whatever way I can help… don’t ever let anyone tell you this is your fault.”
Her words were simple, heartfelt, and I began to feel a bit of relief as some of the weight left my shoulders. My sister and I had never had a sibling rivalry, but we had never quite spoken the same language, either. I’ve never been much for showing vulnerability, so I couldn’t remember ever needing to hear those words from her more.
“I wanted you to know before I tell mom and dad. I’ll tell them when I fly home this weekend.”
…
I pulled my mom away from a house full of her friends for a one-on-one shopping trip. The shopping was inevitable, one of our favorite pastimes when we were together. The knot in my stomach as we drove around was the thing I wish I could’ve avoided.
I told her while she was driving. For the record, she told me not to do that with my dad. Selfishly, I was relieved that she had to keep her eyes on the road and not on me.
She wanted more details than I had expected, likely in an attempt to make it feel more real. I provided them, painfully, realizing that it might’ve gotten easier to tell friends, but that was hardly preparation for telling my mother. Each answer was like swallowing glass.
“Can you tell Toni?”
As we pulled back up to the house and she asked me to tell her partner, I was reminded, once again, of just how important it is we all have people to rely on. I agreed, but I hardly had time to prepare for the conversation.
“Did you guys get in a car accident?! What happened?”
Toni’s welcoming remarks matched the strain she perceived the moment we walked through the door. The look on my mom’s face, which so clearly bore the weight of the news, made a car accident seem like a preferable option.
…
After my parents, sister, and I had gotten together for a family meal, the first in over two years that everyone was actually able to attend, my dad and I took off to spend a little time together. As we talked and laughed, I was reminded of this feeling he was always so good at giving me: that I was capable of anything.
That limitless feeling lead me to college out of state, a move to the big city, and a solo trip through Europe. I’m sure it wasn’t always easy, and he might’ve held his breath for some of it, but he always let me go with the belief that I would be fine. I didn’t know how I could tell him that it didn’t always work out that way.
“There’s something I need to tell you. But you need to know that I’m ok. I’m really ok.”
The stammering. The silence.
I was surprised at how much he took it like a champ. Perhaps for the first time I felt like I was the one in this conversation who wasn’t handling it with the most grace. I might’ve been trying to appear strong, but he actually looked it. Without feeling like I had to shield him, I began sharing more than I had planned to, telling him about the challenges it had created, the people who had been there for me, and the hell-bent promise I made to myself to not let this slow me down any longer. I was going to fight and learn to love again thanks to the fight and love he had instilled in me all along.
“There is nobody I’d bet on more.”
…
I can’t imagine what it’s like from the other side. To be the parent and hear from your child that something so precious was taken from them without consent. I imagine it’s crushing, and I eventually saw that as I stared into the eyes of my mom and dad in their own time. In the conversations that followed, they expressed how powerless they felt. I believe that, but what I will never be able to fully express to them is the relief that came from just their knowing.
It’s no longer a secret I feel like I have to hide.