Teal Ribbons
Each year, the month of April brings many things to my mind. It's the month I celebrate my birthday, it's the month of my brother's birthday as well as many cousins. It marks the anniversary of a major surgery I had that impacted my life in many ways, and it's when the winter weather finally begins to feel more like spring. But more than that, the month of April always takes me back to my years in college.
The month of April is designated as Sexual Assault Awareness month and teal ribbons are used to remind people of that. My first year of college, when I started the journey of working through the abuse in my past with a counselor, she encouraged me to go watch a panel discussion on the topic on campus. I asked a friend to go with me and even today, I can't remember who the speakers were or what exactly was said. I do remember, however, that I was so shook up afterwards that I just wanted to be at home and drove to Dubois for the evening. It was a Wednesday and I knew there would be church that evening and I desperately needed to be in the midst of my church family.
The next year, my counselor asked if I would speak on the panel. Me. Speaking publicly about being abused. In front of an audience. Out loud. Needless to say, I was terrified. I was somewhat comforted by the fact that there would be two others speaking with me - one was an instructor that I was friends with and the other was a fellow student that, until the day of the panel, I was not aware that we shared a similar past.
The next year, not only was I asked to speak on the panel again, but I was asked to participate in other activities as well. I was asked to speak at a training session for people who worked with sexual assault survivors. I gave an interview to the newspaper which resulted in a front page article. I also was asked to speak to a criminology class on campus. Each time I spoke, I just felt this sense of accomplishment and strength, that God was using the garbage in my past to help other people.
I've never gotten emotional when speaking about the abuse, it's as if I'm telling someone else's story and it didn't really happen to me. I was surprised when the lady from the newspaper interviewing me burst into tears about halfway through her questions. Participants in the training session were also brought to tears and to be honest, that caused kind of a hesitation in me...my story was worth crying over? It's still a foreign concept to me and if someone shares with me that they cried reading my story or poems, I always ask them why in hopes that it will resonate something deep within me.
I miss those days. I miss the opportunities I had to speak out about my past. I miss the feeling of helping people and giving them courage to tell their own stories. I miss that sense of empowerment, knowing each time I spoke those words, they held less power over me. Granted, it was harder to speak to those groups if there were friends or people I knew personally in the audience because of the shame I still feel that those things happened to my body and wondering what were people who knew me going to think. I learned I am much more comfortable speaking in front of strangers than people I know.
These days, I sometimes find myself wondering if those years I spend talking in front of people were my 15 minutes in the 'spotlight,' and will never be again. I ask God, "Was that it? Was that my only time of helping others in similar situations?" I had an online support group for survivors of abuse at that time as well and I felt so alive knowing I was giving others hope. That group fizzled out years ago and another I have since started never really got off the ground. In the years since, I've not had any opportunities to speak about my past and my blogs about the subject don't seem to reach the audience I wish they would. I would like to publish a book of my poems, along with my story, but every time I have pursued that, I have hit a dead end.
Call me crazy but I used to dream I would be on the Women of Faith team, speaking to thousands of people each weekend about how God has used my past to make me into the person I am today as well as bring Him glory. I had such a hunger and desire to help people because during those speaking opportunities I had, I was bitten by that bug that said, "YOU are making a difference." I miss those days. So while I wait to see how God will use my past in the years to come (sometimes not-so-patiently) I will continue to remember my days of wearing a teal ribbon and telling my small corner of the world my story.
The month of April is designated as Sexual Assault Awareness month and teal ribbons are used to remind people of that. My first year of college, when I started the journey of working through the abuse in my past with a counselor, she encouraged me to go watch a panel discussion on the topic on campus. I asked a friend to go with me and even today, I can't remember who the speakers were or what exactly was said. I do remember, however, that I was so shook up afterwards that I just wanted to be at home and drove to Dubois for the evening. It was a Wednesday and I knew there would be church that evening and I desperately needed to be in the midst of my church family.
The next year, my counselor asked if I would speak on the panel. Me. Speaking publicly about being abused. In front of an audience. Out loud. Needless to say, I was terrified. I was somewhat comforted by the fact that there would be two others speaking with me - one was an instructor that I was friends with and the other was a fellow student that, until the day of the panel, I was not aware that we shared a similar past.
The next year, not only was I asked to speak on the panel again, but I was asked to participate in other activities as well. I was asked to speak at a training session for people who worked with sexual assault survivors. I gave an interview to the newspaper which resulted in a front page article. I also was asked to speak to a criminology class on campus. Each time I spoke, I just felt this sense of accomplishment and strength, that God was using the garbage in my past to help other people.
I've never gotten emotional when speaking about the abuse, it's as if I'm telling someone else's story and it didn't really happen to me. I was surprised when the lady from the newspaper interviewing me burst into tears about halfway through her questions. Participants in the training session were also brought to tears and to be honest, that caused kind of a hesitation in me...my story was worth crying over? It's still a foreign concept to me and if someone shares with me that they cried reading my story or poems, I always ask them why in hopes that it will resonate something deep within me.
I miss those days. I miss the opportunities I had to speak out about my past. I miss the feeling of helping people and giving them courage to tell their own stories. I miss that sense of empowerment, knowing each time I spoke those words, they held less power over me. Granted, it was harder to speak to those groups if there were friends or people I knew personally in the audience because of the shame I still feel that those things happened to my body and wondering what were people who knew me going to think. I learned I am much more comfortable speaking in front of strangers than people I know.
These days, I sometimes find myself wondering if those years I spend talking in front of people were my 15 minutes in the 'spotlight,' and will never be again. I ask God, "Was that it? Was that my only time of helping others in similar situations?" I had an online support group for survivors of abuse at that time as well and I felt so alive knowing I was giving others hope. That group fizzled out years ago and another I have since started never really got off the ground. In the years since, I've not had any opportunities to speak about my past and my blogs about the subject don't seem to reach the audience I wish they would. I would like to publish a book of my poems, along with my story, but every time I have pursued that, I have hit a dead end.
Call me crazy but I used to dream I would be on the Women of Faith team, speaking to thousands of people each weekend about how God has used my past to make me into the person I am today as well as bring Him glory. I had such a hunger and desire to help people because during those speaking opportunities I had, I was bitten by that bug that said, "YOU are making a difference." I miss those days. So while I wait to see how God will use my past in the years to come (sometimes not-so-patiently) I will continue to remember my days of wearing a teal ribbon and telling my small corner of the world my story.
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