April Thoughts *Trigger Warning*

April is probably one of my favorite months of the year. Not only is it my birthday month (and that of some of the coolest people ever!) but after a long, cold, and gray winter, green grass starts to grow and the earth just smells new, fresh, and ready to come alive. Kids at school finally get the chance to play outside without their coats and the warm sun both brings out an orneriness and an exuberance for life that is unmatched during the winter months. Evenings are perfect for sitting in the sun with a good book and a whispering breeze to help sort through the events of the day as the sun heads off to bed and the moon prepares for the night shift. There's just something about the month of April!

April is also Sexual Assault Awareness Month and my social media comes alive with reminders that rapists are the sole cause of rape, that chains are broken every time a survivor tells their story, and that there is so much hope and healing available for those who have been wounded by sexual violence. This April, just like Aprils past, finds me reflecting on my own story and where I find myself on the healing journey.

After reading a survivor's book in recent months, I've been trying to come to grips with the fact that what happened to me was rape. It was sexual assault. I've always used the term 'sexual abuse' to describe my experience and while that in itself is bad enough, rape or assault brings a sense of severity into the picture (at least in my mind) that wasn't there before. The legal definition of rape does, in fact, include what happened to me but the word 'rape' brings to mind scenes from movies or tv shows where a person is attacked and physically forced to do, or endure, something against their will. They usually fight. They scream. They try to get away. I struggle because I didn't do any of those things. I wasn't threatened with violence. I wasn't physically forced. I honestly didn't even 'say no'. I was just a little girl who did what she had to do so she could go play with her best friend after school. I did what was asked of me so my grandfather would leave my room at night, and I could finally go to sleep. I've been trying to grasp that subtle coercion by a trusted relative in a position of power still constitutes rape and it's been hard.

Along with this realization comes anger. So much anger. At the justice system mostly. In the process of writing my book a couple of years ago, I discovered that my grandfather was only on the sex offender registry for the five years he was on probation while, for years, I lived under the impression he would be on the registry for life. Even though he was found guilty in a court of law, his punishment (at least on this earth) only involved a fine and a brief stint on the registry, meaning that he had access to under aged children and was able to continue his abusive behavior. I pressed charges when I was in my early 20s and still very much naive and believed that the judicial system always did the right thing, always had survivors and potential future victims in mind, and always stopped the bad guy. That certainly wasn't the case in my story, and I've talked with many other survivors that were failed by those our country put in a place to protect and defend them. I realize we live in a fallen world and that one day, God will come and set ALL things right, but this side of heaven? I am both incredibly saddened and outraged.

Another thing I've thought a lot about lately is the desire to do something more with my story. In reading through Facebook memories and past entries in journals and blogs, I'm realizing this has long been a cry of my heart. Yes, I wrote a book and yes, I've been told it encouraged many and gave others hope in their own journeys of healing and I am grateful for that. I am so thankful God allowed me that platform to share my story and the promise of hope and healing that comes only from Him. But along with knowing I've helped some, comes a restlessness and longing to help the masses. To do more. So I started an online support group. I ran one for a handful of years in college that was very active, and I felt like my story had a purpose that allowed me to use the awfulness to help others in a positive way. This time around? No one wants to join. And honestly? A big part of me is excited about that! It brings me joy to know other survivors are at a place in their journey of healing where they don't need that extra support and they are in a good spot. But there's a part of me that wonders, "Am I the only one who still struggles at times?" Don't get me wrong. I have found so much freedom from the things that happened to me, and they don't take up as much space in my life as they did in days, and years, past but there are times I still struggle with a particular aspect of my story, like coming to the realization I was raped, and feeling that I have no one to share that with. No one to hash it out with. I miss the comradery and the "Hey, me too!" that came along with being involved with a group of survivors who truly got it. I miss the sense of anonymity in which I could tell my story and share my struggles, knowing that I wasn't alone and that many others had been exactly where I was and could pray and encourage me through it. So, this place in my journey has been somewhat lonely and I'm not sure what to do with that.

I also find myself in a time of grief and deep sadness that I've not experienced before. I am currently reading a series by a Christian author about a man who goes to great lengths to rescue young women and children who have been kidnapped and sold into human trafficking. He himself learns that the great love of his life also knew that kind of suffering and she asks him before they get married if he truly still wants her, even knowing about her past trauma. He does, of course, and he vows to love her until death parts them. I know most little girls dream of growing up and finding the man of their dreams who will love them unconditionally and they want that fairy tale of living happily ever after. Sexual assault survivors, I think, have those dreams on a more intense scale. We long to stand in front of the man we love, bare our hearts, tell our stories, show them every wound and then ask, "Do you still think I'm beautiful?" "Do you still love me?" "Do you still think I'm worthy?" "Do you still want me?" I know I did. I still do. But as the years pass, and I try to find peace with the knowledge that God is probably calling me to singleness, my heart became very aware this week that I may never get to ask those questions and be assured that I am still beautiful and pure and worthy of love from a man who wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Yes, I know God is the ultimate Man I need that acceptance and assurance from, and most days I have it, but there's a piece of my heart that longs for all those things on a very tangible level. 

Oofta! That's more than I intended to write when I opened my laptop a couple hours ago! But, as usual, it's just me being real and honest and raw, hoping it encourages others and reminds them that they are not alone as this Sexual Assault Awareness month comes to a close.