Life has a way of testing us in ways that no one else can fully understand. From a very young age, I experienced trauma that left deep emotional scars. Then, at nine years old, I was assaulted while simply walking home from a swim lesson – innocent, vulnerable, and although just a few steps away from my destination, I was suddenly in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead of protection or validation, I was blamed. The truth of what happened to me was dismissed, and the people who should have stood for me – my family, my community – allowed lies to take root. I became the “culprit,” the “seductress,” the one to blame, even as a child.
This pattern of being misunderstood and unfairly judged continued throughout my life. From the ages of 12 to 14, I experienced grooming and abuse again, this time by a trusted family friend and authority figure. I’d also face coercion, but once more, I spoke the truth. No one believed me. Instead, I was forced to question myself, to relive the trauma, and to navigate the judgement of a community that refused to protect me. Lies became part of my story in the eyes of others, and even as I grew, the stigma and misjudgment followed me.
These experiences, plus a gamut of others, left deep psychological and emotional residue. I learned early on that some people, even within my own community, are harder on women, harder on victims, and quicker to place blame than to see the truth. And yet, through all of this, I’ve survived. I’ve learned to stand alone, to protect my integrity, and to live my life according to values I believe are righteous and true.
As an adult, these patterns of exclusion, misjudgment, and manipulation continued into my professional life. I work in environments where my contributions are minimized, my questions ignored, and my integrity and intelligence challenged. I document my work, I maintain professionalism, and yet, the toxicity persists. It is exhausting, but I continue to stand firm, because my responsibility is to myself and to the truth.
I have made the difficult decision to distance myself from family members (most recently beginning a slow-journey of no-contact with my dad after having years of no contact with my siblings and mother) who are unable or unwilling to see the truth of my experience. Setting boundaries is not betrayal; it is survival. My peace, my life, and my integrity are mine to protect. I will not bend to cruelty, manipulation, or judgment.
Through all the pain, I have learned the power of resilience. I have learned that my truth matter, even when no one else believes it. I have learned that standing alone is not weakness, but strength. And I have learned that it is possible to carry pain, honor it, and still rise above it.
I share my story not to seek sympathy or debate, but to affirm that even in the face of betrayal, abuse, and misunderstanding, one can remain whole, one can remain truthful, and one can protect what is sacred: their own integrity and peace.
My Voice Unchained 