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By Lauren
In childhood, we are often brought up with certain beliefs about the world. We are told we will eventually grow up and marry the love of our lives. That our families are a base for exploration, love, and safety. And that good things happen to good people.
But what happens when your experience reflects an entirely different reality? When you no longer believe you are worthy of love because you feel so deeply flawed and inadequate. When you are deeply afraid of intimacy because you think a prospective partner will carry out similar harm. When you piece together intrusive memories and realise that you were sexually abused by a family member you trusted.
You start to realise that bad things can happen to good people after all. The labels “victim” and “survivor” have now become relevant to you – a new part of your identity which can feel all-consuming.
I grew up in a middle-class family, as the oldest child, oldest grandchild and oldest niece on both sides of my family. I grew up with a love of animals, crafts, dancing, reading and writing. I grew up quite mischievous and cheeky – ask anyone in my family and early childhood friends and they will quote a list of embarrassing stories as long as my arm.
As I progressed through primary school, my personality started to change. I became more reserved. More of a people-pleaser. More anxious and insecure. What happened behind closed doors, at the house of someone my family trusted and where I was regularly dropped off, began to bleed into every aspect of my life and personality.
Fast forward a few years to high school, and the flashbacks kept replaying at the forefront of my mind. All day. All night. I was forced to see this person at every gathering. I could barely stomach what happened to me, let alone accept it. I felt so completely alone because to be violated in this way by a family member feels like a betrayal of extraordinary proportions. I started to feel out of place even within the sexual assault community. Intrafamilial abuse is extremely taboo, despite it being extremely common. I was called disgusting and blamed by frontline services, and I struggled with this experience of familial rupture and betrayal trauma.
During Year 12, arguably the most important year of an adolescent’s life, my life reached a breaking point. While my classmates could solely focus on studying and partying, I was in and out of police interviews, navigating the child protection system, and navigating external blame and self-blame for family estrangement and crisis. In university, I struggled with my grades due to managing my complex PTSD, other comorbid mental health conditions and ADHD.
Three things kept me going through the darkest times of my life: my psychologist, my resilience and my deep desire to become a Clinical Psychologist.
I am happy to report that I have finished my undergraduate psychology degree and am now completing a postgraduate thesis examining the effects of adverse childhood experiences on women’s health. I aim to next complete my master’s in clinical psychology and (maybe) complete a PhD on the effects of childhood trauma. After hundreds of hours of Victim Services Counselling, which was renewed for multiple 22-hour cycles of therapy due to the extent and age of my trauma, I am doing a lot better.
I am currently a Lived Experience Advisor for seminal child sexual abuse organisations such as the National Centre for Action on Child Sexual Abuse, Childlight UNSW Hub, the Adult Survivors Program at SLHD, and even a youth advisory council member for Bravehearts! I am so passionate about using my lived experience to shape policy and research. It is the greatest honour of my life and my reason to keep living.
All of this to say:
Surviving child sexual abuse and trying to rebuild your life is so difficult. It makes you lose your sense of identity, and it makes you feel as though the trauma is your only defining feature.
The effects of child sexual abuse can seep into everyday life: whether it be relationships, jobs, friendships, studies, body image and self-esteem. I personally have rejected any opportunity for romance because the idea of intimacy is so terrifying that I avoid it at all costs to avoid feeling vulnerable. But through therapy, I hope I can work through this deep-seated fear. It’s hard to focus on school or show up when your internal and external worlds are in crisis. Being a survivor can be so hard and can bring up so many difficult and conflicting emotions, including towards yourself, the world and your abuser.
Despite my fears in writing this article, I wanted to publish it to tell other survivors that you are not alone, and it’s not your fault.
What happened to you reflects on them.
Their evil choice does not taint you.
You are whole, worthy, and enough.
Your life can be beautiful again. And when it does, I hope you know you deserve every ounce of it.
Please know you’re not alone. Life gets better, and you deserve healing and happiness. I believe in you and wish you, dear reader and fellow survivor, all the love, prosperity and healing in the world. The world is better with you in it, and there is help out there. People will love you for the incredible person you are.
You are so much more than what has happened to you.