“And what can you do, or have you done, to forgive yourself?”
[This is a trigger warning for mentions of sexual assault and miscarriages]
Without a doubt the biggest regrets of my life are keeping my miscarriage and sexual assault a secret.
I was sexually assaulted at a young age. At ten years old, I really didn’t have the maturity to even understand just what I was keeping a secret. And I had no idea the affects that keeping that a secret would have on not only my relationships with others, but my relationship with myself.
That being said, I should have told someone, back then. I should have opened up to one single adult who could have helped me help myself. But I was so afraid; so afraid no one would believe me, so afraid I would be in trouble, so afraid of what it would do to others around me.
I’d suffered bumps and bruises before, so I knew they would heal.
I didn’t know that the emotional scars never would. I didn’t know that I would be afraid of men with a certain color of eyes for the rest of my life. I didn’t know that I would suffer PTSD when I started dating. And I didn’t know that keeping this one thing a secret would lead me to hide so much pain later on. I didn’t know that so many of my problems could have been solved with therapy.
But at the same time, I can’t be angry with myself for the things I didn’t know. I’ve forgiven myself for keeping that a secret simply because I was young. And I didn’t know what keeping it a secret would do to me.
Aside from the fact that not seeking medical care post miscarriage is incredibly dangerous, the emotional aspects are just as painful. That’s the sort of pain someone should never face alone. It’s the kind of pain you can’t overcome alone. It’s the kind of pain that haunts you for years, and makes you wonder “what if” every day afterward.
I’ve made efforts not to hide my pain, though that is probably one of the things I struggle with most. Even if I don’t tell every person in my life, I’ve started telling someone in my life when I’m hurting.
I don’t even always tell the same person, and I try to make sure they can handle my emotional baggage (as in they aren’t dealing with things of their own) before I do.
Not hiding my pain and suffering in silence is something I have to unlearn. Because it’s something I was taught from such a young age. But I don’t have to live like that.
I’m allowed to love myself enough to be open about the pain I’m in. And I deserve to be loved enough for that pain to be validated, and my needs not only met, but respected.