I have a vivid memory of the day I told my dad that I had been sexually assaulted. I don’t remember what led up to that moment, but I remember the feeling of it. I remember sitting on my tiny 4-year-old knees and weeping in our sun swept country living room. I remember being petrified of what might happen to me if I was honest. You see, my abuser at 16-years-old was already a master manipulator. He had convinced me that if I said a single word of what he did to me, my parents wouldn’t love me anymore. Obviously, that’s not true, but he had me so convinced that I held onto that secret for almost an entire year. As a three-year-old, who could tell that something wrong had happened to her, who trusted her abuser and loved him up until those moments, I believed every word he said.
I don’t remember the following years as starkly as I remember those couple of moments. I vaguely remember an interview with some police officers and some confusing counseling sessions where we played with sand and dinosaurs. My mom tells me that I never left her side for the next several years. There were moments when I was playing with friends or had wandered off only to eventually realize that my parents were nowhere to be found, and that would quickly spiral into panic and screaming. My parents never left intentionally, they would just be sitting and talking with friends or hanging out in another room, but my brain told me that if they were out of my sight, they must have left forever. PTSD sucks.
From what I understand, I was one of about a dozen of my abuser’s victims, but I was the first person to come forward with any accusation. I wasn’t a new case for him, just another objectified child. To him, I was a number.
Because of this, I have struggled my whole life with the thought, “Some people had it so much worse than me.” If someone was looking at my story from an outsider’s perspective, I don’t think there is any rational person that would say one of us had it “worse.” What is the unit of measurement here? A stranger making arguments like that sounds insane to me, but I was so content for so many years to shove my feelings and memories away because I had told myself that what happened to me, “wasn’t that bad.” Those bottled up feelings only festered and evolved into shame and more pain. Telling myself that other people had it worse than me did me absolutely no favors.
My friends, suffering is so relative. The worst thing that I have ever gone through is the worst thing I have ever gone through. The worst thing that you have ever gone through is the worst thing that you have ever gone through. Comparing our trauma narratives doesn’t do anything healthy for us. It only delays and complicates the healing process. Just because there are children starving in a foreign country somewhere does not mean that the bad things that have happened to you are somehow less relevant, so can we stop saying things like that?
I was in a scary car accident about a month ago, and I found myself saying the phrase, “It could have been so much worse.” Over and over again. And that is true. I was driving a tiny little Volkswagen Beetle, and a 15 passenger van pulled out in front of me while I was going 40mph. My airbags never went off, no one was injured, and my car is fixable, but none of that negates the fact that it was still very scary. It was an accident that was completely out of my control. There was not a lot protecting me in that little car, and I have been really jumping while driving lately, especially when something is moving quickly at me from the passenger side.
I am very grateful to God for every bit of protection I was offered in those moments, but it does little to no good to remind myself that other people have been in worse accidents over the years, and it does me zero good to try and tell myself that everything is fine and that the accident never affected me. It very much did, and while I won’t allow it to keep me off the road forever, I find healing in acknowledging that it did happen and it was scary.
I’m no expert, but I think that’s a healthy way to look at all trauma. This thing did happen to me. It was bad. I was affected by it. I need to heal from it, but it doesn’t have to be what defines any part of me. That car accident isn’t taking me off the road and out of cars forever in the same way I won’t allow my abuse to dictate how I handle my current relationships. This is my petition to shut down comparison narratives. In the social media hyper fixated society we live in, comparison becomes such a natural part of our daily routines and heart space, and I do believe that getting stuck in this is harmful, but it’s especially harmful when that heart condition infects and spreads to our traumas.
So as best you can today, please breathe, and stop thinking about how bad other people have it. You’re allowed to be grateful for what you have been given and the strength that has gotten you through tough times, but there is also strength in admitting that you have been through some really tough things. There is even more strength found in feeling all of the feelings and processing all of the thoughts that come up when you do admit that. You aren’t what someone did to you. It doesn’t have to define you, but in order to be sure of that, you have to take responsibility for your mental health and work hard on it. It’s not your fault, but it is your responsibility. Telling yourself that someone’s pain is worse than yours isn’t even necessarily true, and it isn’t helpful. What you are feeling and thinking is valid, and you aren’t alone in it. There is healing and hope on the other side of the mess that makes it worth working through. I promise.
You are truly and deeply loved.
Comments