My honor does not lie on my breasts or my vagina
Exactly a year ago I blogged about my sexual abuse. For me, it was a huge leap towards my healing; not because the people around me found out about my story or was an inspiration to some, but because, specifically on that day, I finally let go of the shame and guilt that I had been harboring within me for what seemed like forever.
I vividly remember how I suddenly felt an overwhelming need to do it, to expose myself in the open, vulnerable but alive. I wrote about breaking my silence in less than half an hour and published it without rereading it even once. When I hit the Post button, I could feel my heart beating louder and faster than ever.
To be very honest, I was concerned about the response my story would get. I wasn’t expecting much of a positive response and I thought readers would carry on our great culture, criticizing me for being outspoken about a supposed taboo subject. To say that I was in awe after reading the comments would be an understatement. I felt a lot of acceptance and love.
I thank you with all my heart for supporting me on this journey, no matter how big or small your contribution may have been.
Although my decision to go public with this has been criticized time and time again, under the pretext of losing my family and my honor in society, becoming the target of ridicule, or affecting my relationships within the family, writing my story has been one of the best decisions I have ever made. I can’t keep encouraging people to share their stories to let go of the emotional baggage they have clung to for years if I can’t do it myself.
My honor is not on my breasts or my vagina. The violation of parts of my body is not the violation of my honor or my innocence.
It is unfortunate how the society in which we live declares the survivor of sexual violence responsible or guilty of what happened to them. You never ask a cancer patient to keep his secret because if he reveals it, the honor of the family would be in jeopardy. People don’t make fun of you if you share that you were in a car accident.
My relationship with my abusers ended the moment they chose to break my trust and force me to do something that caused so much damage to my body, mind, and soul. Being in the same family as them doesn’t mean you have to have a dead relationship for life.
I’d be lying if I said the accusation and criticism didn’t matter to me. They hit me with a pang of betrayal and disappointment. But, if I compare it with the healing that my blog has brought me, my healing would immediately win with such a big difference that criticism becomes easy to accept.
Writing about it was my initial act of rebellion. Since then, I have made many decisions that align with my cause and existence and go against many notions held by society.
I’m not fighting anything. IM fighting for something that matters to me. Coincidentally, it often goes against many people and the rules they have. But as I continue on my way, these intersections and obstacles hardly make any difference to my spirit.
From my childhood I was praised within the family for my good manners, academic excellence, and obedience to elders. But for me, it didn’t do any good, because I was dead inside. All I wanted was to live, but then I lacked the courage. Lately, when I have made some decisions that I was not expected to make, there have been some riots. Go public with my abuse, speak “blatantly” about it, work to prevent it, and abandon engineering to pursue my cause, to name a few.
At the same time, I have never felt more alive. I can feel more. Love more. Laugh more. Cry more. I am more present here than ever. I am living the life that I once dreamed of.