When I first saw my news feed fill up with praise for Kesha's first new song in 4 years, I wondered if it could really be that good.
But as soon as I heard the first lyrics of "Praying", I could not stop sobs from escaping from me.
As a sexual assault survivor, I never imaged a song could capture all the pain, trauma, guilt, and unending hope that I have felt as I have healed.
For context, it is believed that Kesha wrote "Praying" in response to the drawn out legal battle with Dr. Luke, who she has accused of sexually and emotionally abusing her.
Even right now, I'm sitting alone in my hotel room in Peru, listening to the song on repeat as if it is some cleanse for my soul. My tears won't stop as I relive every emotion I have ever had in relation to my assault.
"But after everything you've done, I can thank you for how strong I've become."
My assault left me feeling worthless and broken. For months, I ignored it and blamed myself for the feelings of guilt and shame. Night terrors left me screaming myself awake as tears stained my sheets. Battling to get a No Contact order and opening up to my friends about my assault felt like slicing my skin open over and over again to show everyone the shameful mess I was inside. But in the end, I found strength. Even still, I have nightmares and flashbacks, but my strength is shown through my ability to get out of bed every morning and to envision a future for myself that is full of happiness and hope.
"You brought the flames and you put me through hell."
The saddest part is my assaulter was my friend. Maybe that's why I let myself be emotionally abused for months after my assault. I thought it was my fault... and so I tried to fix it. I didn't know it at the time, but several of the survivors I have since talked to shared similar stories with me. They either tried to have sex with their assaulter or harbored romantic feelings towards their assaulter. Some people have told me it was their attempt at gaining control from the person who stole their control from them. In a way, that's what I wanted. I wanted to take back the control of my body and my emotions that my assaulter stole from me. So I let them drag me through hell because I thought if I could finally justify why they did what they did, out of love or hate or something, then I would somehow have closure.
"I'm proud of who I am. No more monsters, I can breathe again."
I will walk proud, knowing that I am strong. Even on days when I can't contain the sobs at the memories that haunt me. Even on days when I pull my partner close and can't stop saying, "Sorry," for something that was never my fault. The monsters of my assault may be gone but the wounds they inflicted on my body still remain. Slowly my wounds are healing. I know that my assault will never leave me. It will always be there like an invisible, jagged scar across my chest. That scar will not keep me from living, from breathing, from being all I am.
"I found a strength I've never known."
This strength will never fail me. A part of this strength rests in the hands of my partner, my family. my friends, and the network of survivors I have shown my shattered spirit to in my hardest times. My strength shows through my friends who pulled me close as I gasped for air after finally telling someone. It shows through my partner who supports and loves me, even on days when I want to reject the world and close everyone off. It shows through my mother who watched me break down on her bed one night. My strength will not fail me because I refuse to be silent. It is in silence that my assault would control me. Instead, I choose to control it and heal by exposing it to the healing light of day.
"And we both know all the truth that I could tell."
I know my assault isn't the "typical rape story", and I don't want to devalue anyone's experience with assault or rape. My assault was based in emotional manipulation and sexual coercion. It wasn't violent in the sense that I was pulled into a back alley against my will. (For those of you that have experienced that, know that your assault is and will always be valid.) I was made to feel guilty after having a panic attack in the middle of sex. While dissociating, my assaulter told me they were still "horny" and made me feel guilty for not fulfilling their sexual needs. I tell this not for sympathy, but to show that a half-hearted "um sure" is not consent. It is not an enthusiastic and overwhelming yes. Consent isn't just a word. It's an entire bodily statement. And everything about my body said "no" except for my mouth which was guilted into saying "Sure. I guess."
"Someday, maybe you'll see the light... I hope you're soul is changing."
My assault did not kill my compassion. I know my assaulter doesn't see anything wrong with what they did to me. And even after everything, all the pain and nightmares and fears, I hope they will someday. I hope one day they realize how truly painful what they did to me was. Not so they can suffer in their self loathing, but so that they never do it to someone else. It's not my job nor my responsibility to forgive my assaulter for what they did to me. It's not my job to educate them on why what they did was wrong. However, I share my story in an effort to heal and find peace, not to carry anger and hatred in my soul. I hope one day, my assaulter really does have a good life. That they find happiness and hope. And maybe, one day, I will learn to forgive. Until that day, and even past it, I will carry my assault with me and will speak out in an effort to provide solace and hope for others like me.
If you or someone you know is struggling with coming to terms with assault or you simply want to know more about what you can do, please take a look at the following resources:
National Sexual Assault Hotline: "Call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected with a trained staff member from a sexual assault service provider in your area." There is also an online chat available
It's On Us Campaign: Learn about bystander intervention and sexual assault on college campuses