of the season for me, days filled with sunshine
and the salty ocean air; it was freedom.
tan and a few years older. He took an interest
in me, and the excitement I felt was weird but
undeniable. Just as I started to find words to my
feelings, he turned my crush into chaos.
pain, afraid of what my parents would say, afraid
to fight. I didn't know what to do, so I hardly did
anything. I was a child and I was ill-equipped to
understand what was happening, what it meant,
what it was called. In retrospect, of course things
become clearer: I know now that he raped me,
even if this is still something that I struggle to put
into words, or to understand at all. I don't like
The details aren't what is important anyway.
What matters is what the rape did not just to my
body, but to my soul.
I was engulfed by his betrayal, which was not
just physical, but spiritual and emotional too. In
an instant, my life changed. I couldn't pull myself
toward the surface. A week passed, where
twisted memories and dream-like events blurred
together. I remember screaming. I remember
yelling "NO!" But did I? The questions flooded
my mind: What happened? Did I do this? Did he?
along with many pieces of myself. But I didn't
realize they were missing until much later. Alone
with my confusion, I tried to understand how
this had happened. I struggled even to put a
describe what happened until years later. When
I started receiving love letters from that boy, the
explanation--the only one that my 13-year-old
mind could accept--became clear: it had been
my choice. It must have been.
the ability--a coping mechanism of sorts--to
create a narrative about what happened. We
smooth out the rough edges of our pain and
paint over the darkest spots of our hurt, creating
a different, less painful "reality" for ourselves. In
other words, if I convinced myself that what had
happened--what had been done to me--was a
choice of mine, then I could somehow mitigate
the feeling of complete powerlessness. And so,
my story was born.
treatment centers report past sexual or physical abuse.
with other participants and staff
during a JHF retreat. Of her experi-
ence in the Hawaiian waters, "I felt
alive and humbled and whole."