…and one of the bravest women I have ever met
Last month I posted a piece by a woman named Carrie, a survivor of child trafficking. She wrote about our amazing reunion 14 years after I was involved in attempts to secure asylum for her and her unborn child. I said then: “Her story is remarkable. Her suffering indescribable. Her resilience and love for life unmatchable.” Since our reunion Carrie has started to join me in my talks to students. Her story of survival and rising above great suffering, has blown the girls away (more on that later). Today she posted a piece on her blog, which took special courage. I wanted you to see how brave she is and hopefully be inspired to rise above personal difficulties and no longer be burdened by things of the past. You can also read her extraordinary poem ‘Sold’ here.
LITTLE GIRL LOST – IF I KNEW THEN WHAT I KNOW NOW
Last week I shared my story for the first time so candidly with a group of grade 10 girls. A few days prior to the school visit I had written my most vulnerable blog entry but hadn’t the courage to publish it. I figured, if I was brave enough to share it with the girls and their response was favorable, I would ‘dare greatly’ and put it out there. In my wildest dreams, their reaction to me could never be as astounding as it was. They have been so affirming in their acceptance of me that I found in them the courage I was lacking. So as promised to the girls and to myself, here is my most vulnerable piece to date.
I often wonder if men and boys ever consider the damage their unwanted hand on the unwilling bodies and souls of girls does to us. Would they still abuse, degrade and objectify even if they knew the end result 100% of the time at the very least leads to shame? And at the worse leads to irreparable damage to the girl’s self worth. How she views her body. How it impacts her sexuality and spirituality. Impairs her ability to trust and be intimate and many times threatens her desire to even live?
Shame is a topic I have become somewhat of an expert on during the course of my life. I remember the first time I felt it, how it consumed me, how it made me view myself as unloveable and how it kept me disconnected and silent for years…
…As a child, I walked around in a state of such dissociation, I often wondered what it felt like to be alive. I would watch other kids play while I sat on the sidelines pulling out my eyelashes and have no ability to connect with their joy. Other times, I would somehow manage to play but it was never really me doing it. Even when I laughed, a sound and expression so foreign to me in my early years, I remained so far away that I became the silent observer to the shell of myself that showed up every day in the world to represent the facade.
As a teenager, I got even better at sending the “representative” girl out into the world. My humor became the lie that would hide the truth of my pain. I knew what I was hiding no person would understand, and so for years I stayed silent. Out of fear of the threats I received and most probably because I believed at a deep level I was as bad as I was told. And so I would try to be as good as my damaged soul allowed. But anger consumed me, shame blinded me to my own potential and I hated myself for existing. I hated my mother for hating me, I hated my sister for all the times I protected her and I hated my father for destroying my soul daily before the divorce and then every other weekend there after. But mostly I hated life for not ever giving me a chance to become the person I could have been had it been different for me. Read full post on Carrie’s blog ‘Paving the road to freedom’.
See also: ‘Courage is Contagious’ by Carrie