Established in 1989, Rebuilt in 2020

In September 2020, my life shifted in unimaginable ways, pushing me into some of my darkest times. Within just weeks, I experienced a severe physical trauma that changed the trajectory of my life, followed by devastating losses that further intensified my pain. I endured a sexual injury that tore all four walls of my vagina. My surgeon told me, “I have never seen anything like this, not even in rape victims—there was no vagina left, and I had to rebuild it completely.” A few days later, my dog of ten years, Ez, passed away. Ez was my very best friend. As if to compound my anguish, I soon discovered that the man involved in my injury had betrayed my trust, hiding a relationship with someone else. Over those months, I found myself emotionally drained, desperate for connection, and unable to truly rest or recover due to my job demands. My confidence was completely shattered, and my energy became desperate as I fought the urge to prove myself.

During this time, I often caught myself wanting to retaliate against those who had hurt me, to blast them on social media just as they had done to me. Yet, deep down, I knew that responding with anger would not lead to healing. I realized that I needed to channel my energy into something positive, something that would aid my recovery rather than fuel my pain.

This personal journey has been filled with setbacks, misunderstandings, and isolation. I was often blamed and even attacked by those around the man who hurt me. He spread hurtful narratives about me, branding me as “crazy” and convincing others in his circle to bully and alienate me. He witness the amount of blood I spilled, and continued to choose to hurt me. The fact that he and his partner found ways to dismiss my pain and invalidate my truth added layers of hurt to my experience. They often referred to my injury as an “accident. Initially, I embraced the label of "accident," believing that what happened to me could somehow be excused and shrugged away. My doctor’s perspective challenged this, saying, "You can keep calling this an accident, but due to the amount of force this man was using with you, that was always going to be the outcome; it was always going to end up this way. No man should be using this much force for pleasure.” This insight brought me face-to-face with the responsibility we each carried: his responsibility for the force he chose to use and mine for having accepted such low standards for love and affection that I allowed it. This acceptance had deep roots; growing up in a turbulent household, I learned early to endure physical pain as a kind of unspoken rule. My father, in his own struggles, taught me to “tough it out,” and I began to wear this capacity for pain as a badge of pride. The subconscious message that strength meant enduring hardship seeped deeply into my adult life, affecting my relationships and boundaries.

In reflecting on this, I connected with the work of Lynn V. Andrews, known for her "Medicine Woman" series, who speaks about personal power and how our energies influence our experiences. Andrews suggests that “accidents” are often not just random events but can result from unconscious energies we unknowingly project. According to her, unexamined patterns can lead to unintentional harm and chaos, while taking accountability for our energies and actions can shift these patterns toward a more harmonious existence. Her insights helped me realize that my tolerance for pain and my subconscious pride in it created a path for this trauma to unfold. True healing, I learned, would come from embracing a new standard for myself—one rooted in kindness, strength, and respect for my body’s inherent worth.

Books such as *The Body Keeps the Score* by Dr. Bessel van der Kolk have helped me begin to understand the impact trauma has on both the mind and body. Van der Kolk explains that trauma "leaves traces on our mind, on our emotions, and even on our biology.” It’s not just the memories that are painful, but the way these experiences continue to echo in our physical body long after the event has passed. This concept of the body holding trauma allowed me to reframe my experiences and to recognize that my intense reactions were my body’s way of crying out for healing and release.

Through *A Headache in the Pelvis* by David Wise, I began to explore the relationship between my physical pain and emotional turmoil. Wise discusses how pelvic pain, like the kind I was experiencing, is often intensified by unresolved emotional tension and psychological stress. Learning about this connection made me realize that the pain I felt wasn't just physical; it was the cumulative impact of both my body and mind reacting to deep-seated trauma. Wise’s emphasis on breathwork and gentle mindfulness exercises helped me reconnect with my body in ways that felt safe and nurturing, grounding me through techniques to release tension stored in the pelvic floor.

Additionally, *Frequency* by Penney Peirce has provided insight into the healing power of emotional energy and vibrations. Peirce writes that we must “reclaim our frequency” by letting go of the dense, painful energies that keep us from higher vibrations of joy, peace, and love. In the midst of my healing journey, this concept resonated deeply. I realized that to transform my pain, I needed to embrace a higher frequency, one that allowed for forgiveness and compassion for myself.

In *Transcending the Levels of Consciousness* by David R. Hawkins, I found a framework to understand my journey toward self-empowerment. Hawkins outlines various levels of consciousness, from shame and guilt to courage and acceptance, describing how moving up through these levels is essential for personal growth. During the weeks following my injury, I felt trapped in shame and self-blame. Hawkins’ work reminded me that by acknowledging these feelings, rather than avoiding or denying them, I could begin to transcend them, rising to a place of peace and understanding.

Healing from the profound trauma I experienced required a journey through many forms of emotional and creative expression, where play, art, and movement became vital tools for release and self-rediscovery. One of the most transformative parts of my healing was immersing myself in creative activities. I painted long into the night with friends, transforming pain into canvases full of color and symbolism. Through this art, I explored the energy of the heart chakra, creating murals that visualized my pain from a place of love and self-compassion. Each brushstroke became a step toward accepting my experiences without shame. Art and play weren't just distractions but became active ways to process and honor my pain. Dressing up, doing photoshoots with friends, and pushing myself to live fully in the present brought a new lightness to my heart. This creativity wasn’t about denying the trauma but allowing it to flow through me in new forms. 

Today, I feel no shame for the trauma in endured in 2020. I continue my healing journey by speaking out, not only for myself but for anyone who has ever been silenced, blamed, or shamed. This process has taught me that part of recovery means owning my story, refusing to stay silent, and allowing myself to process the full spectrum of my experience. With insights from these transformative books and continued self-compassion, I’m finding a way forward that honors my strength and resilience and transcends my own pride.

To anyone reading this who may have endured similar experiences, know that healing is a process of reclaiming your power, your truth, and ultimately, your peace. You are not alone, and your voice deserves to be heard.