You're Not a Victim If You Take Action!

You're Not a Victim If You Take Action!

You're not a victim if you take action - some kind of action.

And while contacting the police, lawyers, other women, lawmakers, etc. might make me feel less like a victim externally, more important to me is the necessity of no longer feeling like a victim internally. I have never allowed myself to assume the role of victim. I don't want to do that now.

And for me, that means to write. The way I process, heal and communicate is through my written words. Ultimately, as negative and painful as the experience of being hysterectomized and castrated was for me, it's made me connect with and understand who I am.. Who I AM at the deepest level of my being.

When my former doctor took the violent actions he did against me, something was taken from me in that instant: my value and my worth. As a human being. As a woman.

In that moment, I was nothing more than an object that happened to possess the pieces (the body parts) necessary to make money for that doctor (and that hospital). In that moment, I was treated as property (though never purchased) that he felt he had the right and ability to touch and use for his own purpose.

In that moment... I had no voice, no thoughts, no feelings, no soul, no mind, no emotions, no power and no potential. I only had legs and what lived between them. And he felt entitled to that; entitled to take something so precious and protected from me without actually knowing or caring anything about me. I hardly knew that doctor. I met him less than two months before he violated me and subsequently ruined my life.


This is how I call it what it is:

Ugly. Violent. Shameful. Unacceptable. Wrong. Immoral. Evil.

This is how I accept it for what it is:

Painful. Hurtful. Discriminatory. Disrespectful. Gut-Wrenching. Haunting.

This is how I soften it, reign it in, make peace with it, and turn it into something I can at least live with and not lose my sanity completely.

I feel. I connect. I cry. I learn. I speak. I fight. I write.

My horror in this situation is matchless to anything I have ever experienced before. I no longer stand and cry like a child though. I remember my strength and I yell like a woman. And then I remember that I do not yell only for my own sake, but for the sake of millions of other women. I yell my story. I yell our story.

Never before have I been in the position of knowing what it feels like to have something taken from me in such a horrific and barbaric way.

Until now.