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In a new city, oceans away from home, I was soft-spoken and starry-eyed. The blush of youth was still fresh on my cheeks. Underneath that tender surface was an impenetrably strong strata of myself that would soon be unearthed.

A gruelling journey took me from a violent loss of innocence in August 1992 to more horror than I will ever comprehend on a summer night six years later. When you climb out of the rubble of human-made catastrophe, it can feel like everything you once were is gone. That is not correct, though it takes some time to learn this. I lost my framework for believing in a safe world, but I found my character, something beyond the reach of anyone elses control. There was rebuilding to be done, but with wise guidance, I would do it.

The attack was led by a man who I considered a friend. A bomb went off in my life that evening, and the city around me was razed. My belief in a world where justice and compassion prevailed was gone. My sense of my future was obliterated. In the hours and days after the attack, my body was a marionette with instinct tugging the strings.

My flesh lingered, but my spirit felt gone; its space surrendered to scorching pain and shame. The only escape I could conceive of was death.

Conversation about sexual violence is not something most people are comfortable with, which places a heavy burden on those who have been abused. After my rape, I spoke gently and with great caution, but I spoke. Some people helped me. Some people harmed me. I kept speaking. I had rediscovered hope. I had a city to rebuild and I couldnt do it alone.

With the help of others, I regained trust and optimism. I reclaimed a sense of my own strength and worth. I recovered sufficient hope in my future safety to be able to function. I strengthened friendships that continue to be enriching beyond anything I had previously understood. I deepened my understanding of the diversity of human minds and motivations.

I laid my pained heart bare to help those I love understand me, and to assist others to be more understanding allies. There was hope and healing in speaking, and so I have continued on that path. I read the stories of other survivors and now I humbly offer you mine. My wish is to help survivors see themselves as victors, not victims. I hope that I can help survivors feel less alone.

I hope my words challenge you to contemplate a different worlda world in which victims of sexual abuse feel unafraid to speak, and are better understood and supported. A world in which more people believe in the transformative power of love to halt the cycles of trauma that tear the tapestry of human connection. With shared vision, I believe we can build something better.

A harrowing memoir shot through with hope. -- JT Lawrence

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