This book is dedicated to you, who have taken the time to pick this up. I am immensely grateful to my friends, therapists, professors, and peers for pushing me and supporting me through the creation of this book and my healing process.
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Warning: The following content talks about trauma, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and can be triggering. If you are interested in finding resources about help hotlines, free to low cost counseling, or apps that focus on mental health, please flip to page (58) towards the end of this book.
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PART ONE
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My mother would drop me off at my aunt’s apartment. My uncle would take me and his two daughters to school while his son stayed home with my aunt since he was too young.
I used to love going over to their apartment. Theirs, was a house with no rules. They had cable, this meant no qubo but cartoon network, we could eat as much junk food as we wanted, and scream at the top of our lungs. They had their own backyard. To get to it we would crawl out of the kitchen window and onto the rooftop. Sitting in a circle we shared horror stories, shining a flashing light below our chin; we played tag, and dodgeball. The fun only ended when we got called for meals or I had to leave. These were, I thought, my best times.
I remember much of my childhood in bits and pieces, moments that just pass me by. It’s as if elementary school and middle school were a blur. I think it was a method my brain did to protect me, keeping me from remembering the harm my uncle brought upon me as a young girl. I’ve always wanted to believe that my family could never hurt me. I wanted to believe that my parents would leave me with people whom they trusted to be safe; that my uncle’s love for me was nothing more than a love for a daughter. I was lying to myself, denying these events, and how my body felt.
As much as I tried to decisive myself, I’ve always felt a shiver run down my spine in the presence of my uncle. I would be completely fine one moment, (not understanding trauma and its triggers till I reached “adulthood”) and the next, I felt as if I had multiple hands grabbing at my skin, that numerous eyes where fixating on every inch of my body, there was no possible way I could cover up, curling up into a fetal position and waiting it out was my only solution. It made me feel that I was the one who was dirty. No matter how much soap I used, I would never be clean.
My uncle’s “love” was highly inappropriate and manipulative; he cared for me in a way no adult ever should. He took advantage of my mother’s faith in him, in the fact that I didn’t have a father while growing up. That he was the only adult in an apartment with me and his children. He was my only guardian when my parents and aunt were working. It served him as a perfect opportunity to be his pedophilic self. 20
My mind has tried to soften the blow, to shelter me, but there are moments I can not forget. Moments that always seem to keep me away from my journey to healing and self-love. 22
I recall the time when I was taken over the weekend to their apartment. My uncle had me under a blanket on the couch in his living room watching cartoons on the T.V, when he suddenly put his hands down my pajamas, and began stroking my vagina, hurting me in the process.
I rebuked, “Ow! Tío me estás doliendo”, he ignored my pain and discomfort and forced himself further. He only paused for an instant when his wife walked through the living room to go to the bathroom. She had just woken up, and as she looked over at us I simply lay there, staring straight at her. I thought that if she looked at my eyes, she would uncover this secret. I gave her a slight smile, and she walked away like nothing was wrong.
You might be yelling at this point, asking me why I didn’t take that chance to flee, or telling my aunt at that moment, why I didn’t say NO to him. Deep down I knew this was wrong even without having the talk with my mother about the “No, no, spots”, areas you should let no one touch you. My uncle asking me to keep it a secret between us should have been enough of a red flag. All I can tell you is what I have uncovered so far through therapy and analyzing myself.
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He groomed me from a young age, abused me so often that there is no exact timeline, nor am I trying to remember something like that as trying to remember causing me more frustration and harm rather than helping me mentally. He treated me so well in front of others and always told me how much he cared for me. I was confused by his actions and the way others seemed not to notice anything. I convinced myself that I was a protector, I was responsible for protecting my little sister from him, if he focused his attention on me, he wouldn’t want to harm my cousins either.
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From a young age this phrase was engraved in me. “La familia es todo”. We put family in front of others and stay loyal to them. I didn’t and still don’t have the courage to shatter this facade of a “family”, to take away my cousins father, to take away the love and empathy my extended family feels, for this person, to come out and scream what this “man” did to me. Above all, what angers me the most is the fact that I can still care for this person instead of despising everything about him.
My uncle continued the abuse as I grew older. I didn’t want to go to school one day, so I pretended to fall asleep on the couch in my Aunt’s living room. My uncle moved me to another room as everyone else got ready to leave for school. Even if I had gone to school that day I don’t think it would have changed anything.
He entered the room. Began taking off my stocking, kissing me as he crept down my legs. I felt so disgusted and scared. My body was going stiff. I didn’t want him to continue and mustered up the courage to slightly move, like I was waking up. That’s when he stopped. He partially dressed me and walked out. I sat up and stared aimlessly at the door for a while; then adjusted my skirt and stockings. I continue to sit on that bed feeling lost.
I remember lying to myself one day as I had gotten out of his grasp by asking to go to the bathroom. Every time I used the bathroom, it burned. I told myself that I liked it, liked the secrets we shared. Just like in the T.V. shows, I was a woman who was good at making men happy.
As I grew older, it became more apparent to me that his actions were wrong and would get him locked up. I tried avoiding him, asking for my relatives on my step-father’s side to pick me up from school. I applied to many after school clubs to avoid being in that apartment. I would tell him or anyone that I had too much homework to go greet him. He noticed my attempts to distance myself from him; he use his son’s innocence to bring me to him.
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I would laugh off the way he would hug, squish, and still kiss me excessively; making me sit on top of his laps for an excessive amount of time, it took so much courage and a big smile to say, “Tio, tengo mucha tarea ya mi puedo ir?”
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My family would always say he loved me so much, that he treated me better than his own daughters. I wanted to scream at them that they were wrong. I wanted to reveal the truth each time, I wanted them to open their eyes! I was scared, if I revealed the truth, would they turn their backs on me? Would they hate me? Would they blame me? I never said anything because I didn’t want to feel shame or be hated.
It was only until middle school where my mom had sat me down and had a real conversation about consent.
The only thing that had been keeping me going was the thought that, “God did this to me for a reason; my uncle will be punished eventually”. There’s only so much a person can take alone. I was raised to be strong in all situations and to be there for others except myself. After so many losses and internal turmoils during my sophomore and junior years of college, I couldn’t say I believed in these words anymore or this concept of family coming first.
I was nineteen when I began spiraling out of control. I could not hold on to this charade, this persona I had made. The one that would smile and laugh at everything, the one that had to be perfect all the time, that hid all the pain away to be the sponge that helped the tears of others; the one that would drown in a plethora of work to not feel numbness. I told my sister that I felt this emptiness and thought it was caused by some medication I was taking. I didn’t want to admit to myself; that I was harming myself, that I was depressed.
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October 2020, I had a check-up at the doctors, they asked me how I was feeling so asked them about their confidentiality first, then to help me.
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PART TWO
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Words to my younger self, and you. Contrary to what I initially believed, therapy was not something magical that could “fix me”. You aren’t given answers to your questions, or any answers in general. You have to find them yourself. To access the trauma that you’ve buried so deeply feels impossible. . I’ve been going to therapy once a week for two years now and I find myself talking to myself more, letting myself be vulnerable. Personally, I still get days that I feel like all the progress I’ve made talking to my therapist is nothing. I say this because there are unexpected triggers, and I could be fine one second and have a crucial panic attack, the next. Trying to fathom these heavy waves of mixed emotions is frustrating. I shut myself down only to find myself returning to old habits because the feelings are overwhelming. And I don’t know how to communicate the pain I feel.
I have thought about death alot; some of you reading this probably have too. The thing with me is I’m not talking about suicide specifically, but rather just not wanting to be present at this time. Being fine if one day my life is taken away. Some of you may think that’s selfish or cruel, believe me, I have thought that too. I’ve felt guilty every time I talked to my therapist about it or wrote about it in a journal. I’ve wished that I could have traded places with one of my students who passed away, to have given them some of my life span. I looked for help because I felt I was close to my end. I was desperate for trying anything, to not feel this numb. I’m trying, taking my time with healing and putting myself first. Celebrating every small accomplishment in my life.
It’s heart wrenching; especially when you are in a space where you can’t feel safe, or are burdened with others’ secrets. I know I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, but it’s a strong habit to break. I am my worst critic and the best at putting myself down.
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I’m currently still unlearning toxic habits–faking being “okay”, stopping myself from being a people pleaser, denying that I am depressed. Mental health is important. I deserve to give myself time to process my own emotions. I am still learning how to say, “NO.” Doing one good thing a day for myself makes it easier. I am proud of the fact that I consulted a therapist, and with them, I have found a safe space. As I write this in 2021, I still can’t open up to my parents about being sexually abused. There are times where I’ve come so close to telling them, yet I lose the strength to do so. It is this old mindset, and fear; yet I feel comfort in confiding in you.
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It’s difficult to also be a person who knows someone who needs help. Thinking of where they can find a safe space. There were times I wished for someone to reach out to me and say nothing, to just stay with me in the same room. I would have felt less alone. I would have felt relieved that I had someone physically present in that room with me so I could cry, instead of hurting myself. Life continues and we all move foward. I would like to leave you with an outstretched hand; you can choose to take it now or in the far future. There are so many people who love you.
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It was not your fault. You are not damaged. You did the best you could. You couldn’t have known better. You don’t have to make excuses for anyone. You have to protect yourself before you protect others. It’s hard to say NO sometimes, but necessary. Being kind to yourself can be difficult. Healing is a journey; let it take time.
Please consider the resources listed on the next page. 56
International Numbers: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-2738255. NYC Well – text “WELL” to 65173, call 1-888-NYCWELL (692-9355) or use this chat feature to ask for help. NAMI (Nation Alliance on Mental Illness) helpline 1-800-950-NAMI or in a crisis, text “NAMI” to 741741. SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) National Helpline 1-800-662HELP (4357) United States: Emergency: 911 Suicide Hotline: (800) 273-8255
Apps That Aid with Anxiety and Depression: I Am Sober Useful for quitting any activity or substance. With daily tracking, advice and quotes from other users, this app is focused around creating motivation and support while trying to quit. Reflectly - Journal & AI Diary Vent your thoughts and feelings; this practice will help you improve your mood and mindfulness. The app offers prompts and reminders that help build a better lifestyle. Headspace: Mindful Meditation Offers guided meditation, sleep meditation, and breathing exercises. For everyone regardless of experience level and lifestyle. Finch: Self Care Widget Pet There are a variety of self-care exercises personalized for you and for your self care pet. Doing self care exercises will allow your pet to grow and earn rewards. Aloe Bud A pocket companion, bring awareness to self-care activities, reminders, and check-ins.
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Websites for Free to Low Cost Counseling: https://www.opencounseling.com Online platform to serch for affordable to free counseling in the U.S., Argentina, Australia, Bahrain, Botswana, Canada, Croatia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Ghana, India, Ireland, Jordan, Kenya, Kuwait, Liberia, Mexico, New Zealand, Nigeria, Pakistan, Philippines, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, Sudan, Tanzania, Tunisia, Uganda, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Zambia, Zimbabwe https://www. betterhelp.com $60-$80/week Video, phone, live chat, messaging Unlimited messaging, cancel anytime 20% off your first month https://calmerry.com $42/week Wide variety of therapy styles Video, phone, live chat, messaging Get matched with a therapist in 24 hours
Websites for Freet to Low Cost Counseling: https://www.talkspace.com $65-$100/ week Text, voice, & live video plans Easily switch therapists https://www.online-therapy.com $40-80/week Video, phone, live chat, messaging Flexible plans, cancel anytime Other: Life Without A Fork (Instagram @lifewithoutafork) An 8- week pen-pal program for depression. The founder will pair up individuals with similarities and send them stationary for the 8 weeks of correspondence. You are given a list of prompts to get to know one another better.
https://cerebral.com Free emotional assessment $7/week for first month then $20/ week Discuss progress & learn new skills Video and phone appointments https://www.pridecounseling.com/ Professional therapy for the LGBTQ community $60-$80/week Video, phone, live chat, messaging Discrete, commitment-free service 60
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