I believe her.

There is no statute of limitations on trauma.

For those in the back, for the people who don't understand what I mean by that- my trauma, our collective traumas- we, the survivors of sexual assault- they do not go away. We carry them, a burden we are never able to fully put down. Process, cope with, try and put behind us- absolutely. But they do not go away. Scars may fade, but they remain with us.

Look to the women protesting outside of the Kavanaugh hearings during the live coverage, all the women and men who wore black on Monday to show support of Christen Blasey Ford. Look to the accounts of the women with earphones in, crying silently over their devices on their way to work today, the countless social media posts of women identifying themselves as fellow survivors. We are glued to this coverage- we know how high the stakes are. I cried in my office by myself, watching. Waiting.

Women like me, are reliving our traumas played out on a national stage- Blasey Ford is us, and we are her. She is our voice, quavering and and terrified. We're watching as her character is assassinated, as she is subjected to death threats, all because she had the audacity to come forward and speak her truth- a truth that should without a shadow of a doubt effect a nominee for the supreme court.

Who in their right mind would subject themselves to this kind of scrutiny? Who would go through what she is going through? Who would submit to a polygraph, ask for a full FBI investigation, if they did not whole heartedly stand behind what they are saying?

When someone has the power to be one of the voices for an entire country, to make decisions that will ripple outward for years to come, to sit on our highest court- you had better represent the best of us. You had better be looking to the future, and how you can aid in continuing our legacy as a leader in this world. You cannot be someone who harkens back to a time that is dying, and in its death throes is doing it's best to belittle and limit me and mine from being equal participants in this democracy.

For those who would come back at me with, "innocent until proven guilty" I take issue with you throwing that into the ring. It does no mean innocent no matter the consequences. Kavanaugh is essentially interviewing to serve the United States of America- and lets be serious, if this was any other job interview, he most likely would have been taken out of the running for even having these kinds of allegations brought forth against him.

To those who saying her timing is suspect- when it comes to justice, is there such a thing as poor timing? I think we all know the answer to that.

I am afraid. I'm afraid we learned nothing from Anita Hill. I am afraid we will learn nothing from these hearings. I'm afraid another older white man will help navigate this country and make decisions that will follow me for the rest of my life, far beyond his own life.

Stop with your disgusting victim shaming, your questions, your cover ups. Stop asking the survivors why we wait, what we were wearing, if we were drunk. Was I asking for it? Was she asking for it?

I believe her, because I am her. She is not just someone's sister, friend, or daughter. She is someone- period. She is a person, a citizen, a hero. She is standing up, with the full knowledge her life will be forever changed, and most likely not for the better.

And I'm standing behind her. Because I believe her.

Stop asking why we wait.

Rape- (definition) sexual activity and usually sexual intercourse carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female, or with a person who is beneath a certain age, or incapable of valid consent-

Stop asking why we wait.

We wait for all kinds of reasons.

I waited to tell anyone because the first time I was 14 years old. I was ashamed, and felt I'd somehow let down my parents. They had taught me how to protect myself, what to look for- and it still happened. No, I wasn't asking for it. It doesn't matter how I was dressed, or if I was under the influence. I was a child. I was innocent, and someone took advantage of that. It's been 20 years- this is the first time I'm talking about it openly.

I felt dirty. I felt used. I felt broken. I thought if I kept it to myself, then maybe it wasn't real. I could wipe it away. No one had to know, so I turned inward. I hid my feelings behind my surly teenage years. I was so angry all of the time, and the little faith I had at the time was lost. I didn't even tell my friends. I lied, and I hid.

It happened twice more. That doesn't even account for the sexual harassment I've experienced. Everything from unwanted touching, to words. But those unwanted advances weren't the worst violations I'd experienced.

It happened again right after I graduated college. I begged them to get off of me. My friends were a room away. We both walked out of the room like it was fine... I cried all the way home that night. I didn't say anything because earlier in the night we had been quite amorous. I knew what it would look like. I didn't want to hear all the tired accusations, and I knew the statistics. The chances of them actually being punished- let's be serious. They wouldn't have been. How it was far more likely I'd be a social pariah. Who would really believe me?

The last time was with someone I was dating. I'd had a panic attack. They were comforting me. The comforting turned to touching. Then more. I didn't say anything because I was in love with them. I talked myself out of believing they had forced themselves on me. Someone I loved- how could they? I didn't even realize what had happened could be characterized as rape until years later. I was a grown woman, who didn't even fully understand the scope of what rape was.

I told someone close to me just the other day about my experiences. They were shocked. I'm outspoken. I'm an advocate. "How? When? I didn't know" they couldn't believe it had happened to me.

I'm not unique. It's sad what's far more unique, is to find a woman without a story like mine.

I've gone to therapy to process these experiences. I've written them down, talked them out- and now I'm sharing them.

Because women are the last to be believed. Our word holds less value. We were taught silence was best...we must have done something to provoke the actions against us...we are eternally fragile, victims. Less than, and preyed upon. At least in the eyes of society.

We aren't less than. We aren't dirty. We aren't broken. We are courageous. We are survivors. And we can speak out when we have the strength to do so- even if it takes us 20 years or more to do it. How we process our traumas are our own journeys- not for anyone else to define. Not to be told how we should and should not feel.

So stop fucking asking why we wait. It's not your story.

Doing it my way.

This is not the life I would have chosen for myself.

Which in truth, would mean I chose poorly. I have loved and lost so much in this unchosen path. I couldn't be happier with the result of all of it. I'm not saying I didn't have influence- my choices define who stands here now. Whether it's truly destiny, divine intervention, I don't know. I've always trusted there's something bigger out there than me.

There are things I still want. Things I hope for, long for. Things I'll strive to deserve.

The biggest thing I think I've learned, is it's okay- it's okay I don't know where I'll end up. It's ok I have no idea if I'll meet or even know my true partner. It's more than okay my soulmates are my friends- they know me better than anyone else, and can attest to how hard it is to break through with me in the first place. It's okay I get depressed, just as much as it's okay when I'm incandescently happy. It's okay I still am afraid, and okay when I'm feeling myself and full of confidence.

I'm not broken, just dented. Not perfect, just striving. I'm not special, just me.

Loving an addict.

I fell in love with you when I was sixteen years old. You were the first boy I'd ever liked that way, and I thought it was something so special. 

When we got married at the ripe old age of twenty-one, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. We had so many plans, we thought... we thought all the things.

You described to me years later how you felt. Like things were constantly churning inside of you. You could never quiet your mind. You never felt you were good enough, smart enough, capable. Always out of step. The only times you felt any semblance of peace, was when you were under the influence of one thing, or another.

In the early days, I found all kinds of ways to excuse it. I helped you hide it- from our friends, our families. Years later they told me they knew. We thought we were getting away with it. I thought if I helped you, I was being a good partner, a good wife. I was a liar, right alongside you. I was afraid-and with all of that, I felt incredibly lonely. 

The unhealthy habits I established while we were together lasted far beyond it. The amount of compromise I allowed, feeding into my need to help, to fix. A codependency that haunted me, and followed me from one relationship to the next. If I took care of everything, you would find a way to get healthy. You'd feel less pressure. You wouldn't use. I saw all of your potential- I knew you could be and do so much. But you didn't- you didn't see it. 

Did you know for years after we ended things between us, I still woke up at 2am? When the bars closed, and I'd reach out for you. Often times, you weren't there. I had so many panic attacks in that little one bedroom apartment we had- by myself, waiting for you. You'd stumble through the door, and I'd spend the next hour or so trying to sober you up. Doing whatever it took to get you ready for the next day. I got really good at living for two people. I was willing to give up everything for you. 

We talk often about what the addicts go through, and I know your demons were not my demons- but I felt an obligation to stand by you. I know I felt a need to "save you", something you could have only ever done for yourself. I was constantly terrified- every time the phone rang late in the night, and when one of my worst fears was confirmed, when it was a cop's voice on the other end of the phone instead of yours... 

I was scared I'd lose you. Scared you'd drive drunk, or something awful would happen to you. There were times I showed up just in time... thinking about those moments still really fucks me up. Broken promises, so many times you told me you were going to get help, you'd get sober. I stayed, knowing full well the cycle would start over. 

I remember when it was over for me, I was twenty-four years old. I'd lost and gained so much by that time, and I was starting to dim. I was going through life like an automaton- barely emoting, just functioning. One day I finally broke, I looked at you and said I couldn't do it anymore. A door inside of me closed to you, and it never reopened. It took us another two years to truly pull apart.

It was up to that point the hardest decision I'd ever made. Realizing I'd fallen out of love with you, knowing I couldn't continue to be with you. Also knowing I would be blamed if something happened to you close to the break up, even though it wouldn't have been my fault. I would have blamed myself too. You hit bottom after I left, and I had to force myself to stay away. To just watch. You weren't mine anymore. 

We blame the partners, especially the women. If I'd just loved you enough, worked hard enough, gave enough of myself... it's just not the case. I'm thankful that after we ended, you found sobriety. You are a success story- one with a happy ending. You moved on, living a happy and fulfilling life. It so easily could have gone the other way.

It's been eight years since I left you, eighteen years since I fell in love with you. The scars left behind don't show, but they're still there. 

Forgiving myself.

It's a struggle to look in the mirror sometimes. I'm far from perfect, sometimes I feel pretty, smart, all the things- often times I don't. I have a go at myself on a regular basis, about all those same things. I know I was struggling to look in the mirror more often than not when I was with you. 

What I need to forgive is allowing you to have so much power over me. I allowed you to think my love was less than, not as deserving. If I didn't tell you about my sacrifices, if I balanced the world for the both of us. If I tried to keep my anxieties in check, if I put your needs before mine. If I shifted my dreams to accommodate for yours...you would just know. You would know how much I loved you. You would somehow know to reciprocate. You would know all I did, and what I would have done. And you would love me back. 

What ridiculous expectations. Truly. I shouldn't have expected you to read my mind. I also shouldn't have expected you to know what I did at any given moment. I shouldn't have ignored when my body told me time and time again something was wrong. 

I need to forgive doubting my worth. Doubting my abilities. Doubting what I deserved. Forgiving myself means not blaming you- not blaming me. Not looking back at us still love blind, but with deeper understanding. Believing you were what I needed at the time, to learn from- good and bad.

I need to stop punishing myself for loving you. It wasn't a waste of time. I mean, still this close to it, it wasn't ideal... ah but I could chase the rabbit on that one for days. I don't want to chase the rabbit about you anymore. 

I want to remember what I deserve, and not become lost ever again. I want to remember I am all of the good things wrapped with the bad. I'm human. I'm allowed to doubt, just as much as I'm allowed to leap. 

I'm allowed to forgive, but not forget. 

my tiny flutter.

I can hear it- the flutter of your tiny heartbeat. It's still in the distance- on my horizon.

Do you know how long I've waited for you? I thought I needed someone else to be there when I finally meet you. When I realized that wasn't the case, it was such a crystalizing moment. A point of no return. It couldn't be with anyone who came before. They didn't deserve you. They didn't deserve me.

Do you know? Do you already know you're mine, and I'm yours? Do you know you'll change my life forever?

I hope you know you'd be my greatest achievement- who I've always been waiting for. Though I already exist, you would be the one who ushered me into a greater chapter, one I can never turn my back on.

I keep trying to imagine what you may look like, what you could become. Right now you're a dream- I cannot wait for you to be a reality.

I already love you. I'm glad you don't know me now. You see, I'm not ready to love, except for you. For you to be here tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough, but I'm happy to wait. Just a little bit longer. Each days makes it seconds and minutes closer.

I'm enjoying my last days without you, but I'll be honest- I'm ready for time to speed up. I'll already have to wait so long for you when I finally start your story.

I can hear it.

A newer version of me.

A little over six months ago my world was turned on its ear. From there, heartbreak and growth, sacrifice and understanding. In the place of so many unhealthy things, grow the buds of the new, the better for me, and so much happiness.

What I'm finding most difficult now is navigating my interactions with those around me. People have always joked there isn't a thought or feeling I'm unwilling to share. This isn't entirely true. I share what I want, when I want. I'm incredibly clear about some things, and exceedingly private about others. With all of the change this year, a new resolve has flourished.

To love me first.

Even in writing this, I slightly cringe. We're taught by society and beyond to love yourself is to be selfish- to put yourself first, to be aware of your needs before another is not attractive, unwanted, undesirable.

I'm planning to sacrifice this in the coming year by beginning to try and become a mum. When that happens, I'll no longer be first in line. So why wouldn't I take this time to dig deep, to fall in love with me in a way I never have? The little person I hope comes along will fully rely on me, and not in the ways people have before.

I've always been dependable, someone who shows up, someone who can be relied on. Never really for myself. My friends joke about the change. I've become more busy socially, harder to nail down for a casual hang out or two. To those I give more to, it's harder still. I can't be the one who always shows up. Not yet. I've got to learn how in showing up for them, I won't break. How to not allow to be drained so much, there's nothing left for me afterwards. To continue to actively listen, but to choose my priorities wisely. I'm not blind- I can see the ripples of my choices.

In many ways, not including the above mentioned lack of time, I'm still that person. My friends are good enough to tell me I'm no longer failing on my end of our friendships. Since my priorities have shifted, they feel my presence again. In talking to a friend about these changes, she tells me as transparent and honest I am, this can be difficult for others. "People have a difficult time with your honesty. They want to believe they can influence you otherwise."

I try to give as much as I can, but I am not perfect. It's not just my stubbornness. It's not just a reaction or a pendulum swing from the last. These are easy and fast excuses. I am an imperfect person, who in seeking making myself whole, can't always be what others need of me. Though parts of me want to, the rest knows better.

There's seeking balance, there's seeking awareness and more. There's peace of mind in knowing I am becoming a better version of myself with time. I'm told regularly of how happy I look, compared to the past. I plan to lean into that, to hold space for myself, to be better.

Still dented, but shinier.