Another Essay About Telling

I wrote this essay when I applied to graduate school for a degree in community counseling. I was accepted and will begin in fall of 2002

When the mother of one of my students walked into my classroom for a parent conference, I was apprehensive. She had been widowed on September eleventh.

“Mrs. X,” I said, “I am so sorry.”

During the conference we discussed her husband’s death and the impact it was having on her son. She stood to leave, remarking, “You’ve known tragedy, haven’t you? You are the only teacher who brought this up. Thank you.”

I knew my colleagues would not discuss this tragic and traumatic loss with her. Most felt it was just too sensitive

After experiencing my own trauma, I learned that people are often unwilling to discuss unspeakable events, believing, among other ideas that doing so will cause the one suffering further agony. This was untrue for me, as, I suspect, it is for others who have been victimized. Additionally, I believe that people deny terrible experiences because to accept them is to accept one’s own vulnerability

To heal from being raped, I needed to speak of it. Finding people whom I could comfortably approach, however, proved difficult. True, I was lucky. I had a supportive family, a partner, a counselor and even a few friends who were capable of listening. Far too often, though, once told, people never again brought up the rape, which left me to deal with the stigma attached to a shattering experience, although I am sure this was not their intent.

Conversely, others spoke of the rape in platitudes. “Put it past you, were common words and I fear many people who have been terribly hurt have heard them. That is, I believe, impossible without owning the experience and fully processing the resulting feelings.

In the aftermath of the rape, I experienced feelings I’d never considered myself capable of having. Losing control of my surroundings provoked wrenching anxiety. For instance, after waking up late for work once, I arrived at school in the midst of a terrifying panic attack. Upon arriving home at the end of each day, I usually was overwhelmed with a despair I thought would never leave. Intermittently, I was overcome with a horrible, cold rage. I felt that I could kill my rapist. While processing these emotions, I thought I might never make it out of the black hole my life had become.

Talking was essential. Meeting with a counselor for months afterwards aided my recovery. A few friends called diligently, offering practical and emotional support. Moreover, my family allowed my boyfriend and me to move into the security of my childhood home to recover with their support.

I realize now how fortunate I was. It is human nature to deny terrible events and the capacity for evil that exists within us. People do not want to cause the sufferer additional harm, nor acknowledge the tragedy humans can inflict. Moreover, it is difficult to accept that one could a victim.

When I spoke to Mrs. X, I didn’t need to tell her of my experience. From that experience, however, I knew that she would heal just a little more if I were to listen. Although the conversation must have been terribly difficult, I believe it was healing. Given the chance to speak, she did.