Trigger warning: mention of child sexual abuse
My therapist asked me today how I processed the trauma that I was sexually abused as a child. He asked me how I survived, and the answer came instantly, as if it were a reflex. I survived because of the women in my life.
I was sexually abused by a teacher in my school. It went on for years. He emotionally manipulated me, and made me feel lonely and then did things to me which I did not even know were wrong when they were happening. I had friends and family watching out for me but I could never share any of this with them. But I knew, I just knew that it was only me. I had this gut feeling that he was not doing this to anyone else. I was the only child sexual abuse victim in his life. I believed that even after I left school and stopped working for him. I believed it even when the memories of what he did to me came back to me and I knew I was a victim. But the thing is, teenagers don’t really have a gut, to have a gut feeling. So, I believed it up until a child almost 6 years younger than me told me he did this to her too.
I spent days and weeks thinking about this. I was his first victim, probably, and if I had spoken up, this would not have happened to someone else. I could have saved this girl, this child who was telling me that she has never felt comfortable in her own skin again. But I did not. The one feminist battle I could have won, I lost. So I did what felt right then, I wrote my #metoo story. It would not be exaggeration at this point to say that my life changed after I posted that story.
The sheer support from other women, my mother who said “I am proud of you comrade” to my aunt who, for the first time ever said “I love you Bandagi.” From the friend who called and cried about the fact that she never knew, to the senior who reached out to say sorry. From the aunties who held a meeting to solely talk about me to the activists who were ready to protest in front of Ravindra Bharati to stop him from performing (those who know me know that my aunties are the activists). I was filled with hope and gratitude and comfort that day like I had never been before. It was traumatizing, no doubt it was, I get messages from 7 other children who said that he did the same thing to them and their friends.
Yesterday I found out that he was performing again, this time at a protest event against honour killings. I hated seeing that – he was continuing to pretend to be some champion of the society after what he did to all of us. I sent one message to a woman in the organizing committee, saying this man sexually abused me as a child. And they cancelled the performance over night. The organizers told me that they stand in solidarity with me in my fight against patriarchy. Yesterday, I saw intersectional solidarity in action, for the first time ever. The only thing I wanted was that this person does not perform again, not in my city. Yesterday, for the first time in years, I felt that I had not lost that one feminist battle that I could have won. I am still fighting it – I owe it to all those children to fight. But this time, I am winning it, because this time I am not alone.
The world was celebrating Kamala Harris’ win yesterday, the country was celebrating the exit polls predicting the Mahagtbandham victory. But I was celebrating two women – women who owe me nothing, did not even know who I was until a year or two ago. A doctor and a lawyer who were fighting battles bigger than I could ever imagine fighting. But they took the time to show me I mattered, that the world cared, that they cared. They took the time to give me a voice, a voice that I had somehow lost in my victimhood. They took the time to tell me that sisterhood and solidarity exists.
So when my therapist asked me, I told him I survived because of women like them. I told him that I will continue to survive and not let my victimhood define me because of women like them. And I tell myself now that my aim in life is to be them – to be the reason that someone else can survive. Because processing trauma becomes just a little bit easier, knowing you are not alone.
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