Freedom From Fear: How I Overcame the Trauma of Child Sexual Abuse

“It’s not easy to learn to be free, but it’s worth the effort”, says a survivor about overcoming her fears.

When you carry the weight of an unspoken secret hidden inside the deepest chambers of your mind for too long, it becomes a part of your being. All the fear, shame and guilt that accompanies that secret, settles in like termites in unused rooms, eating at your core, your sense of self and the remnants of the courage used up in making sense of your past.

I had not believed in, or anticipated the truth of this fact until I came out with my story of being a child sexual abuse and suicide survivor at my first TEDx talk in November 2017. All my adolescent years, the feeling of being physically violated and stripped of all dignity at the age of six, had haunted me like a half forgotten nightmare that terrifies one in snatches.

‘It Was an Unnamed Terror of Confined Spaces and Touch’

I had no understanding of the meaning of abuse, the invasion of bodily privacy or the loss of innocence till I achieved puberty and surreptitiously learned about things like sex and rape. Before that, all I felt was an unnamed terror at the thought of confined spaces or the touch of hands on my mouth and legs.

After puberty came the sudden rush of sexual awakening which filled me with terror. I became the thing that I abhorred- that strange mix of the violator and the violated.

All of my abuser’s whispered threats about me wanting to be touched and fondled seemed to be validated by my body- my body, which refused to be tamed, which was suddenly sprouting unwanted curves, which made me seem visible for the first time in my life. And I hated it, as much as I craved for it- the male gaze which scanned my young breasts with hunger.

Had I really wanted to be touched like that at six? Had I really deserved to be hurt like that? Yes, yes, screamed the rush of hormones that turned me pink each time I enjoyed a stranger’s eyes devouring me. And then began the futile attempt to become invisible, to lose my voice, to start dressing and behaving in a way that made me seem like lifeless baggage, tucked in a corner like furniture.

‘It Was in Third Year of College That I Tried to Kill Myself’

Growing up in a household of four siblings and a steady stream of visiting relatives, it wasn’t too hard to achieve that. Books became my refuge, my personal universe where I could be what I wanted to be, where I was free of the past, present and future.

It was only much later during my graduation years at Lady Sri Ram College for Women, that I learned about NGOs and organisations that worked with child sexual abuse survivors. The world finally began to make sense and with that awareness returned a sense of purpose and meaning, even if it was short lived.

In my third year of college, battling with depression, anxiety and an abusive relationship, I tried to kill myself.

The attempt was passed off as an accident and it was only much later that I found the courage to disclose the truth to my family. Being hailed as a courageous fighter, who beat the odds to survive, was added to the ever present burden of guilt and shame.

In my head, I was a coward who had tried to flee, who had selfishly inflicted pain on her family and friends.

How I Finally Found My Voice

I am still that coward in many ways, only there’s a difference now. After a decade of hiding behind my internal suffering and watching myself grow diminished with each passing year, I have finally found my voice through my work at Candidly. My work partner, Amita Malhotra and I began working together a year ago on issues of sexuality, gender, abuse and the way these manifest in media and through culture. The TEDx talk at Shiv Nadar University in November 2017 became an important landmark for us.

It was a forced opportunity to examine our vulnerabilities, our fears and our concerns as individuals and as an organisation.

Did I want to talk about my attempted suicide to gain sympathy or did I want young people to listen to me and know that such pain could be avoided, that there was help available?

Would people view us as misfits who were struggling themselves and were therefore incapable of helping anyone else? Would the talk alienate me from those who didn’t know of my past? Would my son ever understand why I did what I did back then? Would my parents ever be able to face people’s questions without for a moment regretting or condemning their daughter’s choices? Would my brother, who hadn’t known the truth about the accident all these years, forgive and love me like always?

There are no easy answers to any of these questions. Coming out in public with the story of your struggle, your failures, your weakest moments, is like walking on crowded streets utterly naked, oblivious to the world like a raving lunatic, yet intensely aware of each stare, each jeer, each internal voice that never ceases to scream and whimper.

Of Hope and New Lessons

No amount of preparation can help you at the final moment of disclosure when you stand before strangers with your heart in your mouth, hoping to be understood, hoping to be forgiven, hoping to forgive and at last, feel free. And when those strangers embrace you, you are filled with gratitude for that moment, for being alive, even for the suffering you went through. But strangely, days and weeks after the euphoria has died down, there’s a sense of growing emptiness in places where you held your secrets in custody.

New lessons must be learned to fill the gaps left by those finished. New challenges and fears must be faced head on to stop feeling thus empty. For even misery has a way of making itself familiar to your being. It’s not easy to learn to be free, but it’s worth the effort.

(Reema Ahmad is a sexuality educator and child sexual abuse awareness advocate. She is also co-founder of Candidly, an initiative to create awareness about issues of gender, sexuality and abuse which she operates with her long time friend, Amita Malhotra.)