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My Journey As a Survivor

My Journey As a Survivor
January 9, 2014 ezekschuba@gmail.com
I love that survivors are coming together in the comments section, I love that people are feeling comfortable sharing their stories, and I love that the stigma of abuse survivor shame is finally be sharing on here and baring my feelings in front of you all, it has not been easy. Writing comes easily to me, but the reflections I get while I’m writing, the memories that are dragged out of the darkness from the back of my closet where I have buried them away, they aren’t easy to face. But I can’t keep everything hidden away in the corner of a closet. The closet is full. I can no longer close the doors on my past trauma’s. Just like all the wrong sized clothes that hang around in a closet and do no good to anyone, someone else could use them if you are just willing to pull them out and give them away. I wouldn’t have been in the closet, if someone had seen me. I wouldn’t have spent years piling more, and more, into that closet and locking it away, if I had known that it was ok to pull it all out. If I had known it was ok to tell someone what was going on, and if someone had listened, I might have been saved from years of trauma.
So I’ve been opening the doors, letting you all in, and beginning to sort through everything that I have worked so hard to hide away. I was hoping that it would help at least one person to realize that they are not alone. That they have nothing to be ashamed of. That it’s ok to open the doors, because someone else did it first.
I had enough, and so the closet doors opened, and I couldn’t remain silent anymore. Things needed to be changed, and so I broke the silence of my past, in an effort to change the future. I can’t help everyone, most days I can’t even help myself, but I’m trying. I am excited about the not-for-profit I’m starting. I am excited to be able to help all the (wo)men, that have fallen through the cracks. But sharing my story, its not been easy o. It’s not easy for me, and its not easy for all the other women who have their closet doors shut so tightly that no light gets in. The biggest fear I’ve had, the biggest fear most people have that have been abused, is of not being believed, or of simply just not being understood. It is the main reason why so many of us stay silent.

We have already been made to feel worthless, and we can’t bear thinking of being made to feel that way again. Being looked down upon. Being judged. We already beat ourselves up for things that were not our fault, but to have others wound us when we are down, it feels unbearable. So here I sit, yet again, at another crossroads in my life. I can stop sharing my story. I can close the doors back up, put the lock back on, and walk away from my past. I can protect myself from the emotional trauma of being made to feel wrong. Or I can keep sharing my story and be prepared to face the doubters, the name callers, and the silencers. I can continue sharing my story, bit by unbelievable bit, and rip the doors to my closet wide open. Let all of the other survivors take a look at the jumbled, disorganized mess inside, and realize that they are not alone.
I was blessed with an overwhelming thoughts from survivors themselves. But then there are those few negative commenter’s talking about how my story is most definitely false, because it is so unbelievable. They were bound to come, I expected it. I know some were just being antagonistic, and some truly don’t believe what I have to say, but what they said, hurt. Deeply. I know that when a story as unbelievable as mine is heard, it is human nature to want to discredit it.
I look at my life, my very own life, and I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe that I have lived through this. I can’t believe that I have made it so many years without anyone knowing.                          
I had enough, and so the closet doors opened, and I couldn’t remain silent anymore. Things needed to be changed, and so I broke the silence of my past, in an effort to change the future. I can’t help everyone, most days I can’t even help myself, but I’m trying. I am excited about the not-for-profit I’m starting. I am excited to be able to help all the (wo)men, that have fallen through the cracks. But sharing my story, its not been easy. It’s not easy for me, and its not easy for all the other women who have their closet doors shut so tightly that no light gets in.
The biggest fear I’ve had, the biggest fear most people have that have been abused, is of not being believed, or of simply just not being understood. It is the main reason why so many of us stay silent. We have already been made to feel worthless, and we can’t bear thinking of being made to feel that way again. Being looked down upon. Being judged. We already beat ourselves up for things that were not our fault, but to have others wound us when we are down, it feels unbearable.
So here I sit, yet again, at another crossroads in my life. I can stop sharing my story. I can close the doors back up, put the lock back on, and walk away from my past. I can protect myself from the emotional trauma of being made to feel wrong. Or I can keep sharing my story and be prepared to face the doubters, the name callers, and the silencers. I can continue sharing my story, bit by unbelievable bit, and rip the doors to my closet wide open. Let all of the other survivors take a look at the jumbled, disorganized mess inside, and realize that they are not alone.
I’ve started this journey, and I intend to keep going. I am so blessed to have great people around to show plenty of love. God bless you all!!!

Habiba Olawale