Like Doechii I’ve been done dirtier than laundry, but for a long time I was able to wade in denial because the currents of disassociation I had were so strong. When I was finally able to leave my ex and find some transitory safety after a brief period of legal proceedings, I thought that was it. I had an order of protection granted by the courts, an army of protection provided by the muscle of my cousins, and a newfound freedom to live without the consequence of being bullied or backed into a corner. Although I haven’t delved into the full history of what happened to me yet (how it started, what happened, and what parties were responsible), I feel it imperative to impart my narrative like a Greek tragedy and discuss what has happened most recently that compelled me to open up.
For a long, long time I treated my past in one of two ways; like it didn’t happen or as if it were an inconvenient fact that I only needed to be objective about. If I referenced it, I was either very matter of fact or almost mocking it. Treating it like no big deal, “life is life”, and it’s too bad but it “is what it is.” I didn’t recognize it at the time, but this mindset and way of processing things was almost as dangerous and detrimental to me as what had actually happened. Neglecting my mental health in this way eventually led me to a history with addiction issues ranging from alcohol and drug abuse, to shopping beyond my means, difficulty with emotional regulation (namely anger issues), and the most negative perceptions of self.
One of the things I did to keep myself subconsciously preoccupied was staying abnormally busy and anomalously overworked. For years I worked full-time at a law firm, often working more hours and getting more emotionally involved in my cases than I should, while simultaneously pushing myself to complete my undergraduate education and then my graduate studies through online and evening classes. If I wasn’t working or studying, I was tending to family matters, taking on modeling and acting gigs, or throwing myself into miscellaneous projects to keep distracted and spread too thin to nurture my emotional health. At the time, however, I thought I was simply working to build a good life and prime myself for future wealth and comfortable living.
However, “living” like that can obviously only last so long. After finishing graduate school in 2023, I had an opportunity to catch my breath before finding a corporate role and leaving the chaos of private firms. I thought that newfound free time was going to be spent exploring new hobbies, planning travel, or learning to read for pleasure again. Unfortunately, I was wrong.
In lieu of starting my graduate program in 2021, I started going to therapy again. Previously, at the height of my experience living in a domestic violence situation, I’d started counseling after confiding in a friend that I’d had suicidal ideation and that I’d been cutting myself; working up the nerve for more drastic actions. She pleaded with me to seek help which, at the time, was an incredibly foreign experience to me, highly taboo, and viewed through a very stigmatized lens. I tried and “failed” partly because I wasn’t ready to fist fight my demons, but more so the therapist I was referred to was a horrible fit. I was under the impression back then that therapists were ‘one size fits all’ and my sessions ended up adding more harm to my life than good. That’s a story for another day… But in any event, I refrained from formal therapy for many years given the gnarly aftertaste of my first attempt and a resounding fear of accepting my truth. I was a survivor of domestic violence… And that was enough to know remiss of the comprehension that that uncomfortable truth was only the tip of my emotional iceberg.
After grad school ended, my current therapist encouraged me to start cleaning up areas of my life that my education more or less forced me to neglect. I thought it’d be as simple as the family drama that seems to come up every now and again with my parents and siblings, issues overworking myself, or cleaning house between my current partner and me. Given the latter, being in a new and long term relationship and all, I assumed any skeletons that may have cluttered my closet were either buried six feet deep already, or better – cremated and long gone in the wind. I was as wrong as half the answers I marked down on my first practice LSAT in 2018.
Although I told my therapist about my ex and a handful of the heinous experiences I’d had with him, I never really undid the seal to Pandora’s box. I only knocked a bit of the dust off the lid in a few sessions and took quick glimpses through its glass bezeling. I know full well what they say about things made of glass… But I thought getting out and being out made me bulletproof. I moved on. Reclaimed my life and did so many things I thought were impossible that I guess I developed an invincibility complex, using my profession and my academic success as armor. Now that I felt like I’d finally become somebody, how could my former identity as what felt like a nobody bear any kind of significance in the present day?
Well… That girl from 2011 came and gave me a gentle tap on the shoulder, as cautious as ever, and reminded me she was never nobody. She mattered and she needed me to find the guts to look her in the eye and bridge the gap in time between us. She needed me to start healing so we could both understand what it really means to be free and have hope.
So… I logged into my virtual session with my provider last February and stared nervously into the camera while he started our session like he always does, asking “Okay, Tatiana. What’s important for us to talk about today?” I responded in a manner I hate, answering a question with a question. “*Dr. Wong, is it normal to feel ashamed about doing something you didn’t want to do even if you were forced…?”
I remember crying more than I’d cried in a long time. More than I think I’ve ever cried about anything for the full duration of that session. The pain of knowing my devastating truth hurt so bad that I couldn’t hold it in when I returned to my office at work and I collapsed into my close friend *Renee’s arms, compelled to share with her what I’d just learned. I had survived years of sexual assault and had been raped by not just my ex but also by two men in my past that I’d thought were my friends. It explained so much but still left me with so many questions and new anxieties. I now had no choice but to face these unchained demons and lay them all to rest.
Objectively, I know these trauma wounds are fresh now that they’ve come to the surface, but I still feel uneasy about the tears that get shed when I stop to think and process it all. I’d known deep down for years that something wasn’t right… Hell, a lot of things weren’t right in my past but I couldn’t fathom sexual assault being a part of my story and although I understand it is absolutely not my fault, I still hated myself for it. But in those moments lamenting in my own internal discourse I pause to acknowledge the looming stigma causing me to feel that way… Rape is never the victims fault and rape doesn’t define the victim either. Dr. Wong, albeit through a camera, looked me dead in my eyes and told me “Tatiana, I do not see you any differently because of what you have shared.” I needed that reassurance that I wasn’t damaged goods, I wasn’t less than, and that my past, in an instant, hadn’t defaced the woman I’d become today.
It has been far from easy since the evils of the world became untethered from my past. It’s been downright painful and sometimes scary most days sorting through the suppressed memories and piecing together fragmented experiences that I thought Hennessy and oxycodone had drowned out. Despite the unyielding agony I’ve been feeling, I’ve managed to find beauty and hope in knowing that I survived and I get a second chance at my life. What good is borrowed time if that isn’t honored and celebrated?
So, in order to unpack the past, I had to start with where I’m currently at and what led me to finally embrace some vulnerability. Opening up is far from easy, especially when it coincides with the media reporting on Cassie Ventura and Diddy. Do you know how hard it is to regulate visceral responses when you’re fielding commentary from Diddy sympathizers? Had me slippin’, fallin’, and fighting to get back up like my street name was DMX. But all joking aside… It’s never easy to find your voice and your bravery in a society that seems eager to villainize the victim and protect the perpetrator.
As I’ve been doing everyday since last winter, I just take it one day at a time. I remind myself daily of the things I’m grateful to see, grateful to experience, and grateful to live because my life could have truly been too short.
With alofa – Tati
*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.
Survival of the ILLEST 
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