Speaking truth to power is not easy. I recently spoke out from the depths of my soul to a male public figure whose teaching style is—in my professional viewpoint—far from trauma-informed. I’ve listened to this teacher for quite some time as there has been enough good stuff to keep me engaged. Yet I reached a boiling point when some of his rhetoric crossed the line into what I assessed as victim blaming and making excuses for upholding abusive systems and power structures. To stay silent and passive would have been tantamount to tolerating abuse. With other female sexual assault survivors in the room, not speaking up seemed enabling.
           
Any previous interactions I had with this teacher attempting dialogue could be described as a barrage of interruptions and mansplaining as a response to my questions. On the day I finally spoke up with the fullness of my voice, I first asked to be listened to without being interrupted. When he nodded his head in agreement, I launched into my criticism, addressing trauma dynamics from a personal, professional, and spiritual perspective. After the very intense course session ended, many women approached me and remarked on my bravery and courage by speaking up in that way. One even called me heroic.

I appreciated them honoring me with their compliments and realized that giving voice to many of the things they also wanted to say may be the only good that came out of publicly challenging this man. Yet something bothered me—why do we still conceptualize it as brave for women to speak up to men? Especially when we are challenging their inaccuracies or blind spots in public discourse? Bravery suggests staring fear in the face when taking on a task that is new and radical. I long to live in a world where how I spoke up to a male is regarded as the norm, not as a groundbreaking act or heroic feat of courage.

How do we, as women, make this happen and continue a very necessary paradigm shift that the #MeToo movement and the work of other advocates began? To be proactive, it is not enough to look up to the outspoken women that we admire, especially those that have a public stage. We must also begin to make small changes at a micro level, in the theater of our daily lives, if significant change is to happen culturally.

A first step is to begin examining our speech on our day-to-day basis—are we speaking like we have something to apologize for? Are we constantly tentative, inflecting our sentence endings, making everything sound like a question? Do we insert nervous words and phrases such as like, you know, you know what I mean?, we’re gonna, okay, just wondering, but anyway excessively? Do these patterned ticks hamper the impact of what we need to say? Does sinking into a higher pitch feel comforting when we are uncertain? Do we say what we mean at the appropriate times, or are we constantly censoring ourselves?

Sure, holding the tongue may be appropriate in certain societal contexts, and speaking with kindness may be an important part of our value system. Yet what do we do with the thoughts, feelings, sensations, and words that we’re holding on to? Do we swallow them, allowing them to fester, playing out in the body or in a variety of other emotional distress symptoms? Or do we find another outlet at a more appropriate time to express them? And if we are constantly censoring our expression, especially in speech, what is the reason? Are we afraid of being perceived a certain way (e.g., disrespectful, unladylike, aggressive, bitchy)? Do we fear that others may withhold affection and regard from us if we speak up and claim the fullest expression of ourselves? Does the high, demure pitch seem to get us somewhere, especially with men? Men who we want to love us, admire us, respect us, or perhaps simply take us seriously?

I realize that I am asking many questions here and not providing any concrete answers. As a professional speaker, I’ve learned to constantly engage in self-inventory using these questions. At least once a year I make sure that I listen to a public recording of myself giving a talk and notice what I notice about my patterns of speech and expression. About five years ago, I was horrified to hear how much I used the phrase you know in a day-long course. The constant use of this nervous phrase made me seem less sure of myself and my message. I made a point to look out for it in future talks. I still have a tendency to slip into the you knows from time to time, and now I have the awareness that it’s typically a sign that I’m nervous or I’m doubting myself. To combat this issue, I make sure that I take more time to ground every morning before I face the day, especially if I’m teaching or giving a talk. I also make more spaces to deliberately breathe when I am speaking, as it keeps me in a calmer flow and less likely to sink into the uncertainty…which inevitably translates into my voice. Of course, the deeper work of therapy, other healing practices and setting boundaries in my life has also facilitated a greater sense of flow and strength in my speech.

As a writer, I’ve also noticed and actively addressed similar patterns. In 2012, I wrote the first edition of a book called Trauma and the Twelve Steps: A Complete Guide to Recovery Enhancement. A publisher contracted me to write a second edition to this work, which is due out in 2020. As I went back through the first edition of the book to make edits and conduct rewrites, I was shocked by how apologetic I sounded in so many places, and how many qualifying phrases that I used to cushion my points (e.g., “This is just my opinion,” “In my personal experience, etc.”) Even though my writing is known for its bridge-building quality, it seemed as though I played it too safe, afraid that I would piss people off. I believe there is an art to not tearing into people. After all, if I chew off their heads, metaphorically speaking, how will they have ears to hear me? Yet in this second run through the book, which also reflected an additional seven years of healing, recovery, and standing up for myself, I was able to take out so many of those qualifying phrases and simply present my position. The book is filled with my personal experience, opinions, clinical perspectives, and voice. There is no need for me to keep saying that in order to soften the power of my message. A second step that we can take as women is to give our emails and written communication a closer look before clicking send. The same questions I offer for speech can also offer us insight for the written word. You may find that practicing with writing is a good training ground for addressing speech.

The more I’ve deepened my awareness about these issues of presentation, the more difficult it is for me to listen to other women speak to each other. Even as I write this piece at an airport during my travels, I can hear two professionally dressed women talking to each other from the row of chairs behind me. Even in casual conversations with each other, the pitch is high, there is an overabundance of like and just to cushion what we are saying, and every sentence can sound like an apology for existing, like we are walking on egg shells. In being attuned to this throughout my travels, I notice it from women of all backgrounds. Sometimes it’s so painful I have to put my earphones on at the airport or on planes just so I don’t have to listen to it. And before I come across as a totally judgmental human being, I admit--I still catch myself doing it with my own girlfriends. These tendencies are that ingrained. These tentative, feminine tropes are how we have been socialized to communicate with each other and the world.

Personally, I’ve had enough, and I make a commitment to stop talking to myself, to my fellow sisters, to men, and to the world like I have something to be sorry for. I deserve to say the things I must say, and I can release expectations of how other people will receive me. I know that this commitment will be a work in progress and I will slip into old habits. When this happens, I will be compassionate with myself and recognize when my friends and I may just be lighthearted or joking with each other. Yet I will take it seriously if it feels like I’m apologizing for speaking or taking up space. If more of us are willing to commit to this at some level, I believe a day will come that speaking up to men in power like I did to that teacher will be just another thing we do because we know that we are worthy and we will be heard.

Photograph of Dr. Jamie by Brandy Llewelyn

I was sitting in front of a client one afternoon as she talked to me about the rape she had experienced a few months ago.  As the tears streamed down her face, I began to feel my hands shake, not that she could see, but enough that I definitely noticed.  She continued in details of what happened and I remember floating to the top of the room.  As she cried, I could only observe her and watch without feeling as I had left my body and floated above myself.  I could see my clipboard, writing nothing, see the steaming coffee beside me, hear her sobs and comments; what I could not do was feel anything…until I came back inside myself.  The session was concluding and I was able to offer some superficial comfort as I escorted her to the door.  When I closed the door behind her, I could see the bathroom door as I opened it.  I saw my best friend standing there with another male friend of ours as they had this coy look on their faces.  I recall thinking I was in trouble but did not seem able to react until they began to pull me along, down the hall, and into the bedroom.  Once I was thrown to the bed and my clothes were being torn off, I could feel the tears on my cheeks, just like my clients.  I slowly started to float above this scene and watched in horror.  When I noticed I was still in my office and I was staring at the door, I came back to the present awareness, went to my desk chair and wept.  I knew it was time to reach out for help.  I could not control these memories, these feelings any longer. 

​I reached out to a colleague who was an EMDR therapist.  She agreed to see me to help with anxiety issues I was having from work.  My agenda was to be able to trust her enough to share this secret and work through it, but I remember being terrified to talk about it.  The longer I met with her, however, the more comfortable I became and it did not take too long before I was able to tell her about the experience.  That was hard enough, but as I sat in her office, I wondered how I would ever be able to release all the pain of the rape.  How do you even begin to talk about this?  How do you let go of this?  How can you possibly ever trust again?  Be whole again? She was very patient with me and, as I could, I began to share what happened with her.  I was able to ask some of the questions I had been thinking and she began to tell me what she thought would help. 

She introduced to me a procedure known as EMDR therapy.  She explained that EMDR works to help resolve traumas and she talked about what we would actually “do” while in sessions.  She said I would watch a light bar, following the light with my eyes, and this would begin to let these emotions process in my brain.  I thought it was weird and probably would not work, but desperate for healing, I agreed to try.  We talked about some of the negative beliefs I had about myself as a result of the sexual assault and how it had altered the way I see myself.  I would have flashbacks and nightmares often and we talked about these as well.  We took things slowly, as I could not handle too much at a time.  She knew that and while pushing me somewhat, she also respected the boundaries, the lines I could not yet cross.

During the sessions, I watched the light bar and also wore headphones, which sounded a rotating “beep” back and forth in unison with the light.  With both these forms of bilateral stimulation being conducted, I would picture things in my mind, feel what was going on in my body, and notice what memories or thoughts would come.  Often a lot of emotion came out, sometimes I was not sure about what.  This was all part of the process.  We would target in on a belief due to a situation and then would let me “process” that, meaning I would watch the light, listen to the beeps and notice what happened in my body and mind.  It only took a few times to realize something was happening with this process.  I was beginning to deal with my past.

We continued to use this therapy to help process other areas of my life as well.  Some of the other situations involved other sexual traumas I had not recalled with this great a detail.  Although I was having these memories surface, I felt safe knowing we were working through this together.  
 
I cannot say I enjoyed the therapy and remember many times leaving her office emotionally drained; yet I knew I was healing slowly.  I recall one of the scariest times of the processing was when she had me hold the picture I was seeing of the rape in my mind and watch the light to begin to process this.  Immediately I began to feel anxious as I pictured the scene.  Although there was fear, what I realized was I was having these feelings anyway, but it was different this time.  I could begin to feel myself releasing some of the pain through this process.  I could feel some of the anxiety go from inside my soul.  I was tearful as I followed this light and at times would sob.  What was important to me, however, was that these images were beginning to change.  I was able to see the incidents and not float away; I could stay inside myself and feel what I had pushed down for the first time in years.  I was allowing myself to heal.  Through the pain of the trauma, I was being led down a safe avenue to process this with the care and safety of my therapist right there, guiding me.  I did not have to be alone in these memories anymore. 

Sharing the story of the rape was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.  To let someone else in to see my pain, shame, embarrassment, anger, and vulnerability was like an ache I had never before felt.  But as my therapist always said, in order for true healing to happen, someone has to witness your grief.  Until we can share that pain with another person, we will never truly be free of it.  This made all the sense in the world to me as I had carried that grief around for years.  Being free of it used to just be an unobtainable thought, but now through EMDR therapy, I could see real hope. 

As I mentioned previously, I also began to recall with more memories and details a few other incidents that occurred in my childhood.   Had I not been doing the bilateral stimulation that EMDR utilizes, I do not think I would have been able to recall some of the specifics that made all the pieces come together.  I was able to remember what happened to me in that day care, in that school office and in that neighbor’s home.  I was also able to share these experiences with my therapist and we worked through these as well.  When I say working through it, it does not mean just forgetting and moving on.  With EMDR, I was able to feel the emotions I had pushed down in regards to these events and begin to let the emotions go.  It was as if all the years of pain came up and passed through me again.  However, in order to be able to truly integrate this as part of me, this had to occur.  I never knew what “processing it” meant until I discovered the EMDR journey.  It was like a life saver to me.  I was able to be free of the pain, not just pushing it away.  I could recall the memories, but allow them to stay in the past where they belonged.  I did not have to let them hurt me anymore in my present life.   I could be free. 
 

​I support and believe Christine Blasey Ford and I am in awe of her courage to come forward and speak her truth.  It has not been an easy thing to do and she has re-lived her trauma and experienced more trauma.  She has been sent death threats and has had to leave her home.  I want her to know I honor her and her story and as a result felt compelled to write this.
 
Since Christine has come forward with her story of being sexually assaulted by Brett Kavanaugh, there have been a lot of questions and comments.  As a sexual assault survivor myself and a trauma therapist who has worked with dozens of sexual assault survivors, I would like to try and answer some of the questions that I have heard and even been asked directly. 
 
Question #1- Why didn’t she tell anyone at the time this incident occurred?
 
She was 15 years old, scared and having a trauma reaction.  Many assaults occur by people who are known to the victim. Sometimes the perpetrator threatens to harm the person if they tell anyone.  Many young survivors are afraid if they tell a parent they will get in “trouble”.  Many victims are blamed with statements such as “you shouldn’t have been at that party”, “you shouldn’t have been drinking”, “your flirting brought this on”, “the way you dressed caused this”, “he’s a good boy, you must be mistaken”, “you are a slut, whore, etc”.  These are just a few of the things that are said to victims.  Many victims/survivors are afraid no one will believe them.  That was her worst fear coming forward now, I’m sure.  Not only did many people not believe her, some people made death threats against her and her family.  Now, wouldn’t that be a reason some people may not come forward?
 
Secondly, a typical trauma reaction is to shut down and try and forget about what happened.  But no one ever forgets.  Sometimes the event is packed away in the recesses of the mind and resurfaces years later when current events occur that trigger the body and mind.  I’ve personally had the experience of early childhood sexual abuse by a known perpetrator that I only remembered after undergoing somatic body work by a trusted friend.  My body knew for a long time that something had occurred as I would have atypical reactions to hearing about childhood sexual abuse. For years I had suicidal thoughts and no idea where they were coming from.  Once the memories surfaced, I was not surprised and it confirmed for me a lot of things I had felt over the years.  My memories were validated by others in my family when I shared them.  I went through some intense therapy for several years after this and to this day from time to time have to do some healing work. Since the “#Metoo” movement began, I and other survivors, have been triggered a lot.  How do we speak our truth?  Where do I speak my truth?  Will speaking my truth help someone else?  Will I make myself too vulnerable in speaking my truth?  Will my family support me in speaking my truth? 

Question #2-One of the other questions people have had is “how can she be sure it was him?”, “maybe her memory is wrong."
 
These incidents are recorded in the brain.  When they occur with someone who is known to the victim, they remember who it was, the voice, the smell, the face, all of it.  Sometimes, a survivor will dissociate during the incident, which is when the mind separates from the body as a way to cope and survive the trauma.  However, the mind  is still present and recording the experience. 
 
I have experienced other types of sexual assault. Once, three boys in the neighborhood dragged me into the woods with two of them holding my arms back and the other one fondling me.  My “fight” response kicked in and I kicked the one touching me in the groin and was able to get away.  I still remember his name and face.  I never told anyone.  This happened again with a few boys on the front lawn of his house.  I remember who it was and I never told.  Other incidents of boys grabbing my breasts, calling me names, smacking/pinching my rear end, all occurred multiple times.  The only incident I ever told anyone about was when I was 15 years old: While riding my bike, a guy in a gold Camaro stopped and asked for directions.  When I got closer to the car I saw he was masturbating.  I took off on my bike and rode home with my heart pounding.  I remembered the type of car, as it was distinctive.  I told my mom and we did call the police to report what happened.  I don’t know if he was ever caught. 
 
Of all the incidents I experienced, except for that one, I knew who the perpetrator was.  Survivors remember, even when it is hard to acknowledge that it was someone known to them. 
 
Question # 3-Well….what is sexual assault really? 
 
As I’ve shared with my daughter, sexual assault can range from name calling, leering at a woman’s body and making sexual comments, to incest and rape.  There are many types of assault under this umbrella, such as fondling, oral sex, forcing someone to watch porn and/or strip, etc.  The primary elements are that it is unwanted, unsolicited, there is a power differential, and the victim feels extremely unsafe and threatened.  I’ve had women share with me that their fathers, step-fathers, grandfathers, etc. have made sexual comments on their bodies, have looked them up and down and smiled, and have made sexual comments about other women in front of them, and all of this was unwanted, unsolicited, and made them feel extremely uncomfortable and threatened.  This is sexual assault. I’ve had women share that they have been fondled over their clothes by uncles, step-fathers, brothers, cousins, neighbors, friends of parents, etc., and that is sexual assault.  I’ve had women share that they have been sexually abused (fondled, raped, forced to do sexual acts while being watched, etc.) by fathers, mothers, grandparents, coaches, priests, ministers, boyfriends, husbands, teachers, etc., and that is sexual assault.  Some of these incidents were one time and many of them continued over months and years. 
 
In the last year or so women and men are finding the courage to share their stories of sexual assault, abuse and trauma.  This is the beginning of finding more ways to heal and hold perpetrators accountable.  Education is key in changing the way people understand sexual abuse and trauma.  We need more open dialogue on this and movement to change statute of limitations for survivors.
 
I am using my voice and sharing my story for my own healing and in hopes that others will find the courage to share theirs as that is a big part of the healing process.