3 minute read
Dear Survivors, You Aren't Alone
By Sara Li
Sara Li is a 23-year-old arts and culture writer in New York City. She's the founder of Project Consent, an award-winning advocacy group for sexual assault survivors. You can learn more about Sara and get in touch at sarali.com.
When I was first diagnosed with PTSD at 18 years old, my first and immediate reaction was: What? I haven’t been at war.
The year was 2015, and conversations about mental health and sexual assault were barely breaking the surface. I know this because I was running an advocacy organization called Project Consent at the time. Even my own understanding of trauma was limited by our culture’s unwillingness to talk about sexual violence in a way that was comprehensive and empathetic. So like many other silent survivors, I was left to stew in the house of horrors that was my mind until the day I finally saw a therapist. What I unearthed — about myself and survivors as a whole — was shocking. For example: Survivors of sexual assault are highly susceptible to mental disorders such as depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Because of the culture of shame around sexual assault, perpetuated by victim-blaming, survivors are also less likely to seek help for it. Such was the case with me. Such is the case with many other survivors. Such is the case even now — at least until we restructure the way we talk about sexual assault as a whole, an ambitious mission I undertook with Project Consent for more than six years.
When I was diagnosed, I was equal parts relieved and embarrassed. Relieved because there was finally an explanation for the sleepless nights, the trauma that would replay on a loop, and the sense of foreboding that followed me constantly. But I was also ashamed because the stigma around mental health doesn’t just extend to having it — it also rears its ugly head most when one is seeking to break free from it. I tried to downplay my conditions for years, fearing that my diagnosis would weaken me in the eyes of my peers. I didn’t want to be a depressed person, living with PTSD and anxiety, any more than I wanted to be a survivor of sexual assault.
But looking back, I’ve never felt weaker than when I was pretending to be strong.
In my final years of running Project Consent, I had to redefine what it meant to live with multiple mental disorders. It was comforting knowing it wasn’t a path I had to walk alone, nor was it my whole journey. I started telling other survivors that I see them, just as much they saw me. We were all parts of a whole, trying to fit ourselves in our bodies and this world again. The path to healing was never easy, but Project Consent did our part to make it less lonely. It’s true that I was never at war. But I did experience something traumatic and at the very least, I’m entitled to how I feel about it. My mind no longer feels like an enemy, but a roommate I check in with routinely asks me: How are you doing? What can I do to help? Having these open exchanges of vulnerability and honesty freed me of the shame of hiding in my head. I don’t label myself as weak or strong anymore — I am just a person recovering from a violence I never asked for.
To any survivors reading this: I see you, and I love you. Just as much as our assault doesn't define us, neither do our mental disorders. Keep moving forward. I’m walking right beside you.
