Katherine J.
Photography by Aneesa Wermers
Please note: In this letter, I discuss my experience with child abuse, depression and overall mental health struggles. If you think you may find this content triggering, I encourage you to read one of the other letters on IfYoureReadingThis.org, or prepare to access any support systems or resources you find helpful.
If you’re reading this, know that healing is not a linear progression.
I am a senior in BC’s nursing school. I am an avid board game player. I am a lot of things. I am also a survivor of childhood abuse. The details are not important, and not what I want to share today. Not because I am ashamed of them, but because they are not where my focus lies anymore. Well, at least not where my focus lies most of the time. There will still be moments, hours, and days where I feel the same feelings of fear, loneliness, and despair that I felt as a child. Sometimes it’s a smell, or a saying, or something completely undefinable, that catapults me back in time. I’ve been in therapy for years working to process my traumas. The last time I saw my abuser was when I was thirteen. The last time I spoke to my abuser was when I was eighteen, and filed my own restraining order. I have always felt this urgency to “get over it” and “move on”. I don’t want to give any more time from my life to this person, and I don’t want these things that happened to me to define my life. Unfortunately, however, sometimes when our brains are processing trauma we are not given much of a choice.
Some days are incredible. I feel blessed to be on this earth. I feel like I made a difference in the world. I feel I have amazing friends and family. I feel entirely blissful.
Some days are awful. I feel exhausted from processing. I feel like the world is broken beyond repair. I feel I am a burden on my friends and family. I feel entirely hopeless.
But on those awful days, I try to remind myself that no matter how awful they may be, they are not inherently bad. They are a part of me and my life just as much as the blissful ones. They teach me things about myself and the world. They teach me to honor my emotions and to sometimes allow myself to retreat into a dark hole to rest and sleep, like a bear in a cave hibernating. The awful days make the blissful days seem even more rosy. They make me appreciate the good, and hold on to it because I know it can change with the flip of a quarter. I’ve always had a hard time saying how horrible the things I went through were, but I feel they also made me who I am. I think my past has made me be more compassionate with my patients and more driven to help others.
The abuse I endured in my childhood is one reason I keep doing what I’m doing. I try to no longer work in order to prove my abuser wrong. Instead, I work so that I can help those around me. For me, it's all about taking what you've been given and deciding what to do with it. That doesn’t mean it's easy. It’s f*cking hard. I have fought for this. I still have to fight for this. But the days that are bliss, the days where I laugh so hard I cry as I play board games with friends, the days I hold a dead patient’s family member in my arms and cry with them, the days I see a patient fully recovered and reunited with their grandchildren, the days my dog jumps in my lap and falls asleep, the days I feel totally at ease. Those days make me wonder what the next sunrise will bring. Those days keep me curious enough as to what my future might be, to keep on living. If you are reading this, and you are in the dark cave hibernating, know that it’s okay, you will make your way out to see the sunrise and have blissful days. If you’re reading this though, know that you will go back into the cave again, and that is okay. I’ll be there sometimes too.
Katherine J. (she/her), Boston College
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