Cara G.
Photography by Alex Gogo
Dear Reader,
Cara’s letter includes her experience of sexual assault. If you believe this topic will trigger you, we encourage you to take care of yourself and be prepared to access any necessary resources, some of which you can find on our Resources Page.
Sincerely, The IfYoureReadingThis at NYU Team
If you’re reading this, your past is only a fragment of who you are.
Everyone has their signature accessory – a silver dragonfly necklace, a baby pink bangle, an anklet that has seen better days. Each of them carries stories and memories that make up the person they adorn. For me, it’s a golden cross on a mismatched chain necklace.
That necklace has been with me through almost everything: tucked beneath sweaters, school uniforms, and clenched tightly in trembling hands during stressful nights. It’s not perfect – in fact, it’s far from it. The chain is thin and uneven, the cross scratched and dulled. But maybe that’s the point. It’s tarnished and worn in all the places I’ve been worn too. And yet, just like me, it endures.
For my entire life, I was enrolled in two schools. The most recent being New York University, and the previous one a private Catholic high school in the Philippines. Like many schools there, religion was woven into every corner – crucifixes on every wall, school-wide masses held each month, and the expectation of wearing white garments to symbolize purity. I absorbed the idea that goodness equaled worthiness, that purity equaled love. I tried to earn that love in every way I could – as an altar server, a lector, a devout child in daily adoration.
But that pursuit of goodness was shattered one day during confession, when a priest violated not just my trust, but the very foundation upon which I had built my life. I remember staring at the crucifix as his hand crept over my thigh, and thinking only one thing: “I’m dirty.” Afterward, I scrubbed my skin raw, trying to erase what had happened – trying to make myself clean again.
But over time, I’ve come to understand a difficult truth: healing isn’t pretending the past never happened – it comes from owning it without letting it own you. I stopped trying to prove I was clean. I stopped believing that I needed to be pure to be loved. I realized I already deserved peace, love, and support – simply because I am human. When I moved to New York, I sought that support, ironically, from another priest – one who helped me seek justice, and more importantly, reminded me that there is still goodness in this world.
When I wear that golden cross on my neck, I don’t see it as a symbol of who I was, or what was taken from me – I wear it as a reminder of how far I’ve come. My past will always be part of me, but it no longer controls me. Like the necklace, it’s just one piece of a much larger, infinitely more beautiful whole.
So, if you're reading this, remember that healing begins with acknowledging two things: your past and the goodness and support that surround you. You just have to be brave enough to look for it.
Cara G., New York University
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