Please note: In this letter, I discuss my experience with sexual assault. If you believe this topic will be triggering for you, I encourage you to take care of yourself and be prepared to access any resources you may need. The RAINN National Sexual Assault Hotline is available 24/7 at (800)656-4673 or at www.rainn.org.
If you're reading this, it is okay to have baggage.
Baggage. What an interesting word we use when we are too scared to say what we really mean. It suggests I have somewhere to go, somewhere to escape to. But there's no leaving behind what we really mean when we say that word. My trauma will stick with me for a long time. There's no vacation away from my post-traumatic stress.
I am jolted every time I hear that word in my nursing classes. I forget that trauma, in the medical world, is usually physical and very common. Hearing it is a shock every time, when our society doesn’t frequently discuss the emotional damage of traumatizing events. A society where we expect people to stay composed, to be magically healed quickly after. Instead, we hide behind exaggeration: “oh my God, [insert everyday event here] was so traumatizing, I think I have PTSD.”
I am guilty of doing this too. It is easier to pretend burdensome inconveniences are where my trauma lies and joke it all off. My real symptoms are messy. They make people uncomfortable. The stigma of mental illness, and in my case, also sexual violence, is still very pervasive.
I will never forget myself, 15 years old in the midst of the Me Too movement. She tells herself that if this ever happened to her, she'd know what to do. She’ll report it. And be strong. And get justice. I didn't know what real strength was back then. I didn't know what it would take to get through every day. I didn't realize the possibility of true justice was gone the night it happened — the easy, beautiful denial of 15.
I was only 17. A child. I couldn't even buy a lottery ticket when I became one of four college-aged women. What a tragic set of winning odds.
And I didn't know the guilt that would come after. The endless attacks I would launch on myself, both for what happened that night and for “not getting over it” quickly enough. I felt like I was being dramatic, and I constantly told myself that other people had it worse, so I should just bottle it up and deal.
I felt guilty every time I woke up my roommates at 3 a.m., leaving for a night walk because the nightmares kept me up. Guilty every time an unknowing friend said his name and I turned to ice, ruining a perfectly good night. Guilty that I couldn’t be left alone in the dining halls because my sense of safety on campus was gone. Guilty for every time I've sobbed in the arms of a friend. I felt guilty for not telling my parents and then for telling my parents. Most of all, I felt guilty for not healing fast enough.
The guilt after a traumatic event can be all-consuming; however, it became easier to manage when I started to talk about what happened to me. Don’t get me wrong, opening up has been a long process as well. But every time I told someone, it got a little easier. Therapy was and continues to be immensely helpful. And friends and family have supported and loved me with the utmost grace. They let me not be okay on the difficult days, with zero questions asked.
I still feel guilty a lot. Many of the other symptoms I experienced also stuck around. But I believe that incremental growth is powerful and will get you a long way.
So I hope, if you're reading this, you know that whatever you’re feeling is okay. It doesn’t have to be neat or pretty or understandable to those who haven’t lived through your trauma. Someone who loves you wants to be there, wants you to talk to them, wants to stick by you, and will let you heal in their arms.
Most of all, if you are reading this, I hope you know that it is human to have baggage. And that you take all the time you need to heal.
Devin Hoffman, Boston College ‘23
