I’ve been asked throughout the course of my calling as a public survivor how I knew when I was ready to speak out. “When will I know that I’m ready to share, too?”
The night before the closing arguments in my attacker’s trial, I distinctly remember my dad and me sitting at our kitchen table. I had been working with a local reporter in the weeks leading up to this final court battle. I knew in my heart I needed to tell my story—the profound impact one man’s violent choice had on not just me as his victim, but also on my family, my friends, and my entire community.
My parents long recognized they’d raised a tenacious daughter. Once I decided on something, nothing could stand in my way. But it was with that quality in mind that my dad drew in a deep breath, met my gaze, and said “Kimmy, are you sure you want to do this? Because once it’s out there, you can’t take it back.”
He of course meant my name. The name he and my mom picked out well in advance of my birth. The name he called as I took my first steps toward him. The name he cheered from the bleachers as I ran hurdles and spiked volleyballs and crossed the stage at graduation. The name that he and mom heard my roommate use alongside the word “raped” the morning she called them—my screams nearly drowning out her voice from somewhere in the background.
The name that had been protected by the media reporting on the dramatic tale of a 20-year-old college girl who had been burglarized and raped by a stranger in her own bed.
But I was ready. I could feel that truth in every fiber of my being. Come what may, my story needed to be shared.
As anxious as my parents must have felt, they supported me in my choice to shed my anonymity. The following afternoon we received a guilty verdict which further solidified my resolve. As the packed courtroom was released and my rapist was remanded to the Weld County jail to await sentencing, Greeley Tribune crimes and courts reporter Rebecca Boyle approached me with her pen and notepad.
“Ok Kim, are you sure you want to do this?”
With the full support of my parents and allies, I stood resolute in my response.
“Absolutely.”
I gave my consent to this journalist and this paper knowing they had been careful and trauma-informed in their care with my disclosures. Rebecca had taken the time to meet with me on multiple occasions prior to trial and never pushed me to share more than I was willing.
I lived as an unidentified victim in the media and to the public for an entire year before I made the choice to release my name. I was grateful for the privacy and did not fully recognize how valuable it was. Still, I have never regretted my choice to speak my narrative, thus reclaiming the power victimization once held over me.
During the months following my sexual assault, there were many trauma manifestations I was not prepared to navigate. I would share these struggles in real time with my parents, my friends, and my boyfriend. Those are what I’d come to refer to as wounds. I could not yet control their “bleeding”. I needed my support system and therapeutic help to heal those mental and emotional injuries. They were easily reopened through triggers, and I was frequently revictimized while navigating the criminal justice system.
For me, I knew once I could speak from a place of education and experience without being controlled by my emotional reactions that sharing could help others. As survivors, we must be cognizant that our disclosures can cause a transference of trauma to the very people we are trying to help. The calling to share publicly does not need to be devoid of feeling. In fact, I’d encourage you to express your emotions. They make us who we are.
The experience of surviving a violent crime left its mark on me in many ways. But instead of an open wound, I’ve healed that trauma to a scar. It blends in, but the everlasting presence may be faintly noticeable at times.
This metaphor applies to any type of traumatic event we may experience throughout our lifetime. The process of turning your wounds into scars takes time, hard work, and a lot of support. But once you’ve healed enough, you’ll know.
So my advice would be this: Only share publicly outside of your close support system when you are not seeking anything in return—not validation, not answers, not encouragement. Don’t share while still searching for stitches and band-aids to stop the pain. When you’re ready, you’ll know. And your scars will let others know that they too, can heal.
