Public

There is an expectation that comes along with being a survivor. Actually, there are a whole hell of a lot of expectations thrust upon us, but one is silence. When people learn of my status, let alone hear my survival story, they’re shocked. Mostly, they’re shocked by my choice to get loud, to go public, and to stay public. I think they want me to fold into myself. I think that they think that would make them more comfortable.

Survivors don’t owe you our stories, ever, for any reason. I will never believe otherwise. It just so happens that the attack on my life dictates so much of my life, that my path has been public. What was I going to do? Scrape together enough communication to ask my mother to tell folks I was in a gnarly car crash instead? With handprint shaped bruises on my throat? No. Or could you even imagine me trying to pull off a ruse of being NOT brain injured? Holy wow. So yeah, I couldn’t hide this one. I can’t hide it. And I shouldn’t have to.

I exist. I exist and move through the world in a very specific way because of the attack. I shouldn’t have to hide away. But, more than that, sharing has helped me heal. Sharing has given me the space to be authentic and honest, so there is no hiding from the pain. There is no breeding ground for shame. There is no secrecy. It is what it is and I am who I am, and I don’t have to explain it beyond that. It has given me community too. It has given me the ability to reach people who thought they were alone, when none of us really were. And, it has given me the ability to keep seeking justice, to keep having hope, to keep fighting. Not to mention, going public has meant some reassurance in knowing if my attackers return, they won’t get away with it.

Despite all of this, I still get asked why I am public, a lot. I am asked why my social media is not private. I am asked why I share so bluntly about dangers I face. I am asked why I get loud and stay loud on every platform I have. I am asked, if we’re being real here, why I am not silent. I am asked why I have any public presence. I am asked why, in all this danger, I don’t disappear into myself. As if that is not dangerous.

These inquiries have become more frequent since publishing the piece on my stalker (see “Targeted”). I understand they mostly come from a place of concern for my safety, but if anybody thinks I’ve had safety, you haven’t been paying attention. Go ahead and read my survival story again. I’ll wait…

Safety in silence is an illusion we’ve all been sold for an incredibly long time. I understand that. But my voice matters. It matters all the time. It matters when you’re inspired by it, and when you’re uncomfortable about it, and even when you somehow think it makes me more unsafe than I already am. I need to be heard. I need to feel heard. That is about the only sense of safety I ever feel. So, why should I trade that in? For my attackers? For some stalker? For your comfort zone? For your illusion of my safety? For your feelings? Nah.

If two attempted murderers who permanently disabled me couldn’t silence me, nothing will. I’ll stay public. I’ll stay loud. I’ll stay here and hopeful and heard. And you’ll get used to it.