Healing, Honesty, Mind
#notokay #notokay #notokay Thank you, Donald Trump. No, really… thank you. If it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t be such a massive conversation around rape culture happening not just nationally, but globally. Thank you for being your authentic, complicated, problematic, violent, aggressive, despicable self in the public arena. Thank you for inadvertently pulling an ongoing conversation about rape culture into the limelight along with you, and giving it the attention it deserves. Also, thank you Kelly Oxford, among others on social media who invited women (and men! and transgendered people! and ALL PEOPLE!) to share their assault stories and instigated the #notokay movement. Politics aside; The questionable future of the US aside (though it’s hard to ignore)… There is something more important going on here. A nation is waking up. An entire body of people are being forced to realize that things are not okay. That not only do we silently accept and abide by rape culture daily, but that there are countless survivors who have been forced into silence. Why are so many silent? Because, rape culture.  Because we feel alone. Because we have been so consumed by the culture that surrounds us that we convince ourselves that our assault wasn’t a big deal. Because that very same culture tells us that rape and assault are something to be ashamed of. Because it’s easier to grin and bear it than it is to believe that our rights will be protected. Because petty criminals go to prison longer than rapists. Because we suppress it in order to survive. Because when we tell our story, even to a close friend or family member, we run the risk of being victim shamed or blamed. Because when that stranger calls us “babe” or worse, physically, aggressively, sexually approaches us… we freeze. Because when we organize an anti-rape culture rally, we are threatened by “male extremists.” Because our reality is that we may never feel safe in this life.  Although the comments made by Trump, and the social media attention that has followed can be extraordinarily triggering… we as a People needed to be triggered. And, as difficult as it is to own your experience as a survivor of sexual assault, more survivors need to speak up. This is not an occasional violation, it is a regular atrocity.  Two years ago, my memory was triggered by a powerful training experience, which inspired me to publish a piece of writing in which I owned up to an incident that occurred when I was 19-years-old (link here). At the time that I was writing this piece, I believed the rape referenced was my only repressed sexual assault. Over time, with support and with continued self-work, I have realized that my sexual trauma runs much deeper. The earliest sexual assault I can recall today occurred in 7th grade, at 12-years-old. A boy sat next to me in science class during a movie screening and put his hand in my pants and up my shirt. When class ended, I rushed over to a friend and told her what happened and she didn’t believe me, or maybe she just laughed it off. Unfortunately, the boy in question had the same class as me immediately after, and during that class he sat next to me again and continued to touch me. Why did this 12-year-old boy think it was okay to behave this way? Who taught him to do these things? And, equally as important… Why did no one teach me what to do if such an assault were to happen to me? Who to turn to? How to defend myself? We need to talk about rape culture in order to change it. We need to own up to our shared identity as survivors; we need to share our personal experiences, in order to reduce the stigma associated with sexual assault.  We need to teach our children about rape culture earlier in life (along with race relations, sexuality, and social sustainability… to name just a few). We should be educating our children far earlier about sexual assault and how to address it. We need to be talking about rape culture. Period. We need to stay angry. We need to stay inspired. We need to wake up and do something. Speak up. Act. Vote Smart. Respect. Compassion. Love. Don’t let this era be our last proud one as Americans, and as global citizens. You can help it get better from here, don’t sit back and allow it to get worse.
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When I first dropped into a regular asana practice, I had no idea the magnitude of what I was doing. I now give credit to yoga for every single one of my best qualities. It has taught me to be present, strong and compassionate. Most importantly, it taught me to love myself. The cultivation of those qualities has brought me to a place where I am finally able to talk about a time in my life where I was the antithesis of my present self—disconnected, weak and selfish. I was sexually assaulted in when I was 19-years-old. Four years later, I am now able to say those words without feeling shame. Only a few months ago, that traumatic experience was still locked up inside. I have since realized that confronting it is empowering. Now, I am determined to transform it into a gift. In the aftermath of the assault, I reacted in countless self-destructive ways. I felt ashamed of myself. I escaped from the present moment and my own body whenever possible. The majority of my time was spent disconnecting from others and from myself. Why? Because I felt something was wrong with me—that I was bad. Simply being in my own body caused me humiliation. It didn’t take long for my shame to be accompanied by guilt. The disordered behaviors I found myself stuck in did not make me feel any better. Not only did I feel bad, I knew that what I was doing was bad. Not only did I want to escape my body, I wanted to escape my behavior. I didn’t have the ability to end my destructive behaviors, so instead I hid them, which caused constant anxiety. I hid my habits from my family, friends and boyfriend. I continued to study hard and work hard so that no one could see how I was feeling or what I was doing. I was functional, but still self-destructive. My life went on in this way for nearly a year following my assault. Until my friend encouraged me to come with her to a Vinyasa class at a nearby yoga studio. It was my first time in years practicing in a room with a teacher leading class, rather than on a screen in front of me. To be honest, nothing “clicked.” I didn’t find instant clarity as my hands hit the mat, but I did feel a magnetic pull—right from the center of my gut—to come back. That’s when I started dropping into a regular practice. Yoga soon replaced running as my physical outlet. In the months following my assault, I would run almost every day. Not jog—run. I was running as if I could somehow run right out of my own skin. With yoga, I was slowing down, I was even staying still. I didn’t realize it, but I was starting to heal simply by learning to be present in my own body. I abandoned my destructive behaviors. I learned to come to my mat when I was feeling shame, or guilt, or disconnection. Over time, I began to cultivate self-love, compassion and connection. You know what? It wasn’t always easy. In fact, sometimes I left my mat feeling worse than when I started. I would leave class and cry, or I’d leave and be on edge for days, not wanting to go back. No matter how I resisted, though, that magnetic pull yanked me right from my core back into the practice. Even though coming to my mat and practicing bodily presence was a great step in recovering from the assault, I was completely and utterly unaware of just how great a step it was. I was gaining a connection between my mind and my body, my breath and my movement. I was gaining intentionality. Through dedication to my practice—on and off the mat—I slowly began to rebuild a sense of self and a sense of ownership over my body.
“Release anything that you are holding onto.” 
These words are often said in the yoga classroom. Something in me was ready to be released, but I needed more time. Eventually, it all started to connect. Through my disconnected behaviors, I had so effectively buried the memory of my sexual assault that it was nearly impossible to trigger it. Now that I was beginning to reconnect to my body and my world, I was getting back bits and pieces. Three years after I dedicated myself to my practice on the mat, and four years after my sexual assault, yoga has equipped me with the tools to begin to process. I know how to breathe, even when I am in an uncomfortable position. I know I am strong; if I can bear my least favorite pose for just another moment, I can bear anything. I know that I can trust myself. Most importantly, I know that I am here.
Side note to self: Jenna, you are here. You are in your body. You can sense the world around you, thanks to your body. Be in your body. No, it hasn’t always been great in here, but you are alive and you are here. Be here. This is real. This is happening.
Several months ago, it was (unsurprisingly) my yoga practice that finally pulled the emotional trigger, and brought four years of suppressed feelings bubbling up to the surface. I was literally knocked flat on my ass for a day. I felt like a train had hit me, and I wasn’t ready to accept why. It took an entire week of nightmares for me to realize that it was time to confront the reality of my sexual assault. It was real. It happened. I turned to one of my teachers and asked for help, and with her encouragement began seeing a counselor to process my trauma. Thanks to the skills I have acquired through my yoga practice, I feel prepared to process. No, I am not healed. No, I haven’t let go of all of the shame and guilt. Looking back, it is difficult not to feel guilty for the way I reacted after my assault. It still feels like an excuse when I say I did the best I could. I wish I had learned to love myself sooner. I am grateful every day for my physical yoga practice. Without it, I might still be disconnected, apathetic and miserable. Getting onto my mat taught me how to be present in my body, learn to reflect without feeling shame, and learn to feel without being out of control. Being a part of a community of like-minded yogis helps me to feel supported, connected and grounded enough to face my demons. And as I continue to process and grow, I do so with the intention of turning my traumatic experience into a gift. I want to use my gratitude for the practice of yoga to increase its magnetism—that familiar pull that caught me right in my gut—so that others might find a way to love and accept themselves in light of, not in spite of, their traumas.   Originally published November 2014 on elephantjournal.com
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