Chapter 10: Some Things Don’t Stay Buried

Disclaimer: This post references sexual assault, trauma responses, medical triggering, and gambling relapse/urges. I do not always add content warnings, but I believe in taking a gender-based violence-informed approach and understand that these topics may be difficult for some readers. All 10 of you :)

I don’t want to go into every detail.

But years ago, in a back room of a restaurant, an older man sexually assaulted me.

I never told anyone. Not my friends, not my family. I kept it to myself for years. A lot of that was shame. Not about what actually happened, but about what I thought people would think.

What was I wearing? Did I somehow lead him on? Did I do something to make it happen?

Those thoughts stayed with me longer than the event itself.

So I said nothing.

I recently made a new friend, and for some reason, I told them.

I didn’t plan to. It just came out in the middle of a conversation. I didn’t go into detail, and as soon as I said it, I almost wished I hadn’t.

I still don’t really understand why I said it.

But I think sometimes things sit under the surface for so long that they come out on their own. Not in a controlled way. Not when you’ve decided you’re ready. Just when something in you can’t hold it in the same way anymore.

I had been having a few medical issues, and I had an internal ultrasound scheduled. I do not like being touched by strangers, and I think everything I had spoken about, and everything I had not, was starting to affect me more than I wanted to admit.

In the days leading up to it, I noticed the thoughts starting to come back more often. Not always full memories, but pieces of them. Feelings. That sense of not being in control.

I tried to block it out.

I told myself it was just a medical appointment. That it was routine. That I needed it.

I stayed logical about it as long as I could.

But underneath that, something else was happening.

The closer it got, the harder it was to ignore.

The morning of the appointment, I didn’t want to go.

I came up with every excuse.

“I’ll reschedule.”“It’s not urgent.”“I don’t feel up to it today.”

All of it sounded reasonable in the moment.

But I knew what it really was.

For me, the hardest part is not being in control of my own body.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman. If someone is too close, or touching me in a way I’m not fully comfortable with, something in me reacts.

If I feel safe, I can usually manage it.

If I don’t, I flinch. I shut down. I feel like I’m not fully there.

It’s not something I decide. It just happens.

During the ultrasound, that feeling came back.

I froze. I felt the blood rush out of my body, I felt like I was going to pass out.

I knew where I was. I knew I was safe. But my body didn’t respond to that.

It felt like I just had to get through it and wait for it to be over.

I could feel myself pulling away internally, even though I was still physically there.

And without trying to, I started remembering things I don’t usually let myself think about.

His eyes.His hands.That feeling of not having a choice.

It’s strange how something from over 20 years ago can still show up like that.

Not constantly. Not every day.

But when it does, it’s immediate.

After the appointment, I didn’t feel relieved.

I felt like I needed to get out of my own head.

That’s when the urge to gamble showed up.

Strong.

Two days earlier, I had relapsed. So it didn’t even feel like a big decision at first. It felt almost expected.

Like I had already crossed the line, so what difference would it make to do it again.

That’s the part I’m starting to notice more.

How quickly my brain moves from feeling something I don’t want to feel to looking for a way to shut it off.

Not to solve anything. Just to not sit in it.

I went back and forth with it.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself I’d deal with it later. I told myself I deserved some kind of break from how I was feeling.

None of those thoughts felt extreme. They felt normal.

That’s what makes it hard to catch in the moment.

I didn’t place a bet.

Not because I had some big realization. Not because I suddenly felt better. Not because I had everything under control.

I didn’t.

I just didn’t do it.

Two days ago, I did.

Today, I didn’t.

I don’t really have a clean explanation for the difference.

It took me years to process what happened back then.

And even now, I don’t think it’s something that’s fully “done.”

It shows up in ways I don’t expect.

In medical rooms. In moments where I don’t feel in control. In the background, before I even realize what I’m reacting to.

I ended up working in a field focused on supporting victims of gender-based violence in community housing.

At the time, I didn’t connect it directly to what happened to me.

Looking back, it makes more sense.

Maybe part of me was trying to understand it. Or trying to make it mean something. Or trying to be the kind of support I didn’t have.

I’m not sure.

What I do know is this,

Some days feel manageable. Some days don’t.

Sometimes things stay quiet for a long time. And sometimes they come back all at once.

And when they do, the urge to escape them doesn’t feel dramatic or extreme.

It feels practical.

Today wasn’t a turning point.

It wasn’t a breakthrough.

It was just a day where a lot came up, and I didn’t make it worse.

And for now, that’s enough.