Believe me

My inclination is to trust, at face-value, any accusation of sexual assault. I'm not a statistician, but feel it's safe to assume only a minute percentage of sexual assault accusations are unfounded. People are not largely motivated to lie about this shit. For fuck's sake, who, in their right-mind, would fabricate a false sexual assault claim?

Answer: almost no one

Witness the vast masses of people who've locked assaults in a remote vault of their consciousness, some of whom will only stumble upon these secrets late in life.

When I graduated from college at 51 with my second 2-year degree, the world appeared rolled out in front of me, red-carpeted, ready for this perfectly-seasoned new Occupational Therapy Assistant to cruise forward. I'd been a high-honor student and received job offers from both my level 2 fieldwork sites the first year after graduating. I was poised for success.

Not long into my nascent professional life a quiet but perfect storm blew-up. I was working at a job I loved - really loved - when 3 fronts collided:

• my hormones went ka-flooey, launching a 4-year walkabout on shifting foreign estrogen-and-sleep deprived soil
• I had what I thought was an affair, which turned out to be a sexual predation experience that ripped open the hidden vault of sexual assaults I'd encrypted and archived under the label: my fault
• my son was hit by a car

It was a super slo-mo descent to being unemployed, as I slowly gave up on myself in various capacities. The dark suicidal days on the way down to the bottom were punctuated by functional stretches of hope. And when I reached bottom I chose to stay there and have a good look around - see what all the fuss was about.

Turns out there's a lot of shit down there - untriggered mines with the potential to blow a person's mind to itty bits. So slowly, mindfully, I've taken inventory of all those experiences (at least those I’m able to remember). All-the-while I relentlessly pursued evidence of my right-to-live. I engaged professional help and have had the good fortune to befriend a tribe of staunch supporters.

The steep climb back out is daunting, but at least now there is no hurry. I know what's back there. There's no Temple of Doom giant rock barreling down on me. I dug it up - beat the shit out of it - turned that soil - planted new seeds. I can proceed with intention and focus now, knowing I finally have my own back, along with the loving support of those who know me and love me anyway.

[pictured: my 1st morning attempt at knitting. I euthanized it.]