*Warning: This article contains reference to childhood sexual abuse.

“Be bold, be brave enough to be your true self.” – Queen Latifah

In my previous article, “Time heals all wounds. Or does it?”, I shared how two significant events changed my life. Enduring prolonged sexual abuse during my formative years, then losing my only brother to cancer seven years later, left me bewildered, shaken, unable to recognize myself. Yet, there I was in all my shining glory. 

For most of my adult life I have sought to reclaim myself, to not be defined by tragedy, trauma, self-doubt, or insecurity. In all facets of life, I worked hard to prove myself. There was one aspect I consistently got wrong: the only person I needed to prove myself to was me. I spent thirty plus years missing me, thinking I had to do more, be more just to look in the mirror. Whatever I did, I wore a sense of frustration, seemingly agitated with an undercurrent of anger. For a long time, the ones I love felt they had to walk on eggshells around me. I was unaware of my tone, of the level of heightened anxiety I created in others by not being my true self. 

On one occasion, while I was cursing the ills of humankind, I was reminded, “you are mad at a world that is not one bit mad at you.” This comment landed with a punch. For one of the first times, I was left speechless. For as long as I could remember I had been fighting misguided opinions, injustices of life I had faced yet I chose to project that hurt on everyone else. I am not proud of that version of myself. I missed out on many moments that could have brought joy by lamenting events I kept beneath the surface, fearful that my vulnerabilities would show through the cracks. In trying to be strong, I had built such a wall around myself that any healing love could not get in. I had not been strong, I had been fighting a losing battle to reclaim myself, my essence, by not acknowledging and confronting matters that I felt were too painful.

My brother and I were very different, but we were very close. His illness was not the fault of anyone. He had great medical staff, difficult surgeries, unbearable treatment, until it was done. I am not bitter at losing him. I had been sad a long time, and a part of me will always feel sad. Through the years of struggle, raising two boys that will never know that cool uncle, there is one simple truth, I just miss my brother.

The sexual abuse I faced was not my fault. It took me a long time to say that. It was decades after the abuse stopped before I was able to tell others. When I finally did, the comment “why didn’t you leave? You knew it was wrong” is what was said. That hurt. It was time I spoke my truth, brought the perpetrator to task. Yes, to reclaim myself! The journey of the years since that revelation has had many difficulties.

I still have to work on me every day. People close to me mean everything. My pets, two cats-one with three legs-and a blind dog who snores like an old man, bring tremendous joy. I have found my voice in fighting for those formerly incarcerated and stigmatized, and advocating for the homeless. My past no longer defines me, but an important part of my tenacity and determination. Reclaiming myself will be ongoing every day and that is okay. Today, I like me.