“I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted
Ah, but I’m singing like a bird ‘bout it now” – Shrike by Hozier
These song lyrics are a reminder of why I venture into the painful work of healing from childhood trauma. They are my reminder that my own voice can help connect to and heal the wounded child within me from the prison of silence, pain, and shame she was left trapped in. They are my reminder that while her voice was taken from her, my voice can help set her free.
One day at school, he pulled me out of math class. He was angry with me about something – I don’t remember what. He was often angry with me – for talking to kids he didn’t approve of – for not being focused enough, dedicated enough, or just not being enough of whatever he wanted me to be for him. He was my coach, and he was my abuser. I remember that day clearly, standing in the empty inner hallway of my high school and taking his quiet verbal beating while the rest of the kids that weren’t secretly raped by their coach sat at desks in classrooms throughout the building. After several minutes passed my math teacher, Mr. B, opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He asked if everything was okay, but when he asked it felt as though he was looking with genuine concern directly at me. He wasn’t asking if we were okay. He was asking if I was okay. It felt as if I was nearly seen for the very first time. A lifeline was standing right in front of me in the form of my math teacher. I stood there and looked back at him, hoping my eyes could tell him what my voice could not say. I stood there screaming on the inside for help, but I was so full of confusion, pain, and shame that I didn’t even know what I needed help for. My abuser stepped in so quickly with a lighthearted comment and a pat on my back, sending me back into the classroom. He spoke for me that day – just like every other day. He taught me that I didn’t have a voice. The words that needed to be spoken could not come out of my mouth. Trapped in silence, my body followed the commands they were given. I walked back into my classroom, sat down at my desk, and resumed my best attempts at performing as a normal student – a normal kid, even though there was nothing normal about what was happening to me. Although Mr. B could not save me that day, he was the closest thing I ever felt to being rescued.
I think this young part of me is still longing for a Mr. B to truly see her – to rescue her. If she is able to make her shaky voice heard will help step towards her, or will it turn its back on her? She may not yet trust that I wish to help her – that’s fair as I don’t always trust myself with this task. Yet the one thing I am certain of at this point in my life is that I won’t let her feel silenced anymore. While she still feels trapped and unable to whisper, I will keep trying like hell to sing like a bird until I can set her free.
Wishing Tree 
Sara, this is beautifully written and moving. Among your best posts. Your writing and your voice are growing stronger.
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Thank you, William. Your words mean a lot. 💕
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The vulnerability in this piece is admirable and inspiring – great job you!!!!! Your writing has such a powerful and moving voice that makes your words truly alive! Well done my friend, keep shining ✨🖤Your inner child is very proud of you, I can feel it 💗💗💗
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Thank you so much, Ace. These words are truly heartfelt. 💗💗
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Beautiful and powerful. ♥️
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Thank you 💕
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On Friday & Monday in therapy I found that voice too❤️ the most therapeutic thing I’ve ever done was scream “mom” and have my therapist be my “mom” and rescue me in those abusive memories. I used to cry and feel trapped and even though my therapist was right there—screaming what I wanted to but couldn’t scream then, now, has been so healing for me. I thought I’d share bc it sounds like my mom is your math teacher in this particular case. Proud of you! Such hard work 💕
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Wow! That sounds like an incredibly impactful moment in your therapy. Allowing those parts to physically cry out for help while feeling supported must be so powerful and healing. Thank you for sharing! 💕
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This is so heartbreaking. I know that you will continue to heal and find your strong voice.
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Thank you 💗
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What a painful and powerful post. Such a horror you endured. I know that feeling of watching the rescue boat come to your island of terror only to see it sail away before you’re able to get on. So much to put on a small child. Adults should really look harder shouldn’t they rather than expect children to have voices loud enough. 💗💗💗
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Yes, absolutely. That is a weight of responsibility I sure feel as a parent.
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I was a victim, too. My folks would’ve been mad at me if I said anything
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💗💗
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I adore the beauty in this post. It’s a pleasure to have found your blog. You are an amazing writer Sara!
Keep blogging and sharing!❤️
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Thank you so much! Your kind words made my day. 💕
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Wow, Sara, this is such a powerful post. Touched me deeply. We can hear you, and I’m so glad we can. 💙❤️
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Thank you so much for this. It means a lot. 💕💕
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You’re most welcome, Sara. Always. ❤️💜
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💗
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