TW: Sexual Assault
April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.
As a newly 18-year-old freshman in college, I was raped. There’s no way of softening it–that is what happened. I’ve had my fair share of tragedy before, but nothing could have prepared me for that night and the aftermath that followed. That night, not only was my body violated, but also my mind, leading to my sanity and spirit being stolen.
What isn’t discussed enough is how to move forward after such a traumatic experience. The aftermath of sexual assault consumes every aspect of your life. But for some reason, there is more discourse on how to avoid getting raped rather than how to move forward after the fact. I wish someone would have told me about the things that followed, like dealing with panic attacks, reapproaching intimacy, all the emotions associated with it and so on.
For me, the biggest shift I felt was not having control or access to my mind and body anymore. While my body was still intact and in one piece, it felt like it wasn’t mine to inhabit anymore. Being present within my body wasn’t a viable option. It just wasn’t a place where I wanted to be anymore. And to make sure that I was disconnected from my body, I would put absolute crap into it and push its boundaries to an unhealthy extent. My body had become so numb that taking a bubble bath and being burned had the same feelings associated with it, the feeling of absolutely nothing.
For almost a year, I was distant from my mind and body even though it was right there in front of me. I had tried healthy coping mechanisms I’d read about, such as journaling, counseling, yoga and painting, but I never truly saw any major difference with these strategies. I still felt lifeless, slowly rotting away day after day, and soon I began letting my unprocessed pain hurt myself and those around me.
This past November, I’d been scrolling through TikTok and saw video after video of runners participating in the New York Marathon. I’m not sure why, but I started sobbing uncontrollably after. I was trying to figure out why these runners would willingly put themselves through something so physically and mentally painful and challenging. Seconds after watching those videos, I signed up for a half-marathon on a whim. Running was always something that I always wanted to do and incorporate into my daily routine, but never took it seriously enough.
April now also marks the month when I ran my first half-marathon.
Getting myself to train for this half marathon meant more to me than just the physical act of running. It meant recommitting to befriend my body once again. The trauma that immobilized me for the longest time made me feel stuck, whereas running physically mobilized me. It sounds cheesy, but there is something about that physical forward movement of running and feeling stronger after each run that makes thinking about those powerless, helpless moments easier. Running forces me to be in my body, connect with it and truly appreciate how strong it is. Running allowed me to have mastery and control over my body in a way that the physical effect of trauma did not allow.
I also appreciate the accessibility of running. Alcohol, drugs and trips were draining not only me but also my bank account. Running was a relatively cheaper alternative, with way more benefits than the latter. The unhealthy coping mechanisms that I was using prior to running were only distancing myself farther from my body and mind.
There was this invisible anchor on my feet, weighing me down, confining me to my bed for days on end. Running allowed me to pick myself up and set up a plan for my day. I’d pack up my bags and leave campus every chance I got during the spring semester last year. Running lets me make trips from one end of the city to the other instead. Running showed me the powerful effect of a runner’s high and how much safer that was compared to the high and sense of peacefulness that Xanax provided. I’d deprive myself of food in attempts to slowly disappear, and now for the first time in years, I’m eating enough to sustain my body and its needs. I finally stopped running away from myself.
Typically when you hear about the benefits of running, you hear about the physical effects, such as weight loss and muscle definition. While this remains true, I don’t run for my physical health, I run for my mental health. I don’t see running as purely a form of exercise and sport, I see it as an outlet, a time for meditation and processing all the thoughts roaming my head. While I see physical transformation results, I mainly pay attention to the transformations in my emotional, spiritual and mental well-being.
Posttraumatic growth (PTG) is a theory which states that trauma survivors can see positive growth within themselves after surviving adversity, such as the trauma associated with sexual assault. There are five parts of this theory showing that running is a PTG mechanism where you can see changes within yourself through “new opportunities or possibilities in life, increased sense of personal strength, change in relationships with others, greater appreciation of life in general and deepening of spiritual life.”
I no longer harm my body or mind. Instead, I see it as the greatest thing I will ever own. This vessel carries me through day-to-day activities and puts up with me no matter how much I or others hurt it. Running made me a more thankful, whole and happier person by making me spend alone time in my head, and I love who I have become because of it. I learned the power of being non-reactive and the power of forgiveness through my runs. Even my friends comment about the noticeable positive changes in my mood and behavior.
Dear running, you have given me my power back.
Dear running, you saved me from the most damaging thoughts going through my head and helped shut down the toxic internal monologue. You have shown me strength and endurance, passion for being comfortable alone and quiet in my head.
Dear running, you continue to save me every day. I am here now because of my 5 a.m. runs, my 11 p.m. runs and my rainy day runs. I’m here because of the runs where I didn’t feel like going on, but I did anyway. For the runs that turned into walks, the runs where I would sob and run simultaneously.
This isn’t to say that running is going to be the solution to resolving one’s trauma. For some, running ends up becoming a trigger because it mimics the same conditions that occurred during the assault: the increased heart rate, scattered breathing and difficulty speaking. Running can bring victims back to the moment of the attack. Running hasn’t “fixed me,” but it has made the process of healing more bearable.
The reason you start running isn’t always why you continue running. I run if I’m having a good or bad day. I run when I need to generate ideas for an essay. I run to keep seeing the beautiful trails and flowers on my path. After over a year of trial and error, I finally found something that has given me back control over my life, and I am eternally grateful.
Running has brought back the spark within me that I thought died that day.