Dear Becks

I’ve been convinced for a very long time that you are the weakest person I know. I thought that you should’ve known better. You should’ve stopped the progression. You should’ve seen the red flags. You, of all people. I thought you already knew what it was like to be sexually abused and wouldn’t let it happen again. I hated you for all of that weakness. And I realize that it wasn’t weakness.

You had so many odds stacked against you. Yes, you had already been through sexual trauma, but that isn’t a reason to expect “better.” In fact, I see that with circumstances still very much the same, it makes a lot more sense that you let this person do what they did, that you froze and fawned rather than fought or tried to flee.

You’ve always been obedient. You’ve always allowed others to be your moral compass. That is an innocent response to all you went through before. I know you have never really had a sense of autonomy or control over your own body. That makes it very difficult to stand against someone doing something with your body that causes you to feel confused. I’ve hated you for years because of that confusion – for not choosing “right.” But it wasn’t really a choice, was it?

Yes, you had been through this kind of thing before and even attempted to work through it in a few months of therapy. But a few months of therapy didn’t address the bigger issue. It didn’t address the blame from others. It didn’t address the lack of support or help. It didn’t address the idea that you have always been allowed to say no, even if you didn’t think you did, that it wasn’t okay to have people treat you terribly for years because you were some sort of a slut or whore. It didn’t address how naive and ill-equipped you were. It didn’t equip you for the future incidents. It didn’t give you the confidence or skills to say “no” or trust yourself in the future. Nonetheless, I’m proud of the work done in that therapy setting. I’m also proud of the relationships you built with Matt, Leah, the kids, other family members, and so many others. And I’m so sorry that when you left that environment, many of the people you considered friends were no longer accessible.

You were set up for failure. You were back in grad school, where professors didn’t think you were truthful or could make it through the program. You struggled to find a place to live because all of your friends had one side of the story. You were alone and trying to prove yourself. You were trying to connect, be noticed, be liked, whatever. I know it was terrible for you to feel like you were an outsider where you had once felt so at home.

It makes a lot of sense that one person came into your life, providing you with everything you felt you were missing, and that it turned out disastrous – not because of who you are but because of who that person was.

I’m not angry with you anymore. It wasn’t fair. It sucked. Your loneliness, insecurity, and fear exploded the first time you were touched. I refused to see those things and instead blamed you for allowing it to continue. I even accused you of encouraging it, being responsible for it happening, and asking for it. I’m so sorry for not seeing your pain, fear, loneliness, and insecurity. I’m sorry I didn’t see your desperation, despair, and terror.

It was a lot for a 25-year-old to handle, who really had limited resources to begin with. And rather than acknowledge that, I attacked you for responding the best way you knew how.

And again, every time I thought about the timeline of events, I would get so angry. You “let” that person touch you when it didn’t feel right. Then you “let” that person touch you with clear sexual intentions without moving, speaking up, or changing some of your own actions. And then you “let” them rape you. Except you didn’t let them. You had no choice. You had only what felt safest. I know it didn’t feel safe. I know you felt trapped, afraid, ashamed, and out of control.

You felt so much but couldn’t express it or tell anyone. You really did feel trapped. And I’ve kept you trapped by saying terrible things to you, not believing the truth of what happened, silencing you, and physically destroying your body as you have aged. I mentioned before that we have scars, have had black eyes and bruises, and have starved. I did these things to punish and silence, but I also did those things because I, too, felt out of control. Neither of us knew how to handle the pain. I’m trying to figure that out for us. And I’m sorry for hurting you so much. I’m sorry I tried to kill you. I’m sorry people look at us now and make judgments because of those scars. Most of all, I’m sorry you were hurting so bad that physical pain was the only solution I could think of. I’m listening. I know you have a lot to say. You have years of really big, desperate feelings that have been unheard, unnoticed, and uncared about. I care. I feel broken too. I want to heal us. I’m sorry it has taken so long.

43-Year-Old Becks

The above letter is the second one I have written to my 25-year-old self. I write them, bring them to therapy, and then read them. Without going into great detail about what happened when I read this letter, I realized how devastating it was to feel so out of control, unsupported, and alone, and I had to grieve that. I am still grieving that. I have more to grieve – a lot more.