Let’s Talk About the Hard Thing

Photo by Rachel Perrella Photography

TW: Sexual Assault

Friends. I have been both yearning for and dreading the process of writing this story down. I’ve yearned for it because writing helps me step outside the narrative, take a bird’s eye view of my life, and speak to myself like I’d speak to a buddy. However, I’ve also felt dread because reliving this story hurts; it’s messy and sometimes embarrassing. I feel like I’ve yet to master the art of turning towards the Lord with my pain instead of questioning His authority and building up defenses in my heart. And I just don’t know what it looks like to talk about my experience when it doesn’t have a tidy ending.

I also know that countless others have suffered events more horrendous than what I’ve been through. So, if I’m honest, I feel some shame talking about it at all. But what I have promised you, as my readers and friends, is to stand in the light. To tell you the ugly truth, for better or for worse, and pray that it somehow draws us both closer to Jesus. Because though I may not fully understand the dance between God’s sovereignty and the effects of the fallen world, I believe my Shepherd is with me… and this story isn’t over.

———

Early this year, I signed up for something called Book Camp. It’s a two-day retreat geared towards women who feel called to write books but don’t know where to start. At any other point in my life, I would have been too insecure to even consider attending something like that. But after some prayer, I talked to Jasper and my parents—my loudest writing cheerleaders—and they emphatically encouraged me to go. “Now is the time, Mel! Open yourself up to being used by God. He has mighty plans for you!” So for what felt like the first time, I chose something brave. I decided to put myself out there in a way that could be humbling and embarrassing, but could also maybe be pretty exciting. I never allowed myself to dream big like this before; me, a potential published author? I was giddy, wholeheartedly completing the prep work about readers, goals, and outlines. I couldn’t wait to arrive in Charleston and get my book going!

The morning I planned to leave, I booked myself a massage here in Greenville to start my self-care weekend right. I signed up to have a female therapist online, but when I laid down on the table, a man came in. I thought to myself, “It’s okay. It’s not your preference, but it’ll be fine.” And everything was fine, until it wasn’t. 

I won’t get into the details, but I was sexually assaulted in that massage room. I was not raped, but he crossed a very clear boundary until I quietly whispered, “No.” But other than that softly spoken word, I froze. I did not scream and run out of the room. I did not report him to his boss. I just laid there, stunned, and then packed up my stuff, paid him as quickly as possible (hastily tipping him 15% on the touch screen), and left. 

When I got home, I told Jasper what happened, and tears grew in his eyes. He reached out his arms to me and said, “Babe… are you okay? That man assaulted you.” But my brain was still frozen. I said, “No, he didn’t. It was probably a misunderstanding or a cultural difference. I don’t think he meant anything sexual by it. It’s fine. I’m fine.” So I hugged him, packed up my car, and drove to Charleston in a fugue state. 

I stopped to get gas before reaching my friend’s house, and as I waited in the car, I did a very human thing. I googled what happened to me and asked, “Is that considered sexual assault?” And Google was very clear. 

YES, you were assaulted. 

NO, that is never okay in a massage context. 

YES, there are regulations in place that clearly state what he did was illegal. 

YES, you should report what he did. 

Through some gentle nudging from Jasper and one of my best friends, I called a confidential sexual assault hotline to ask them what to do. They told me I can’t report a Greenville County assault while outside of Greenville County. But they encouraged me to go to a hospital to get STD testing and potentially collect skin cell samples. So I did that. I kept doing the next right thing, not knowing what was going on or how I got here. But then the hospital told me there was nothing they could do—the man’s mouth and/or genitals were not involved—and they sent me home with a $300 bill. That’s when I cried for the first time. I felt like a fool. Assaulted enough to call a helpline, not assaulted enough for doctors to help me collect evidence.

Why did I continue with the massage? Why didn’t I scream, run, kick, punch, SOMETHING other than just lie there? And why did I pay him? AND TIP HIM?? I felt so unbearably humiliated. Like it was all my fault. Like maybe I did something to give that man the wrong idea. Or maybe Google was wrong, and I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Stop being a drama queen, Mel. You weren’t raped. And you had the power to stop him, but you didn’t. So own it, wash your face, and move on.

I decided to continue with the plan to attend Book Camp. This man was not going to stand in the way of God’s call on my life. So I just kept going. Kept doing the things. Went to church, ate lunch with my friend, and laid out my clothes for the next morning. But that afternoon, something hit my stomach like I’d never experienced before. It was probably a mix of trauma and kid germs, but I couldn’t stop vomiting to the point that I knew Book Camp was no longer an option. So deeply humiliated and feeling like a burden, I told my friend I was going to drive home that night. I was just done with this whole doomed experience, and I didn’t want to risk getting my friend and her sweet family sick too. So I drove home, puking in a bag in the middle of the night, weeping in the car to Jasper, wondering, “Does God hate me? Why is all of this happening?”

———

So that’s my story. I wish it had a neat and tidy ending.

But whatever gastrointestinal distress hit me that night lasted a full two weeks. Longer than any stomach bug I’ve ever experienced. 

My writing stalled significantly, and I struggled to believe any of the stuff I was going to write my book about.

When I went through the process of reporting the assault to the police, it ended with a judge deeming my case a “he said-she said,” with not enough concrete evidence to move forward.

Nothing satisfying happened. Nothing at all. Life just moved on, and I remained—just as I was on that massage table—frozen in time.

Friends, I wish I could give you a reason for these events. I wish I could say, “I’m so glad God taught me this lesson in this way.” But no, that’s not real life. Some things are just awful and don’t make sense. Sometimes it is really hard to trust God—to understand what possible purpose could come out of something so dark. I have no emotionally satisfying answers for you, I’m sorry to say. But I can tell you what I did next, through the strength of Christ: I kept going to therapy. I got extra vulnerable with godly community around me. I cried. I raged. I journaled. I worshiped. I brought all my messy emotions to the feet of Jesus. None of these decisions fixed anything, but they helped me move forward, little by little. And eventually, I learned a couple of hard-fought truths. So, in place of emotionally satisfying answers, dear readers, I offer you the following:

1. Lament well and often: “I am beginning to see that much of praying is grieving.” -Henri Nouwen

If you’ve read any of my writing lately, it keeps coming back to the concept and practice of lament. Because, yes, Mel is (and will forever be) in her lament era. Crying out to God in anger and hurt and confusion and sadness. Whispering through tears, “I want to trust you, I really do. But I don’t know how to believe with all my heart that You are good. Will you teach me to believe?” I’m learning that, of all the places I could’ve ended up, lament was probably the best landing pad for my soul. Because it didn’t bypass my lived experience—it welcomed it. I got to bring my ugly tears to Jesus and know that the “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief” understood it completely (Isaiah 53:3).

He doesn’t judge or condemn my feelings of betrayal. We serve a God who cares deeply about the pain of His people, and He always has. In Exodus 3, God says, “‘I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out... and I am concerned about their suffering.’” And let’s not forget Psalm 56:8, my current favorite verse: “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." Even I don’t remember my pain as thoroughly as the Father does. I’m just so thankful that’s the Person I get to vent to, you know?

But maybe the best part about lamenting to the God of the universe is the fact that you’re talking to the only One who can actually make things right. He is enacting a real-life, actually-gonna-work-out plan of redemption through which justice will flow like a river and the darkness of sin will be a faint memory. Revelation 21 says, “Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth”.... I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!””

I wouldn’t have chosen this story for myself—not in a million years. But I learned this technique of picturing the lowest moments of my life, and then inserting Christ into that picture with me. Now, when I visualize myself frozen on that massage table, I see my Jesus, crouched down next to my face, holding my hand, crying, “I’m here. I’m right here. You’re not alone. And I will make this right, my love. I will restore what the locusts have eaten.” Lament brought me to the place where I could sit in the tension of, yes, this horrible thing happened to me, AND God never left my side. Both things are somehow true. 

2. The way you speak to yourself matters: "No one is more influential in your life than you are, because no one talks to you more than you do." -Paul David Tripp

It was good for me to write an honest account about the event, because I forgot how unkindly I was speaking to my soul. Like, I blamed myself for maybe-somehow-possibly giving the guy the wrong idea? What in the world?! 

My therapist often gives me assignments wherein I write letters to versions of myself: Friend Mel, Wife Mel, Writer Mel, Young Mel. I am to tell her the radical truth and also speak to her like a friend who needs encouragement and a soft place to land. This practice has helped me develop deep compassion for myself—replacing shame narratives with gracious ones—and discover what healthy habits and boundaries I want to incorporate moving forward. So for the next few paragraphs, I’m going to speak to Assaulted Mel the way I would if she were my pal, not someone freshly traumatized and grasping for the closest person to blame—namely, herself.

Oh, sweet friend. You are so loved. I am sorry beyond words that this happened to you.

The way you’ve spoken to yourself is a common response to trauma. But I need you to believe the words I’m saying with every ounce of strength you have: you are not to blame for any part of what happened. What was done to you was a violation of your will and your humanity.

Do you know what I see when I read your story? I see a girl who put her trust in a business because she had no reason not to. I see a girl whose therapist request was not honored by that business. And then I see a girl whose sympathetic nervous system kicked in as a response to a huge breach of safety. You came to that place to be taken care of, and instead, you were taken advantage of. So your body’s response to that acute level of stress was to freeze and then flee as soon as possible. It did what it had to do. You did not go into that room prepared with a 5-point plan for how to react when sexually assaulted. And even if you somehow, magically, had that plan in place, you are still human. And your amygdala told you to survive the best way it knew how. It said, “Freeze.” It said, “Flight.” 

But do you know what else I see? I see a girl who told trusted people right away. Do you know how brave that is? Many people do not have the capacity to do that, which is also a very normal, human response. This world is unkind to assault survivors, and we often blame the very ones we are meant to defend. But somehow—I think through the women who have courageously gone before you—you said, “This thing happened to me. What should I do about it?” And you brought it to loved ones and doctors and specialists. You advocated for yourself, with shakiness and fear, through those first 48 hours, and then in every moment since. You did it for the women who would come behind you… But you also did it for yourself. Because just the fact that it happened to you matters. You are a person made in the image of God. And that alone makes you worthy of dignity.

I know you battle shame about your story—that it’s not worth telling because there wasn’t penetration or violence. But God does not compare tragedies. He does not tell you that you should count yourself lucky because other people have it a lot worse than you. God never speaks like that. Period. The perpetuator of shame is the enemy of our souls. He would have you stay silent and crumple in on yourself. But “those who look to [Yahweh] are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame” (Psalm 34:5). Your King is not accusing you or judging you or condemning you. “Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance” 
(Isaiah 61:7). Take heart, dear friend. This is not the end of your story. Your face will continue to radiate the glory of God, for He is turning your mourning into dancing and your sorrow into joy. He will redeem what has been lost, and He will do it with compassion and gentleness. 

He’s not in a hurry for you to heal. So take your time. Cry when you need to. Laugh when you get to.

Be angry, be happy, be lost, be found.

Your Shepherd is by your side through it all, and there He will remain.

3. The Lord can redeem even this: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done—the saving of many lives” (Genesis 50:20).

Did you know that someone is sexually assaulted every 68 seconds in the United States alone? And that is just one of the injustices humanity faces as we inch further and further from Eden. Greed, corruption, racism, abuse… the list of brokenness in this world goes on unendingly. It’s enough to make even the most certain of us grow disillusioned with faith from time to time. So, how do we sit in the tension of the “now and not yet”? What on earth could keep us hopeful and soft-hearted in a world rife with darkness?

I’ll never have a tidy answer to that question either. But I can tell you where I’ve landed today: I don’t believe God to be the author of my pain, but I know He is the Redeemer of it. And while the enemy would love us to stay alone, silent, and bitter, our Good Father invites us to let the light in. 

So why don’t we widen the net a little bit? You might have a story of assault like mine, but maybe you carry a different pain. Maybe you’re angry at God because you lost someone you love. Maybe you’re struggling with a hidden sin. Maybe you’re hurting from a childhood trauma. Maybe you’re just lonely. I don’t know how the enemy, sin, and this fallen world have hurt you personally. But can I gently invite you into something, as someone who is hurting right along with you? 

Let someone in.

Talk to someone you trust about the grief encircling your soul, especially if it’s a part of your story you’ve never shared before. You certainly don’t have to write about it online like me. You could talk to your mom or your small group. A close friend or a therapist. I don’t know who your person is, but I know the Lord will make it clear who He wants you to confide in. And I believe He will give you the courage to speak when the time comes.

Here’s the thing: we weren’t designed to heal on our own. That’s one of the messy parts about being a human—we’re hurt by people and we’re healed alongside people. I know that feels counterintuitive. But it’s the way life works on this side of heaven. Our pain will eat us alive if we leave it in the basement of our hearts. When we open the door… well, it’s kind of brutal, and I can’t promise it’ll feel great. But I can promise you you’ll learn a lot. I can promise you it’ll bear good fruit. And I can promise you the Redeemer will be with you and the people around you every step of the way. He makes beautiful things out of dust, friends. And what the enemy intends for evil, God can and will use for our good and His glory. 

So may we bravely step into the light. And may our vulnerability produce more vulnerability. I believe it can change the world, one redeemed story at a time.

Finally, to the women who may hear echoes of their experience in my story, I hope you know I am here for you. I would never claim to be an expert in trauma therapy, but I can be your friend. I’m happy to grab a coffee and listen to your story. We can just cry and pray and not fix anything. I just need you to know you’re not alone in your pain. Attached below are some resources/tools that have proven helpful to me and/or been recommended to me throughout my therapy journey. I pray something clicks with you as you pursue healing through the strength of Christ.

Whatever you’re facing today, you are seen and you are loved.

Let’s keep going.

Resources:

-Tin Man Ministries: My Tin Man coach is Tena DeVaney in Greenville, SC. She helped me through this particular trauma in 100 different ways. I am so thankful for her ministry. (Her husband, Todd, is also a coach and works with men, if that’s helpful to any Greenville guys out there.)

-Re:Generation Care and Recovery Ministry: I attended through Fellowship Greenville in Greenville, SC, but many churches offer this ministry.

-Onsite Therapy, Counseling, and Wellness Retreats: I have not attended, but I’ve heard wonderful things about their retreats, especially for acute depression/trauma.

-Jon Hagen at Grace Harbor Ministries: I’ve never seen him personally, but he has taught us through the re:Gen process many times, and his heart is so soft and full of God’s grace and compassion.

-ANY GOOD THERAPIST! Ask your friends/family for recommendations! (Mine is below.)

Tools:

-ART Therapy: A special kind of therapy that works through the creative process to heal your brain’s connection to traumatic moments. It’s hard to explain, especially as a non-therapist. But Jasper and I see Lorene Hutchinson in Greenville, SC. We’ve been going to her for years, both for talk therapy and ART, and she rocks. Would wholeheartedly recommend her to locals. But for non-Greenvillians, look up ART-trained therapists in your area.

-EMDR Therapy: I’ve done this a few times in the past, and it’s pretty incredible. A similar tool to ART, but different approach.

-DBT: These techniques are simple to incorporate and were created to develop mindfulness, distress tolerance, and emotional regulation in your body as you heal. Look for a therapist who can train you in these practices!

-SASHET journaling practice: A simple emotional check-in I complete every day. SASHET stands for Sad, Angry, Scared, Happy, Excited, and Tender. I stop at each emotion to process, “Am I feeling this anywhere in my body and mind today?” And then I write it down, no matter how big, small, valid, or petty the reason is. It has helped me get in the habit of paying attention to my feelings and bringing them before God instead of stuffing them down or shaming myself for feeling them at all. Feelings are God-given. They shouldn’t become idols, but they can be very useful tools when noticed and honored correctly. Tin Man helped me in this regard to form a healthy theology about emotions. For local folks, I can’t recommend Tena and Todd enough.