Wings or an Anchor
by Teresia Smith
There are some things in life we never expect to have to survive. Sexual assault is one of them.
For those who live through it, the assault itself may be only the beginning.
What comes afterward can be a long, confusing road that most people never see.
It happens quietly, sometimes behind closed doors, and often long after everyone else thinks life should have returned to normal.
People ask, “Are you okay?”
It sounds like a simple question. But for someone who has experienced sexual assault, “okay” isn’t always a simple place to get to.
From the outside, everything may look perfectly normal.
You go to work.
You answer your phone.
You laugh at someone’s joke.
You make dinner.
You take care of your family.
You keep showing up.
But then something happens.
A smell.
A song.
A particular place.
A memory.
Sometimes even an innocent touch.
And suddenly, you’re back in a moment you’d give almost anything to leave behind.
That’s one of the things people don’t always understand about trauma.
It doesn’t operate on our timetable.
Healing doesn’t come with a calendar.
There isn’t a date circled on the wall when you’re supposed to be “over it.”
There isn’t one right way to respond.
Some people talk about what happened.
Some don’t.
Some seek counseling right away.
Others aren’t ready for a long time.
Some days you may feel strong.
Other days, getting out of bed may be the biggest thing you accomplish.
That doesn’t mean you’re going backward.
It means you’re human.
Maybe that’s something we need to understand better as a society.
Surviving doesn’t always look brave or dramatic.
Sometimes it looks very ordinary.
Sometimes surviving means getting through the day.
Sometimes it means saying no.
Sometimes it means finally telling someone what happened.
And sometimes it means reminding yourself, again and again, that what happened to you was not your fault.
Even when you know that in your head, it can take a long time for your heart to believe it.
There is a quote I’ve thought about often:
“The thing you are dealing with will either become your wings or your anchor.
You decide.”
I like the thought behind those words, but I think they need to be handled carefully.
A survivor didn’t choose the assault.
They didn’t choose the fear, the anger, the sleepless nights, the questions or the memories that came afterward.
No one should ever suggest otherwise.
But eventually, there can be a moment when a person begins to realize that while they couldn’t choose what happened to them, they can begin to choose what happens next.
Not all at once. Not perfectly. And certainly not alone.
Maybe the anchor is the shame someone else tried to put on your shoulders.
The wings are deciding you don’t have to carry it.
Maybe the anchor is silence.
The wings are finding your voice.
Maybe the anchor is believing that one terrible thing has defined the rest of your life.
The wings are realizing it hasn’t.
And sometimes moving forward doesn’t look like some grand transformation.
Sometimes it is simply waking up the next morning and deciding to keep going.
That matters. Rebuilding matters. Learning to trust again matters.
Learning to feel comfortable in your own skin again matters.
Healing doesn’t mean forgetting what happened.
It doesn’t mean pretending it didn’t matter.
And it doesn’t necessarily mean forgiving the person who hurt you.
Sometimes healing is simply being able to say:
This happened to me, but it will not be the only thing that happens to me.
Maybe that’s where the wings begin.
And maybe the rest of us have a role in that, too.
Our job isn’t to tell survivors how quickly they should heal.
It’s not to tell them what they should have done differently.
It’s not to ask questions that make them feel responsible for someone else’s actions.
Maybe our job is much simpler.
Listen. Believe them.
Be there.
Ask what they need.
Sometimes being there for someone doesn’t require the perfect words.
Sometimes it just means not walking away when the conversation gets uncomfortable.
An assault can change someone’s story.
But it doesn’t have to write the ending.
The anchor may be heavy.
There may be days when it feels too heavy to lift.
But with time, support and the freedom to heal in their own way, a survivor can begin to see that they are more than what was done to them.
And when they’re ready, they can decide where they want to go from there.
Not because they chose what happened.
But because, finally, they get to choose what happens next.
Crisis Services of North Alabama offers free and confidential services to survivors of sexual assault and intimate partner violence.
You may reach our Jackson County office at 256.574.5826.
We also offer a 24/7 HELPline at 256.716.1000 where you can reach a trained crisis counselor. Reach out.
You are not alone.
