I have my first podcast interview today.
What is my life? That feels so absurd to type.
Seeing as discussing my abuse publicly is completely at odds with my every survival instinct; I assumed I’d be a nervous wreck this morning.
Now that the day is here, however, I’m somehow not afraid at all.
Don’t look now: Introversion as a vulnerable trait
I grew up deeply introverted and socially anxious. At recess, you’d be far more likely to catch me with my nose in a book than playing tag with my friends.
Yes, I purposefully worked in the fact that I actually had friends.
I was good, funny even, in a small group, but the thought of addressing a room could bring me to tears. I’d tremble so severely during presentations that I could hardly get the words out. It was as though my body physically rejected having eyes on me.
As an adult, this anxiety only nestled in deeper over my five years of domestic abuse. My violently alcoholic narcissist used my quiet nature to his advantage; all the easier to terrorize, degrade, and further silence me.
Anything to keep me under his control and out of his spotlight.
The weight of his manipulation and abuse pressed down on me until I curled in on myself. I grew ever more withdrawn, isolated, and distrustful of others.
Until the day I finally reached my breaking point and began planning toward escape.
The aftermath: Processing abuse and post-traumatic growth
Even in posting on my modest, anonymous blog three years after my escape, I grapple with intense worry that my abuser will somehow retaliate against me for airing his many violations.
This fear hits so strongly that it's often hard to function and impossible to write. Some days, my pounding heart causes me to hide in bed for hours, trying to remember how to take a full breath.
But strangely, as the minutes tick down before my interview today, my hands don’t shake.
Because I’m not the one who should be scared.
He should.
Coping and social responsibility of healing from abuse
My diagnosis of CPTSD (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) has aided considerably in the aftermath of my abuse. It’s given me a place to start in finding resources, getting proper treatment, and untangling the mess left behind after my trauma.
It’s an ongoing process; one that (thanks to my asshole of an abuser) I’ll be taking part in for the rest of my life.
Writing about what happened has been undeniably cathartic, as difficult as it can be at times. If sharing my story helps even one other person find the strength to do the same, any fear on my part will have been well worth it.
Being scared of the spotlight seems silly in comparison to the life-threatening fear in which I lived during my abuse. If I’ve managed to overcome my abuser’s manipulative programming enough to share my story through my writing, I can overcome my fear of public speaking to reach more people.
In fact, I owe it to victims who may be listening.
This is what we train for: Community advocacy as self-healing
The times in my life that I’ve felt most confident in my social skills are when I’ve had the honor of connecting with someone in need of help. When I can see someone in need of support, that’s when I’m at my absolute best and most zoned in.
This realization inspired me to spend years working with people on what was often one of the worst days of their lives. Honing my crisis communication skills earned me a reputation for my ability to connect with the community we served.
I’ve sharpened my ability to communicate about this tangled topic through work, research, therapy, writing, and conversations with loved ones who saw me through my abuse and supported me in its aftermath. It’s time to use the knowledge I’ve gained to support others in that vulnerable place.
This confidence, born from years of experience, is what I ground myself in as I take an intentionally slow morning preparing for my recording.
It’s the day of the show, y’all: Calming nerves through preparation
In response to learning about my background, one podcaster responded, “Wow, Veronica, that is quite a story! I have a lot of women in my audience who are in or trying to get out of abusive situations. We actually don’t have a podcast episode on this yet, so this is a 100% hell yes from me.”
That small validation, something that can be tough to come by for survivors, set a fire under me in a way I’ve been searching for since my escape.
It was then that I realized: I’m simply having a conversation about what happened to me with someone who cares. A conversation with the potential to reach other victims desperate for help and hope.
There is no way to get it wrong, no way to avoid being a subject matter expert on the thing I’ve been living in for a decade.
I’ve been prepping for this conversation since the abuse first began, even before that. Maybe I’ve spent this entire time learning how to have it.
Learning how not to be afraid.
I’m so glad you’re here
As you can imagine, this shy girl loathes self-promotion, so I’ll make it quick: if you enjoyed this article, check out some of my other recent work.
Stay tuned for details about my upcoming podcast appearances, coming soon!