When it’s gently pointed out that I may be worrying excessively about something, my response is, “I chronically can’t not.”
I’m learning to be more open about my trauma; but thanks to that long-term inability to find safety… Let’s just say, your girl is going to worry. I also had to learn to mask my distress for my own safety. It surprises me how often people have mentioned forgetting that I’d ever been abused at all.
When I do slip and let my anxiety or panic slip through; I always feel compelled to retrace and explain exactly what happened so nothing can be misconstrued. Even then, I fear it being twisted and used against me, because it’s what I’m used to.
This hypervigilance isn't pathology - it's adaptation. Survivors have a deeply embedded fear of being misunderstood or having my words used against us. This was instilled and reinforced during our time of abuse, and it’s something I’ve struggled with in the years since.
We learn to document everything, to over-explain, to anticipate every possible way our stories could be twisted against us. Because we know that in a system designed to protect abusers, the burden of proof always falls to us.
It can be really distressing to not feel like we’re unable to properly communicate our intentions. That’s part of why I write so thoroughly. I’m trying to untangle it all so it makes sense (as if it ever could).
Maybe then… I don’t know? I can forgive myself? Accept and truly believe my own experience in a world that constantly questions it? Maybe in writing everything down, I’m trying to finally show myself evidence that it wasn’t my fault.
We read all of the books and know the statistics. We witness the ways justice system do exactly that to countless survivors throughout history, up to and including today.
If it wasn’t the abusers I got, a butterfly had a 1 in 3 chance of flapping its wings and blowing me toward another assault. Even more likely, actually, because after the first instance of abuse the likelihood of being victimized further compounds.
I log my experiences and compare them with other survivor accounts and statistics. It's wild how similar our stories are - not just the abuse itself, but our responses to it.
They did that to you, too? Do they read books on manipulative bullshit to say? How could we possibly all fall for the same script?
Because it IS a script. Abusers use the same tactics because our legal system rewards them. Gaslighting works. Making victims doubt their own experiences works. Victim-blaming works. These aren't random behaviors - they're strategic, and they're effective because courts not only fail to stop it, but are often guilty of similar tactics.
By now I should know it wasn’t my fault, as much as he wanted me to believe it was. After all, I experienced all of it. I’ve also worked tirelessly to heal in every way I know how. But damn if that sinister voice doesn’t creep in, telling me if I’d only done this or that differently, a butterfly would flap its wings and all of it could have been avoided.
But the real butterfly effect isn't "what if I had done something differently?"; it's "where would we be if we had systems that actually protected women?" How many victims stayed silent after seeing others who spoke up receive further punishment? How many abusers get to keep using the same playbook because we've made it too dangerous for their victims to speak? How many could we have saved?
And why, if we can so clearly see these patterns from abuser to abuser, are we not able to make more of a difference for victims?
Maybe my anxiety is also my superpower. It’s made me insatiable for knowledge, evidence, research, and fact-checking. In the 13+ years since my first assault, through two abusive relationships, and literal hundreds of books on recovery and victimization, my over-worrying magically evolved into expertise.
My research isn't just personal healing - it's cataloguing evidence of systemic failure. When survivors compare notes and find identical scripts, we're not just validating each other. We're exposing how predictable abuse is, how preventable it could be with actual support instead of institutional gaslighting.
Maybe adding my perspective will encourage another survivor out there to share their story. If it even helps one person, it will have been worth the effort. If we can all show one another how to speak, how to resist their scripts, maybe those voices will become too loud to ignore. Maybe that one flap of a wing will finally create the storm we’ve been needing.