As a child, you are protected from the harsh, dark reality of our world. Life is simple. Evil is merely a concept of fiction, solely existing in cartoons and video games until a single event opens your eyes to a whole other reality. When I was 16, in February of 2014, my eyes were opened to the dark side of humanity. I was repeatedly sexually assaulted by my physical therapist.

I will never forget the feeling of his breath on my bare back or his protruding belly rubbing against the side of my ribcage as I lay naked, face down, on the massage table. Whenever I walked into the building, he would drop everything to work with me. He was always behind me, holding my hips to show me positioning, taping the back of my buttocks with muscle (Kinesio) tape, winding up to slap my ass, or following me up the stairs to where the massage rooms and offices were. I remember thinking that if things become intolerable, if I was being physically hurt, then I would be able to run to my dad's office, a block down in the same business park, with evidence that he physically abused me. But the therapist had done this enough times to know to not leave a mark on my fair skin. I kept telling myself it was not that bad and thought if I told anyone they wouldn't believe me.

After around a month of treatments, one of my high school lacrosse teammates spoke up against the therapist's actions towards her, yet I found myself still too scared to share my truth. I did not want to destroy someone else's life; He had two kids and a wife that were frequently around his office. His children drew pictures of their dad, their favorite superhero, while his wife would never fail to greet me with a loving, “How are you doing sweetheart?” I would mutter the words, “I’m okay,” before I scuttled off to find her husband. There was an investigation and throughout the police interviews and conversations with anyone on the topic, I stayed silent, appearing to be unscathed by this monstrous man. Eventually, he went to trial. I ignored any summons, I never showed up to court. The case was closed, he was acquitted, and everyone seemed to move on shortly thereafter. But not me. Exactly seven years ago I was abused. I was repeatedly sexually assaulted. I was not ok.

I believed that the easiest way to get better was to become a successful, independent individual. Transferring to UC San Diego in 2018 began my journey to recovery. It was my first opportunity to move away from my hometown and the constant reminder of events that had continuously burdened me. I felt that it was a new beginning, where I could learn and grow to become someone who deserves the respect I once generously gave others. Late nights and early mornings at Geisel Library taught me that the resilience required to move past such a traumatic experience would have to be fought for, tooth and nail. At first, I used my studies and focus to forget about my assault. I learned that I could keep myself so incredibly busy that I could forget about my past, but this was a temporary and fleeting solution to a permanent problem. Over time, this limited solution enlightened me to my true resilience. True resilience is accepting that despite my assault and related trauma, I am still capable of greatness. Despite my therapist abusing me, I am still capable of developing myself into a successful, young woman. I am not just a survivor; I am a soon-to-be female college graduate in STEM who has used her drive, creativity, resilience, and strength to persevere to be where I am today.

I created this art piece to tell my story. I want the art to resemble how I view my inner and outer self. My outer self is innocent of abuse, strong-willed, confident, beautiful, and seems to have everything going for her. I wore a white velvet and tulle dress, held light pink roses, and left my fair skin unaltered to project the pure, untouched by evil person I wanted everyone to see and that I wish I truly was. I posed on the “La Jolla Project” by Richard Fleischner; a sculpture meant to integrate structure into nature. I hoped to be as strong, stable, and robust as those installations. In juxtaposition, my dark inner self resembles the emotional pain that grew like poison ivy inside of me, itching to constantly remind me what lies below. This version of me carries darker, more wilted purple roses. On my skin are various teal blue strokes of paint, the color that represents the sexual assault awareness month of April. “Silence”, “damaged”, “lost”, and “pain” are all words that reflect the thoughts that went through my mind for the past seven years, thus why I chose to have them written on my arms. On the surface of my skin are cracks, smudges, harsh lines and handprints meant to show the brokenness I felt, along with the feeling of someone else grasping me and preventing me from being who I so desperately wanted to be. In the center of my chest is a geometric rose that was created specifically for a Lady Gaga concert in support of sexual assault survivors; many of them had it tattooed on themselves during the show. On my wrists are the most important pieces to me; My left reads “February 2014” for when these events took place, while my right reads “800.656.4673,” the sexual assault hotline number. I posed off to the side of Geisel on the snake path to show the place that I physically trapped myself so I did not have to think about the emotions trapped inside me. This piece is more than simply snapping a photo. I planned the entirety of the shoot, which includes the concept, props, outfits, locations, poses and plenty more. It was important to me to use my body as the focal point of this piece with a plethora of symbolism to exemplify how the abuse encumbered my entire being. One image without the other would not be a true portrayal of my story. It is the acceptance of both parts that has helped me move forward with my life.

For the first time since I was 16, my resilience has finally allowed me to get to the point where I am living for myself. I am not in denial that I was abused. I do not feel sorry for myself. I do not act like it has made me undesirable. Resilience is not allowing the person who assaulted me to take over my life or make me think I am lesser of a human being. Over the past year, I have made more significant strides than ever before. I told my parents about the incidents, received help from many doctors in order to address both my mental and physical ailments, and I stood up to tell my story. I had not returned to a physical therapist until I was at UCSD playing for the women’s lacrosse team. I used the school's athletic training center and met Haley Stone, a therapist who helped me overcome my fear, anxiety, and the effects of PTSD by doing her job properly, reminding me I was in a safe place. As a result, I proudly became a captain of our nationally-recognized team for two years. I now know that when obstacles derail me from my current course to reach my goals that I will be able to bounce back and find ways to continue moving forward.

Resilience is not about wearing a bulletproof vest. It is not immediate. Painful experiences don’t just ​not​ affect me. I cannot forget the difficult parts and I cannot go back and change the past. It is the process of growth through triumphs and tribulations that make me resilient. I am able to take a hit and find a path to get to my goal. Things may change or I may need to adjust, but my end goal remains the same: I desire to live a fulfilling life. I want to be able to feel like I make a difference even if it is in a small way. I want to help others overcome the troubles they bury inside of themselves as I had once done. I know that I am not always going to be ok, and you know what? That’s ok.