Why We Don't Tell ...

"It was a dream. She's making this up. She's lying. She's just mad that I didn't give her what she wanted."

That's how my step-father convinced my mother that I was making "it" up.

The visits to my bedroom in the middle of the night became more frequent. He touched me while I pretended to be asleep.

There was no one to stop it. Not even my own mother believed me, even though it was not the only time he'd been accused.

He controlled my every movement. He touched me whenever and wherever he wanted. He'd say, "Without me, you and your mother will be living on the streets. No one will believe you anyway."

I was just a child.

When I resisted his assaults, I was beaten, sometimes bloody.

There were never witnesses. He was too smart for that.

He escalated over time. When he attempted to rape me, I threatened to call the cops.

"They'll never believe you. You're just a child, a spoiled brat, and that's what I will tell them. They will never take your word over mine."

I didn't call. I didn't tell anyone.

I dreaded every moment living in that house with a sexual predator and a mother who ignored every cry for help.

No one believed me until ... I found the courage to tell the police. I was 15. Terrified. Embarrassed. Scared. Humiliated. Alone.

My mother couldn't bare witness. She never heard what I had to say.

I didn't tell the police everything. I reported only what a damaged 15-year-old child was capable of sharing.

My step-father plead "no contest" and was removed from the house for a year. Probation.

No jail time.

No sex offender registry.

He returned to the house when I was 16. I moved out leaving two young siblings behind.

My mother is still married to the man today.

I am the outsider in my own family because I stood up for myself and said, "No. This is not okay."

He wasn't the first man to sexually assault me. Sadly, he wasn't the last.

This is what rape culture looks like.

Life Is A Canvas, Paint It Any Way You Want—16 Months After the Camino

Do you ever get to a moment in time and ask yourself, how did I get here? Sometimes, you're not sure. Other times, clarity blinds you like sunlight reflecting off the snow.

It was the Government furlough of 2013 that created an unintentional pause in my life. Up until that point, my identity had been wrapped in my profession. My job was my life. Without it, I was lost. The nearly three-week long furlough fed on every insecurity I had. What would I do if I lost my job? Where would I work? What could I do? I had never even worked as a barista or restaurant server. My fragile sense of self-wroth fell apart completely and I spiraled downward to a very dark place.

Where was I going? What good was I doing? Is there anything else I can do? At first, the belief that I could do anything else professionally was minuscule; my thinking boxed me into a corner. My first attempts to step out of the darkness were simple ones, small, easy ones. Then, in 2014, a friend encouraged me to watch The Way. I heard the message: You don't choose a life, you live one.

Inspired, I knew hiking the Camino de Santiago was not something I wanted to do, it was something I had to do. Seeking to do life differently, I embarked on the spiritual pilgrimage in hopes of finding my way. I was seeking answers to many complicated questions about my job, my love life, and my life in general.

A few months later, I embarked on the epic journey that provided far more than I could have ever imaged. It was physically, emotionally, and spiritually challenging, difficult, and at times, painful. I suffered, endured, and was, by the end, underweight and malnourished. And yet, it was utterly brilliant, freeing, and spiritually transformational. It fundamentally changed the person I am and how I think about myself. It taught me I am capable of achieving anything I put my mind to. I learned to trust myself and how to find my own pace—that when I put one foot in front of the other, the road will rise up to meet me.

By the time I reached Santiago, I felt more self-assured, capable, and clearer than ever before. For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted.



Within two weeks of returning, I landed a new job as a writer—a direct result of this blog. Though diving into corporate communications has been an adventure unto itself, I have done my best not to let it highjack my life like my previous career.

The Camino taught me my life is mine to live and I am solely responsible for my happiness. While this seems utterly obvious, it also is easy to forget during life's daily grind.

Everyday I remember the most important gift I received on the Camino: Follow your bliss. It is my mantra. Now, I write, I paint, I photograph ... I dance, I sing, I meditate. I run, I play, I embrace gratitude. I am awake, I am alive, I am at peace, I am truly happy.

Life is a canvas—paint it any way you want.