Pain is Good; Pain Heals

I’ve had three posts running thru my head this week. It’s taken me a while to be comfortable with each one to even be able to start writing them. Chatting with a friend earlier this week, she asked whether I needed to write for me or for others. Frankly, I still don’t know. I really did start posting about what happened to me b/c I didn’t want others to be alone. But I also knew that it would help me, too.

With that unknown out in the open (and still up in the air), I’m going to give a warning about this post. I’m not going to be graphic or anything, I’m not even going to be very detailed. But I am also not going to be shy about a few things that happened to me and the fallout because I think that it’s important, important that others know that these feelings are normal and ok, even good.

From my past experience, I know that these types of things can be hard to read. So the (trigger) warning stands.


A couple of weeks back, Therapist said that I would get to a point where I was grateful for the pain and that I'd also be grateful that I felt sorrow about what happened to me, when I would be fine with it. I looked at her like she was nuts, because, seriously, that was nuts. So it floated thru my mind for a while and I didn’t know how that could all play out. Therapist has the unfortunate habit of being pretty much right about everything, so I knew that eventually I’d get there. Eventually. Because seriously, that’s nuts.

So I thought about what she said, how eventually the pain wouldn’t be the prohibitive weight on my heart, how it’d remind me that I was good and had worth.

A bunch of memories of what {dirtbag} did to me have come back into my mind over the last couple of weeks, or at least memories came back more clearly. I remembered how physically uncomfortable for me most of what {dirtbag} did was. Not a few times it was simply painful.

What I realized is that this physical pain showed to me at the time and it shows to me now that I knew something was wrong. Even in my demoralized state, I knew that something was very wrong. In an odd twist, this showed/shows me my worth, that I knew that I wasn’t for hurting, even though I didn’t know a way out at the time. And frankly due to the circumstances, there wasn’t much of a way out, anyway.

(Much stronger trigger warning for the next paragraph)

One horrible thing that {dirtbag} required was exposing a part of myself normally clothed before anything else would happen. It’s hard to describe how this worked, and perhaps it’s best that I don’t divulge details, but it was so that {dirtbag} could let me know that I was nothing, merely an object for {dirtbag} to get off on. I can’t really describe how miserably horrible this was, how much it hurt. I felt like a sex toy.

Then on Tuesday I realized that I use the word exposed and that felt exposed every time it happened. The word expose insinuates showing something that shouldn’t be. It was like knowledge settled into place for me.

I felt pain. I felt exposed. I was grateful for this knowledge. I was grateful that I felt pain when it happened because then I knew at my very deepest that everything was wrong. I knew that I was worth so very, very much more than what was being done to me.

{dirtbag} didn’t get at my core, didn’t destroy who I am. For this {dirtbag} will forever lose.

I am worth feeling the pain. I am worth feeling the sorrow. I feel pain because I am good and I am kind. What {dirtbag} did hurt me so much because I am pure and I am clean.

If I were to see {dirtbag} today, right now, I would be able to stand tall and look at {dirtbag} with all the disgust that is due. {dirtbag} is repugnant and I am strong. I can feel pain and {dirtbag} didn’t take that from me.