Moving Through Injustice After Sexual Assault

CW: sexual assault; injustice

“THE LOTUS BLOOMS OUT OF THE MUD.”

It’s taken me some time to unpack this phrase in the context of my life. My “mud” is ever changing; but currently it’s my anger.

For years, I thought anger was something to hide away, something that didn’t belong in a healthy life. I barely let myself feel it, let alone show it. But the truth is, every time I let my anger breathe, I find myself letting go of the pain that sits beneath it. The more I sit with what’s real inside me, instead of stuffing it down, the clearer I become. I find my power again, step by step.

My emotions are the mud at the bottom of my own pond. When something shakes me, it’s as if a heavy stone crashes in, churning everything up, clouding the water with all that’s been resting below.

Since May, I have been in the process of pressing criminal charges against a man for sexual assault. Yesterday I received the news that crown counsel would not pursue charges.

When the RCMP called, it felt like someone hurled a massive boulder into my pond.

I felt so angry and defeated. All of the anxiety-inducing police interviews, the therapy I had to go through, the trauma of it all seemed for nothing. I was paralyzed by my rage. I was paralyzed by the injustice. I felt I could have burnt down the whole courthouse. I wanted to scream like a madwoman “what about justice?!” But I couldn’t move my body.

So I sat with my anger. I breathed. I let the pain wash over me until it broke open into sobs. When I say I howled, I mean I howled in rage and pain until I sounded like a hollow ghost. When the tears ran dry, I stood up. I cleansed myself and my space, a small ritual to mark the shift. I cooked something nourishing. I called a friend, who brought over a drum she had made, so I could shake loose some of that heavy energy. I held my baby close to my body.

It might sound small and insignificant, but simply naming the injustice and my anger and letting it be what it needed to be – that was how I moved from being frozen to finding a little self-compassion.

It reminds me: I am strong. I am resilient. I can make space for even the biggest emotions to move through me.

I can give myself time. I can sit with myself, even when the mud is swirling. I can wait in stillness, trusting that from this very mud, my lotus will bloom.

I don’t know what my lotus will look like yet. Maybe that’s not important today. Seeds can’t take root in mud that’s still swirling. First, I have to make space for stillness. Only then can something new begin to grow.

Today is an opportunity to return to my breath:

Breathing in, I am aware my mud has been stirred.

Breathing out, I watch the mud settle a little bit more, knowing this creates ideal conditions for a lotus to bloom.