The Curious Coddiwompler

“You may kill a fire. And everything you know falls to dust and ash. Yet the remarkable treasure in this seemingly hopeless pile, is hidden deep within. The burning embers incarnate the perpetual desire to go from spark to flame.”
― Akilnathan Logeswaran

I went home for school in mid-March. I spent my 49th birthday in 7 to 8 hours of lectures for a Privacy Law course, which makes me want to live under a rock, but it was nice to see my family and spend time with my law school friends. And then there was the ball. The Barrister’s Ball could be aptly described as a law school prom, only better than high school because 1) there was a room of games, so you have the chance to nerd out in the quiet room or totally get down with your fellow students on the dance floor, 2) there is a bar, two actually, and 3) it is a night where the pressures of law school can ease, even if just briefly.

There was a moment that night that touched me deep in my soul, and it has taken me a little while to find the words. During this ball, there is an awards ceremony. These are like the “Most likely to…” awards we often see in high school yearbooks. I was standing with my friends when I heard my name called.

This is where I am going to add my disclaimer that this post discusses some tough, personal things, so read with caution, stop now, or if it gets to be too much.

We all have moments that change us forever. Some of us have distinct events that create a before and after. For those who are brave enough, come on this journey with me. I don’t know the ending yet, but it has been a hell of a ride so far.

I was 18 years old. Fresh out of high school and in military training to be a combat medic and a field operating room technician. Training was going ok, I was getting towards the end where I would end up at Walter Reed to complete my clinical training.

Then, October 15th came. My first before-and-after day.

I remember walking back to my barracks with just the light from the sidewalk lights to keep me company. This walk created an indelible mark on my soul. Each step burned as my own blood from the tearing and lacerations mixed with the body fluid of the man. who was in my chain of command, ran down my legs. I was held down, I had no choice, and now, because it was the military and the only place to go was up the chain of command, there was nowhere to go. I walked back with the weight of understanding that this trauma is now mine to carry alone. There was nobody to help, nobody to witness.

I showered, threw out my clothes (I was in civilian clothes, as we had finally gotten those privileges), and tucked into my bunk for the night. The morning brought the usual early wake-up and PT routine. I managed to complete it without giving in to the pain from the physical injuries.

The military is funny with situations like these. Recently, some things have changed, but the only place to go was up the chain of command. This would usually result in the woman being reassigned, demoted, or dishonorably discharged. Silence was the safest option.

From here, the road has more twists and turns that include another assault before training was over, and then having to buy silence with my body from someone who knew what had happened that first night. For 20 years, I tucked it all away.

The best years of my life so far have been raising my children. I wanted to urge them to grow and find their passions. I wanted to protect them to make sure that what happened to me would not happen to them. We homeschooled, travelled, and went on adventures. We did so many things- Taekwondo, swim team, gymnastics, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, 4-H. circus school, music lessons, Lego club.

Meanwhile, my past was still my past. I was married to a man who did not really choose me after the wedding. Birthdays were not remembered, Christmas mornings when I watched him and the kids open gifts and stockings with nothing for me, unless I got my own things, because it made it less awkward for the kids. Working long 13-hour shifts at the hospice house and coming home to the words from my ex-husband’s mouth, “I made dinner, but the kids and I ate it all, so there is no food for you.” I asked for a separation, but was told by him that he “would never let me divorce him.” Eventually, my nervous system broke.

Long story short, the kids grew up, and I found diving, which made me really happy. My marriage further deteriorated, my sister died, and he did not come to the funeral. He told me he never wanted to “hear me talk about diving again” right after I passed my professional dive instructor exam. It kept getting worse.

I chose to heal. I found a clinic note from after my first assault, as I was afraid I was pregnant. It noted lacerations, and I remember the doctor asking me, “If my boyfriend was rough.” I remember the question; I don’t remember my response- perhaps just a shrug, but I do remember how the appointment shifted as though she knew the truth after that. She, too, was bound by military procedure. I can read that note now and understand.

So here I am today. I bought my freedom from my ex-husband by waiving alimony and avoiding his future attempts at control. Please forgive me for not sharing more details about the marriage; I am not ready to share that broadly. Three years after my divorce, I have a year left in law school and am halfway through my MS in Forensic Nursing program. I understand so much more about who and what I am.

And so I got this Phoenix Award during the ball. How strange it is to go from the utter desolation of being alone in times of severe trauma to realize that I am seen. I had not realized that anyone in my class really even knew my name, let alone much about me. Perhaps my understanding of this contrast is why it means so much to me.

I am a survivor of rape, assault, and domestic violence that was unseen and felt desolate. The ash of those burnings held my deepest strength and the hope that out of those ashes, pain and shame are tempered into a bright light so others will not be alone. I have to be brave and allow my light to be seen. My light will only grow as I hone my legal skills while keeping my nursing soul.

To my fellow law students: thank you for seeing me, for believing in me. Thank you for noticing my light born from these ashes and helping me to be brave enough to share it.