Radical Simplicity and a Beautiful, Messy Life

Friend, you aren't alone.

HEY FRIENDS,  TRIGGER WARNING. This story is about sexual assault and self harm.  If this story is going to put you in a rough spot right now, please protect your own well being and don't read it.  

Back then I would daydream about being raped, stabbed, and left for dead.

In my dreams nobody would be able to say that it was my fault.  I would be dressed in jeans and my favourite band shirt, not a little black dress and fishnet stockings. I would be sober instead of having had peach schnapps in plastic cups in the back of the van he borrowed from his mother.  I would have been somewhere bright and safe, nabbed off a street corner in broad daylight rather than pushed to the ground in the woods outside a shady concert venue.

In these dreams I fought harder.  This version of me wouldn't give up and watch the stars spin above me and wait for it to end. She would fight.

In my dreams he stabbed me and left me there bleeding until somebody called an ambulance.  In this fantasy land, I didn't have to pick myself up off the dirty ground and pretend I was okay.  I didn't have to call my dad to pick me up and cry in the parking lot with a beer in one hand and my torn stockings in the other, eager to go home and shower the feeling of filth off of me.  In the dream, people could see the wounds.

In the dream version, everyone knew without me telling them.  Word got around school,  friends and family and teachers came to the hospital to see me and tell me it wasn't my fault.  In this fantasy,  it wasn't a dirty little secret suffocating me day after day.

In the dream, I was allowed to fall apart. It was okay when my grades slipped and I wanted to stay in bed all day.  In my dream, it didn't take me 8 years to get counselling, and 8 more to get treated for anxiety. 

In my dream; everyone who knew me knew about the scars.  They could see the remnant of the pain on my body.  They could see that time closes wounds but doesn't fully heal them. In the dream, I didn't have to carve my own wounds with razorblades on flesh. 

In my dream, I knew I mattered.  I didn't have to give myself away to every boy with a drink and a smile.

In the dream it wasn't a forbidden subject.  We sat in rooms with circles of old blue plastic school chairs and talked about it openly.  Others shared their stories and together we reminded one another that we weren't alone.  That it's not our fault.  That the shame we feel doesn't belong to us.

May this page be that room for somebody today.  You aren't alone.  It's not your fault.  You don't need to own the shame for this any more. 

Dream version me could push publish on a post like this without this nauseating fear and and a rock in her gut.   Real me will push publish any ways. 

We aren't alone.

It's not our fault.

We don't need to own the shame for this any more. 

Friend, you aren't alone. 

Will you take a moment to follow me on facebooktwitter, or instagram? And thank you for reading my words, I'm honoured.


  1. The real you has become very strong and courageous! May the Lord Jesus Christ continue to heal you and to use you to help others. I Love the real you!

  2. Thanks for hitting publish even if it made you feel like you're going to puke. We all need to spend more time writing and reading the real stuff, and speaking and hearing truth. You are not alone and it's not your fault is truth - keep speaking it and keep hearing it!

  3. You are an amazing woman, Kelly. Thank you for this and all of your posts. Your witness has helped bring my heart closer to God.

  4. Kelly, you are telling my story along with your own. "Thank you" does not adequately express my gratitude. I hope I can find the guts to tell my story. Love you.

  5. I only realized a couple years ago that my boyfriend when I was a teenager even had done anything wrong. I was drunk, pretty much passing out with short blurbs of memory- thinking "oh, I guess he's going to have sex with me" kinda thinking this is not cool and it felt wrong, but he's my boyfriend its ok right? I don't call it rape because I don't know if I should. I grew up with constant lessons that guys just do what they want- hit girls, beat wives and we as girls just do what they want. Thank you for your post.

  6. What an important perspective. You point out many layers of issues I hadn't considered before and have opened my eyes even further. Thank you for sharing such a personal, wrenching post.

  7. Thank you for hitting publish even though it hurt you. This is why you are loved by so many. Whenever someone asks me about a good person to read with a different Christian perspective I'm telling them about you before they can finish. You are the best friend that I want to have in real life. That is real with me and loves me in spite of my flaws and maybe even loves me a bit more because of them! Even though we have never met you are LOVED greatly by me down here in a little town of Louisiana!

  8. Thank you. We are not alone and it's not our fault.

  9. Thank you for your gut honest vulnerability. I am sharing your writing with the women in my life who desperately need your voice, so that one day they might be able to use their voice to help set others Free.