When I was 7 years old, my ex step father began sexually abusing me. 

This abuse continued for 7 years of my life with the degree of his impulsions evolving as my body grew from a young child into a young woman. 

When I retell the story of my early childhood, the truth sounds stranger and stranger to me. I was only 7 years old when it began. 

I have a sister who is 7 years old now and I cannot fathom anyone inappropriately touching her, especially sexually. And yet abuse happens to people, boys and girls, of every age, even babies, every single day. 

Sexual abuse is, unfortunately, common. 

One statistic says 1 in 4 girls will encounter sexual abuse or assault in their lifetime.  My mother has 4 daughters. I am hoping that for all of our sakes, I was the 1 in 4. 

In some instances my story is similar to others who have experienced abuse. In other ways my experience comes from a unique perspective. 

It was my ex step father who abused me but it was also swept under the rug by the religious cult I belonged to. 

I was told to forget it, to move on and to never speak about the abuse. 

It may be that I have a problem with authority figures because eventually I did speak on it. I attempted to pursue justice in regards to my abuse. I told the police my story. I tried to pursue charges. 

Unfortunately, despite his confession and my testimony, my abuser was never charged for the 7 years of criminal sexual abuse. 

My family was split apart. 

I was kicked out of the religious cult. 

There were whispers that the confessed abuse was just gossip or a misunderstanding or simply not true. And so, for awhile, I forgot about it. I moved on. I never spoke on it.

Years later, the after effects of the abuse began touching my life in ways I hadn’t imagined. 

I initially coped with it by repression. But by not acknowledging the truth of my story, I spiraled into a deep depression. 

I coped by dehumanizing and devaluing myself. 

I tried coping with alcohol. I tried coping with men, with complacency, and with a careless disregard for my own life. 

In one journal written years ago I wrote, “I’ve reached rock bottom and somehow I’ve found the strength to dig some more.” 

I was determined to destroy what was left of me. The abuse left me shattered. I thought my only recourse was to break those pieces into smaller bits until nothing was left at all.


I don’t know what the exact turning point was. There were many. 

I saw shadows of what my death would truly mean. 

I saw glimmers of what my life could be like if I changed. 

I heard these whispers coming from what could only be my soul. 

I suppose my spirit couldn’t taken the self inflicted torture any longer. So I embarked on new ways to cope. I studied world religions and found a peace in the meditations of Buddhism, the rituals of Jewish History and the seemingly common sense of the Kybalion, to name a few. 

When I was ready and not when others told me to, I sought out counseling. 

I wrote my heart out in journals and blogs. 

I searched until I found a supportive community that could hold me where I was in my life. I found ways to deal with the flashbacks, memories and triggers that debilitated me. I worked through my depression by developing new frameworks of thinking. 

I learned coping mechanisms such as simply locking my bedroom door for the simple fact that it gave me a peace of mind and the ability to sleep through the night. I learned hundreds of ways to cope with what happened, to heal and work through my victimization. 

I released my anger, in slow phases according to my own pace. I learned to manage my emotions and master my self. I found ways to discover myself again, to literally change my mind and to begin anew. I was so tired of my darkness by that point that I was open to trying anything that would help me become whole again.

Sexual abuse and assault is different than other crimes and deviant behavior. A violation that originates with physical touch morphs into a poison that can infect every ounce of your being for many years, if you let it. There isn’t one way to heal from it. Everyone is different. 

And even when you are better or thriving, as I would consider myself to be, you’re still dealing and growing and evolving and healing and learning. 

I was victimized for 7 years of my life. It was outside of my control. Once that trauma ended, truth be told, I victimized myself as a distorted way of coping. 

Eventually I began surviving.

But I’m no longer a survivor. These days I THRIVE. 

You see, I truly believe that for many of us, our initial victimization was not our choice. But deciding to stay a victim to any of our unfortunate circumstances is entirely our choice. An alternative would be to thrive through it.

I know what I look like at my worse. I know what its like to live in fear. That was the younger me. I know what its like to live in sorrow. I drowned them in alcohol and other destructive behaviors many years ago. 

That kind of lifestyle no longer interests me. 

Considering what I am at my worse, I’m far more interested in what its like to live at my best and at my highest. 

That is where I am today. On a journey of self actualization. 

On a journey to stay present and experience life to the fullest.  

The statistics say that 1 in 4 girls will experience sexual abuse and assault in their lives. But that statistic doesn’t speak to what happens after. The rest of your story is yours to write. 

These days I’m creating….creating my self and my experiences.

Written by, Sheena LaShay Your Feminine Power and Sensuality Guide

Hello Goddesses! My name is Sheena. I live in NYC and thrive on the who, what, when, where and how of being human. I spend my time exploring my sensuality, creating home-made beauty products, writing, creating art and learning how to love myself even deeper. 

You can find me on The Sociology of Sheena and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.