Lauriane's Story
Growing Up
I grew up in the 90’s in the little village of Champagne, France. It has its charm, that picturesque “je-ne-sais-quoi” tourist's find enchanting.
The kind of place where life goes by from generation to generation without requiring any self nor collective reflection. Things are always done “this way” because it has always been "this way".
Adults are always right; girls have to be pretty, quiet and docile; boys are strong, entitled, and allowed to have temper and take the lead; psychology and counselling is for lunatics who believe in magic; don’t air your dirty laundry; asking for help is a sign of weakness; curiosity is a very bad defect; stop asking so many questions; letting a kid cry is good for him/her; giving him/her a reason to cry by slapping his/her face is ok.
This is the context of my abuse.
I always felt an urge to get out of there, an absolute necessity to study hard at school so I can understand more and follow a path I would choose. Getting “out of there” was a priority in my mind as far as I can remember. I also remember trying to fit in as much as I could, but those attempts always lead to painful failures and, as a result, I never felt very safe or welcome to be myself in my own family.
The Glory and Fails of Early Adulthood
I started my adult life with no memory of the abuse but a really tense relationship with my family, and this uncomfortable feeling of not belonging. As a woman in her early twenties, the first years were an emotional roller coaster, jumping from success to success to extreme disillusion and humiliation.
When I realised I couldn’t fit in the national education system in France (as a history teacher), I realised my ex-boyfriend cheated on me, I decided it was time for big changes. With no idea of what to do, I had a clear idea of where to go, and the decision was made in an instant: "Let’s go to Canada!".
I shifted my life towards this project. I had one of the worst years in my life waiting for the departure and finishing the other master's degree to become a French teacher: "I’ll become a French teacher!"
“Oh, Canada!”
I landed in Ottawa on August 26th, 2013. I was obviously still a mess, but at least, a proud mess. Crossing the Atlantic was so invigorating! I was committed to a fresh start. New land, new air. Every step I was taking was the beginning of a new path. How liberating was that!
Years in this beautiful country passed by and brought me success and freedom. Although I was in a better situation, somewhere I was still unhappy. I was always searching for a place that I could call home. I was battling insomnia, anxiety and did everything that I could do, to numb the pain.
I was basically partying without having fun just to delay the time I’ll be alone, facing my unsettled mind. It lasted for a year, before meeting a male friend. We started spending a lot of time together and got used to crashing at each other's places, sharing the same bed, after wild nights of partying.
Once I felt safe enough in his company, I started to have weird nightmares of my brother on top of me, weird sensations in my body and panic attacks. The kind of nightmares, you know, when you wake up and "Oh shit, it’s not only a dream”. My first reaction to that was denial, crying and partying more in a well known “let’s run away as fast as I can, whatever IT is, IT can’t follow”.
Wrong, it follows. It hits you back with the force of a boomerang effect: the faster you run away, the stronger it gets you back.
Nowadays
I recently learned, and am still learning, to be honest, how to undo the knots in my brain and in my heart, and how to accept the sweet and durable things there are in life, the love my husband gives me, the care him and my friends are providing to me at any time needed, a home-feeling that feels sweet and soft and doesn’t have the chaotic, frightening taste of my childhood.
Learning everything I missed growing up (things like self-worth, setting boundaries, feeling love, trust, recognizing my needs and learning how to express them) is an everyday battle I still lose from time to time, but I do drastically better than I did a year and a half ago, when I started the therapy.
I am now 28 and I feel stronger and more complete than ever. But I am still outraged to know it’s happening and it happened to so many people, but we don’t talk about it.
That’s why I decided to act on it, with Break The Chain, where I will be biking across Canada to raise awareness on survivors of child sex abuse.
Choosing to Get Better: The Therapy
After weeks of this speed race and years of chaos, I made the choice to sit down and get help. I needed someone to help me put words on what was going on. I remember the painful knot in my stomach when I searched up “Ottawa therapist, sexual abuse as a child” on the internet.
With the help of my therapist, I committed myself to care and heal. I put words and chronology to what happened, unblocked the memory and the pain and outrageous unfairness coming with it.
My brother abused me, around the age of 6, and again around the age of 11. He’s one year older than I am, so it was hard for me to recognise it was abuse, and not only “completely fucked up”.
Adding to that, I remember clearly the door of his bedroom opening, while we were naked in his bed, and closing up. That means that, whoever was standing on the other side, my parents, saw what was going on, and chose to close the door on it. We never talked about it and I never felt it was safe enough for me to talk about it. I was sure, by then, that my parents would have chosen not to believe me, chosen him over me, chosen to keep the family “balance” over facing the problem.
In therapy, I developed strategies to handle the panic attacks. I found a way to settle down and work on my self-worth.