Happy Birthday?

Birthdays can be complicated for many of us. First, we’re excited to grow older and celebrate fun milestones – turning 16 and getting our driver's license, turning 18 and becoming an adult, and turning 21 and being able to order a cocktail…And then we get older. At first, that may not bother us; some years may still be exciting. For me, there’s an added layer of knowing that something bad happened when I turned 19.

As my 19th birthday approached, I had been dating Brock for about 2 ½ years. The relationship had been verbally, emotionally, and physically abusive for a long time. Despite this, I hadn't thought about leaving.

I was home from college on the weekend of my 19th birthday. I had dinner with my family, and then family friends came over for cake. Brock was coming to pick me up, but he didn’t want to be around my family or friends, so I was expected to be ready and go outside when he pulled up.

When Brock arrived, my family, friends, and I were still talking and eating cake. I was nervous. I couldn’t leave abruptly to go outside, but I wasn’t sure what Brock would do. He surprised me by coming to the door and then inside. He was pleasant and made small talk with everyone. I relaxed a little.

As things wrapped up, Brock and I headed out for a date. I was a little nervous as we got in the car because I hadn’t been ready as expected when he arrived that night. But he was pleasant and didn’t get upset, so I relaxed some more.

He drove to a park, and we walked around holding hands and talking. He even talked about the house he wanted to build for us someday. This startled me. I hadn’t thought about leaving him, but I also hadn’t envisioned anything in the future. To hear him mention a future together this way gave me pause. But I didn’t want to disturb the nice evening and so I let it go.

On the way home, Brock pulled off onto a dirt road. I thought he wanted to fool around. Instead, he raped me. I was numb and in shock; I felt more broken than I ever had. I had an extra layer of shame because from the outside, there wasn’t any visible sign of the violent attack.

A few weeks later, when I was at college and we talked on the phone, what happened that night came up. Brock ended up telling me his actions were punishment because I hadn’t been ready when he arrived. I was stunned and in disbelief. (While researching for the book, It Doesn’t Start with a Punch, I learned that studies have found that 8% of rapes are a form of punishment).

As horrible as that experience was, I’m glad it happened. I know that sounds odd. But up until this point, I had always believed Brock when he said the abuse was my fault. That if I hadn’t done X, he wouldn’t have gotten upset.

But this time, I saw that he was in control of his emotions while he was with my family, on the drive to the park, and as we walked around. He had time to plan his attack on me. It wasn’t a reaction he couldn’t control; it was deliberate. It took some time, but that realization changed my perspective and prompted me to leave the relationship.

The night it happened, it felt like rape. But I wondered how that could be if it was with my boyfriend and we’d already been sexually intimate. Once again, I told myself it couldn’t be what I thought it was. It took me a long time to admit to myself that it was rape. It took even longer to say that out loud to a friend.

It’s not something I dwell on. But, as my birthday rolls around each year, it is something I remember and over the years, my emotions and thoughts about it have evolved:

• There have been years I’ve wanted something really great to happen to make up for that horrible act.

• In my mid-twenties, I lived in another state, away from family and friends, and dreaded being alone on my birthday. (I made local friends who helped me celebrate and came home to an answering machine full of voicemails wishing me a happy birthday. It’s one of my favorite memories).

• There have been years when I didn’t care whether I celebrated or not.

As I debate, acknowledge, or let it go, I realize it’s something that happened to me, and although I may remember that it happened, it’s not something that defines me. Part of healing involves acknowledging. It's when we bury something that we miss healing. Healing is a journey that takes time, but just as God helped me during that dark time, He helped me work through the difficult emotions of this experience. Healing is possible.

Several years ago, I sat down and considered what my birthday meant to me and what, if anything, I wanted to do on it. First, I realized that I never want my birthday to be a burden to anyone else. Although I remember what happened, it's no longer painful. Honestly, I think a big part of why I remember it each year is just because it falls on a date I know. It doesn't haunt me, and I don't have a need to run from it. I realized I prefer a small, quieter birthday. Enjoying dinner with my family or a close friend is perfect. Schedules may not always align, so I also like to volunteer. Helping someone else turns the day around for good. Dinner, a hike, or something else with a friend during the month is nice, too.

As I turn another year older, I realize it's one memory of many in my life. I thank God for all the goodness He has brought into my life—my greatest joy—my children, precious family and friends, wonderful experiences, backpacking the Grand Canyon, a sky full of stars, sunrises, sunsets, gentle breezes, deep belly laughs, and many, many treasured memories. I look to the future and what else may unfold.