Today marks my 20th Brave Day.
On May 12th, 2006, a complete stranger made a choice that irrevocably changed my life, and the lives of so many others.
For the longest time, this day felt bittersweet. Not only was I dealing with the traumatic aftermath of surviving such a heinous crime, but it also happened to be my mom’s birthday. Celebrating her without acknowledging what we had all endured as a family felt wrong. Calling it an “anniversary” felt even more uncomfortable. But each year as May rolled around, it was as if my mind and my body were transported back to that point in time. I’m 20 years old, getting ready for a summer of classes, work, and hanging out with my best friends in our new apartments. I’m stuck retracing my steps, wondering what I missed, what I could have done differently, scolding myself for not just “getting over it”.
Then, in 2021, I was editing a 15th anniversary video series about the minute-by-minute account of the day I was assaulted to help educate new audiences on the realities crime victims face. My kindergarten daughter came bouncing in to my office and asked what I was doing. As we always do in our home, I gave her an honest, but age-appropriate answer.
“I’m helping teach people with videos about the day the man broke in and hurt mommy, and how Daddy put him in jail.”
She paused for the briefest of seconds, and then said:
“Oh. So it’s about the day you were brave. It’s your Brave Day”.
I—I was speechless.
My Brave Day.
Of course, she just skips away, her blond hair swaying behind her as if she hadn’t just dropped that profoundly impactful gift in my lap.
In just a few words, my six-year-old daughter reframed my entire experience as a survivor of sexual violence. The way I’d always thought about the event that ultimately became my life’s “before” and “after” turning point, was no longer about what someone else chose to do to me. My ‘Brave Day’ became about the choices I made in the aftermath.
Calling it my Brave Day restored my power over that moment in time. It gave me the words to recognize the pain and trauma and grief this victimization inflicted upon me and everyone I know, but to simultaneously appreciate how far we have all come.
As I’ve told other survivors about what my little girl said that day, I have watched eyes swell with tears, goosebumps take over, and heard voices crack with an equally emotional response. Maybe it’s because somewhere deep down, so many of us know what it means to carry a date, a season, a memory, or a moment that changed everything.
Being brave does not have to mean you reported, went through a trial, or chose to speak publicly as I have. Sometimes being brave is simply choosing to keep going in a world that tried, and failed, to break you.
So maybe your Brave Day is the day you survived something no one should ever have to endure.
Maybe it’s the day you spoke the truth out loud.
The day you set a boundary.
The day you asked for help.The day you started over.
Or the moment you finally realized how brave you have been all along.
And if you don’t know what your Brave Day is yet, you are always welcome to share mine.
Here’s to the next 20 years of being brave.
