“It Finally Stopped Owning Me”: My Journey Through Sexual Trauma and EMDR

A Personal Story of Hope, Healing, and Wholeness

I Didn’t Think I Could Ever Talk About It

For years, I couldn’t even say the words “sexual trauma” out loud—not to friends, not to family, and certainly not to a therapist. What happened to me felt too big, too dark, and too tangled in shame. I told myself I had “moved on,” but inside, I was stuck.

I couldn’t sleep. I flinched when people touched me. I carried this silent grief that no one saw. And worst of all, I believed it was my fault.

Then I heard about something called EMDR therapy, and even though I was skeptical, I was desperate enough to try.

Now, looking back, I can honestly say: EMDR changed everything.

What I Was Living With

I was in survival mode for most of my twenties. After my assault, I buried the memories deep. But they leaked out anyway—in nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks, and this overwhelming sense that I was somehow broken.

I avoided relationships. I felt numb most of the time. Loud sounds made me jump. I was exhausted, but I could never really rest. My mind was always alert, always protecting, always reliving.

Traditional therapy helped some, but it felt like I was telling the story over and over, and nothing inside me was changing.

That’s when my therapist suggested EMDR.

What is EMDR? (And Why I Was Nervous)

EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) is a therapy designed to help people process and heal from trauma. It doesn’t require you to relive every painful detail—instead, you access the memory in a safe, structured way while following bilateral stimulation (like side-to-side eye movement or tapping).

To be honest, I was nervous. Could this really help something so big? So personal? So shame-filled?

But my therapist was patient. She explained that the trauma memory was like a scratched record, looping over and over—and EMDR helps your brain process it so it can finally move forward.

I didn’t have to force anything. Just trust the process.

The Moment Everything Shifted

We started with smaller memories first—building up my confidence and learning ways to stay grounded. I practiced breathing, visualizing a “safe place,” and learning how to pause when things got intense.

Then we got to the memory. The one I had locked away for years.

With my therapist by my side, we began EMDR. I focused on a specific part of the memory—the hallway, the cold, the fear. As the bilateral stimulation began, something unexpected happened: I didn’t drown.

I didn’t disappear.

Instead, I felt like I was watching it from the outside. Like my brain was sorting through it and saying, “This isn’t your fault. You survived. You’re safe now.”

I cried. I trembled. But I didn’t break.

That was the moment everything began to shift.

The Lies I Believed—and How They Changed

For so long, I believed things like:

• “It was my fault.”
• “I must have done something to deserve it.”
• “I’ll never feel safe again.”
• “I’m too damaged to be loved.”

EMDR helped me identify and unhook from those lies. As we processed the memories, I began to install new beliefs:

• “What happened to me was not my fault.”
• “I am safe now.”
• “My body belongs to me.”
• “I deserve healing and connection.”

These weren’t just words. I felt them settle deep in my body—where the trauma used to live.

What EMDR Gave Me

EMDR gave me back pieces of myself I thought were lost forever.

It gave me:

• Sleep without nightmares
• Touch without panic
• Memories without spiraling
• Confidence in my voice and story
• Freedom from shame

I started dating again. I started laughing again. I started trusting my intuition. The numbness faded, and I began to feel—really feel—joy, hope, and peace.

Not every session was easy. There were tears, pauses, and sessions where I just needed to breathe. But each time, I left with more clarity and less weight.

What I Want Other Survivors to Know

If you’ve experienced sexual trauma, please hear me: you are not broken.

You may be hurting. You may be carrying years of silence and pain. But healing is possible.

You don’t have to tell the whole story to get help. You don’t have to be “ready” in the way you think you do. You just need to take one step toward safety—and then another.

EMDR might be that step.

You are allowed to heal. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to rewrite the ending.

Questions I Had—and Answers I Now Know

Is EMDR retraumatizing?
No. In fact, it was the first therapy that felt less triggering for me. You’re guided gently, and you always have the power to pause or stop.

Does it really work?
Yes. For me, it did more than years of talking. My trauma feels integrated now—not erased, but no longer controlling me.

Will I still remember what happened?
Yes—but it will feel like a past memory, not a present danger. It stops owning your body and your thoughts.

Is it weird?
Kind of! But so is living in a brain stuck in survival mode. I’ll take healing over comfortable any day.

A Final Word of Hope

I used to believe I would carry this pain forever. That it would always haunt me in some way. But I’ve learned something else:

Healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about reclaiming.

Reclaiming your peace. Your body. Your joy. Your truth. Your future.

If you’re wondering whether EMDR could help you—I invite you to reach out. To ask questions. To take a step. You don’t have to do this alone.

You are not what happened to you.
You are who you are becoming.