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August 2012

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed ready to burst into a mountain of tears. I leave for Miami in only a few days and I’m convinced I have absolutely nothing to wear. I’ve called a friend, one who knows the DNA of my life’s history all too well, in hopes that she will talk me off the ledge on which I’m teetering. She doesn’t answer. So, instead, I cry.

It has been a little over a year at this point since I was raped, an experience that first left me soulless. I fought through an arduous recovery, leaving the imprint of my behind on therapists’ couches, the dents from my knees on church altars and residue from my fingertips on keyboards. People, God, and writing. There isn’t ever much else.

I thought I finished recovering. Because, I felt fine. In fact, I felt more than fine; I felt like my old self again. So, I neglected the very obvious fact: an experience that eats away at every fiber of your being requires a lifelong recovery.

Clothes are one of my biggest triggers. Selecting an outfit for a night out, date or even just a work day can feel like pointing a loaded gun at my renewed confidence. Too short. Too tight. Too much cleavage. Is this see-through? A flurry of questions firing off all the synapses in my brain. Perhaps, it was because the first time I was triggered was the moment I tried to wear the leopard print crop top from that night. I didn’t think much of it. I had forced myself to think of everything but that. And, then I threw that shirt over my head and melted into a puddle of sobs. That was the moment I knew my entire life shifted and I could no longer deny it. I could only respond.

Since that night more than two years ago, I’ve purged my closet of many microscopic dresses. I’ve been more conservative with my wardrobe choices. I’m not sure if it’s a matter of growing up, working in corporate America, simply feeling self-conscious, or an uncanny combination of all of the above.  Either way, it happened. Getting dressed is still a nightmare on occasion. But, I try to convince myself that who I am and how I emanate sexiness has never been about the length of a skirt or the constraint a pair of jeans provides. It wasn’t that night and it isn’t now. But, it is about the thoughts I project, the words I speak, and the spirit I bring to everything I do.

I kept the leopard shirt. I wanted to torch it. But, now I know there is nothing more to that shirt than a continued journey of faith and resilience. It’s the most important journey I’ve ever taken.

Tyece