I’m no expert in how to handle traumatic experience. I was victimized two times while in grade school. I kept both of them secrets for decades. I mean I told no one. I locked them away.
In middle age, almost as a surprise to myself, I shared with a loved one what happened to me in my youth. It felt like the right thing to do. Over the years, I talked about it to a few others. I think sharing the horrific experiences made me feel better. I don’t hide from them anymore, nor do I define myself by them. I accept the experiences as a tiny part of who I am today.
I needed to share this, because I have friends who are mired in pain from terrible ways they were treated long ago. It robs them of joy. I’m sorry for them.