When I was in the darkest place of my life, being victimized, I doubted myself. Doubted it was real. Doubted that what was wrong was truly wrong.
When I found the voice to tell my sister, she asked me if I was sure. If I hadn’t misinterpreted. When I told my mom, she didn’t even acknowledge what I told her. They doubted me. Doubted what I was saying.
When I was looking for any sort of advice, I had no friends, so I went online. I was laughed at and sent nasty messages, told it wasn’t a big deal. Doubt was there. Doubt of my side, of my feelings, of my experience.
Doubt was worse than what happened to me. It made me feel like a liar, like I was delusional, like I was lost.
And when something happens to us, we doubt that it’s worth saying. That anyone will take it seriously. Doubt that what is happening is really that bad.
I just want y'all to know this isn’t a place of doubt. It’s a place of support. We do not doubt the voices of victims.
