I have, with another past Rotarian from D5110, opened a “Go Fund Me” account for this woman. If you desire to contribute to the “Go Fund Me” account, please email me and I will give you the link.
eClub Rotarian and PDG John G. Cox dg51100910@gmail.com
This is her story.
Dear Reader,
I must start with my gratitude for the support for two friends, one a PDG and the other a very close friend and Rotarian of the Year. Their support has been monumental in my ability to move forward, heal and grow. To all the individuals reading this, Thank you for your time.
I wish I could say this was the first time I have written to Rotary, asking for an opportunity of grace and aid, to survive, but in the reality of my narrative this is not the first time. A decade ago, I sat as a 16-year-old girl writing to the Rotary clubs in Coos Bay and North Bend expressing my desire to know a world outside my own and be given the opportunity to be a student ambassador for the United States through Rotary Youth Exchange. I wish I could travel back in time and let Rotary know that the chance this organization gave me and SAVED my life. It removed me from a household of abuse and traumas a child should never have to endure. As I sit here a decade later, 27 years old now, it is that little girl that is writing to you today. Seeking another opportunity for grace and aid.
In seeking that opportunity, I need to explain who I am and the environments that created me. I am a survivor of physical, emotional and verbal abuse as a child. I was asked recently to describe “the abuse” in my story and have struggled to find an adequate way to describe the events that took place. It's excruciating to share the fabrics from which I am woven because as a six-year-old girl, I remember promising myself, I would only give good back into this world so no one would experience the anger, hate and pain I did as a child. For the first 12 years of my life, all I knew was the physical anger of my father and the narcissistic actions of my mother. My first memory is from when I was 5 years old, going to the ER with my forehead split open, leaving with 17 stitches and the story of She just ran herself into the open cupboard’. We moved to Oregon shortly after, the location changed but the abuse did not stop. For 7 more years, my life's narrative is riddled with fits of rage from my father, resulting in my little body experiencing years of terror. Every time he slammed me up against the wall violently screamed in my face, my small body would shut down from the pain and fear. When I was 12 my dad left for a time, and we went to California to live with my grandparents. My father ‘re-found’ Jesus ‘atoned for his sins and return to the family, a new man. The Year my dad came back my mother got pregnant with twins and since then, my mother and father have chosen a route of denial and that ‘things are different now; so it erased the past’ narrative. When my dad returned to my childhood narrative, I wished that things had truly turned around, but my mother’s inability to take any accountability for her part allowed the verbal and emotional abuse to continue, no longer at the hands of my father but from my mother. For 4 years my family played the happy little Mormon family, never discussing the abuse or acting as if it had happened. After I left on my exchange to Spain, I was given a gift of awareness, growth and insight only the world can give you. When I returned to the United States and my parents' house, I no longer wanted to be a part of the Mormon religion which resulted in my mother calling me a selfish entitled brat who didn't deserve anything and being kicked out of my parent’s house. I have been surviving on my own since. I left Coos Bay Oregon and made my way up to Portland Oregon. I was in my early 20s when I got diagnosed with PTSD because of the events that took place in my childhood. Since my diagnosis, I have been focusing on healing, moving forward and creating a life filled with unconditional light and love. For the past 6 years, I have done just that, rewritten my story to one engulfed in grace, beauty, and creativity.
Which brings us to the present day on why I am writing to you. For help: At the end of 2020, my grandfather passed. With his passing my only childhood home of safety and love, passed along with him. I decided, the west coast was no longer the place for me and The Big Apple was where I wanted to be. I moved October 21, 2020. On November 8th, 2020, my life shattered, I was raped by a stranger. That night, I took myself to the hospital, to seek medical attention. It was there I decided nothing will ever break me or take my freedom again. The pain and horror that my adult body experienced caused 12 years of old childhood wounds to be reinjured and bleeding ever since. While my parents tried to help they would [do] not[h]ing unless I moved in with them and took up the Mormon religion. I did not want to and could not do that.
Two months after my assault, I was offered a huge career opportunity here in NYC. I decided to stay and overcome another trauma, here in Manhattan. I set myself up with a therapist and psychiatrist and pressed on. For the past year and a half, I feel as if the air has been slowly pressed out of my lungs by the weight of the stress my mind, body and soul is under. I was hoping to find support within work; but I joined a team that has not been fundamentally set up to support someone with a disability. Leaving me to advocate for myself through workplace harassment, retaliation and biases. To which management's responded on multiple occasions over the past year “be the bigger person, turn the other cheek, this type of change takes time.’’ My employer did not offer mental health insurance, so I have been paying $200 a session 2x per week since my assault, resulting in completely draining my savings account and no longer having the means or resources to support myself. I was hospitalized for a week this past October, due to my PTSD. And Since then, I have been struggling even more and I have fallen completely behind on all my bills. (Rent, utilities, electricity and other medical bills). My PDG friend did give me $9,990 to make some delinquent payments. I have contacted organization for help such as HRA, NYC housing department, OVS, Personal loans, disability help etc., all are at standstill because of COVID, lack of workers or no funding available.
Which brings me to why I am here, to ask you for help with the financial burden I am under. So, I can find a moment of peace. To be able to breathe again and heal what has happened to my body and soul since moving to NYC. I want to leave you with the understanding, I know individual grants may not be what this organization does. But I truly hope it is something Rotary can do, if not for me then for the next little girl who reaches out to her Rotary family for help. Rotary saved my life as a child and I pray as I have mustered up the courage to share my story, my words are able to be received with grace.
In health all health, Emily
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