Ten years ago, I finally understood, truly, that I had been raped. That understanding came with a profound feeling of guilt that by not being strong enough to overcome my rapist’s manipulation, by not being smart enough to understand sooner, by not being confident enough to believe myself, my rapist was free, enabled, even empowered to hurt more women.

Maybe even if I had been able to stand up to him back then and reported him, I wouldn’t have been believed. Maybe he would have evaded consequences then as well as he did when I finally did speak up. I can’t know.

I know I am not responsible for his choices, his abuses, but I also know I could have done more and I didn’t. And the weight of that regret is one I’ve carried for the last decade; it is what fueled my fight. I needed to know I’ve done everything I possibly could to prevent anyone else from going through with him what I did. I needed to make those reparations.

Letting go is a hard thing for anyone to do, I think. I identify as being especially bad at it — unable, really. It’s something I’ve tried to learn and really only failed at.

The lawsuit is over. The thing that has been in many ways the foundation of my life is done. And in order to survive that thing, I had to hold onto it for dear life, white knuckle death grip or I would not make it through. It was the lifeboat as much as it was the anchor. Because, personality flaw or not, I knew the only way for me to move forward was to know I’d done everything I could. The only way to forgive myself was to fight the way I wish I had back then.

So I did. And having done so, I finally can let go. The past is past, including this lawsuit, including this abuse. I feel that now. The release is palpable. I’ve loosened my grip, relaxed it entirely. Holding on no longer serves me, even I know that now. I’d like to believe that within this lifetime there’s still time for me to learn whatever lessons would’ve allowed me to feel like I could’ve chosen — and forgiven myself for — not fighting, not giving up my sanity and so many years of my life to this. But knowing myself as I am here and now, who I was then, and what I’ve gone through, I would do it all again to get to where I am right now, this place where I can let go of it.

Forgiveness is a nuanced thing. I think I’ll always regret not fighting sooner, but I know the girl who didn’t, who couldn’t. She was me. I am her. I wish I could’ve told her what took me so many years to learn, but that’s exactly the point. It took so many years to learn what I needed to know to fight the way I wish I had and eventually did. How could I hold that against her, me, us?

I can’t go back in time. I can’t prevent abuse. I wish there weren’t people going through it now, but I know there are. And to them I can say the things I didn’t hear when I was in their shoes, and maybe just maybe someone like the me I was will read them. Here are some of those lessons:

×If you are questioning whether something was consensual, something is wrong. Trust yourself. Consent is enthusiastic, freely given, and cannot happen if you do not want to give it. Consensual experiences do not leave you wondering if you consented. (If reading this is bringing up a feeling of defensiveness or fear of false allegations, evaluate how you have recieved consent, assumed consent. Getting consent is sexy. If you’re embarrassed or avoidant of doing it explicitly, ask yourself why that is.)

×Trusting people is a beautiful thing. It is worth doing even after you’ve had that trust betrayed. Remember that you are a person and in fact the one person you can ALWAYS, unequivocally trust. Believe yourself.

×You do not have to earn the right to disagree with or go against anyone who is doing something wrong.

×You are not responsible for the feelings someone experiences when you call out their problematic behavior, even when you care about that person and their feelings.

×It is not speaking the truth that causes pain but facing the truth.

×You do not need anyone’s permission to talk about what you are going through. If someone is preventing you from telling others about what they are doing to you, that is a red flag.

×It is not acceptable behavior to intentionally bruise and punch your friends, partners, anyone.

×If something feels like it was traumatizing for years, it was.

×Victims behave in often confusing, counterintuitive, even inexplicable ways. How a victim responds to a crime is never, ever the thing that determines if a crime occurred.

×Even if no one believes you, it doesn’t make it any less true.

×No one but you gets to decide how you navigate what happened to you. There is truly no objectively right or wrong path forward. You are not accountable for someone else’s decisions.

×You deserve peace. You deserve support. You deserve justice. You deserve therapy. These things are unshakable truths.

In finally being able to let go of the fight, I realize I can let go of other things, too. I still have a lot to learn in that regard, but I am not as incapable as I thought. I think my body didn’t feel safe to let go of anything in case I lost my grip on this. But right away I’ve been met with a choice of whether to stand my ground or to let go, and it is the sweetest reward that I can and do choose surrender.

The rest of my life is mine, and what I fight for now is the peace I promised myself was waiting for me on the other side of this. I still care about injustice, about trying to do my part for my fellow survivors, past and future, and I hope I always will. I’m grateful to have that in me.

And I’ve devoted, at first against my will and then with my decisions, nearly half my life to this. My life’s mission now is joy, peace, presence, cat cuddles, board game nights, triathlon, feeling like I’m enough, and being the kind of person who makes others feel that way, too. My greatest goal for myself and for everyone reading this is acceptance in the most all-encompassing way: acceptance of the truth, ugly as it surely sometimes is; acceptance of ourselves, flawed as we surely sometimes are; acceptance of our regrets, our failures, our errors, our wrongs; acceptance and release of that which we cannot control; acceptance of the loose ends when it’s time to close chapters; acceptance of our inherent, immutable worthiness.

I’ve shared before about a mantra I have: I’m going to allow myself to be hurt and let go. Finally, I can. Finally, I do.

I have infinite lessons left to learn, and the time I have left to grow is a privilege I don’t intend to take for granted. Even still, I am exhaling, asking my body to relax with me. Inhaling. Exhaling. The war is over. The birds are singing. I can hear their song. I have nothing to prove. My hands hang loose. The ground never fell out from under me after all. I don’t fear the silence. I can hear myself breathing — inhale. Exhale.

This is enough.