Part of my PTSD treatment involves cognitive processing therapy — a structured approach where I identify and challenge the “stuck points” in my beliefs about myself, others, and the trauma I experienced. These stuck points often revolve around blame, intimacy, self-worth, and safety. It’s a complex and emotional process that requires revisiting painful memories and confronting hard truths, especially when you’re navigating it with multiple parts of the self, like I am.

One of the most significant breakthroughs I’ve had recently came from finally reaching some peace with an inner part of me — someone I’ve come to know as Victoria.

For a long time, there was tension between us. Vicky carried immense rage and blame, particularly towards me. She believed I had allowed the sexual abuse from the relative to happen. That belief hurt deeply, especially when I had always seen myself as a victim, not a participant. But things came to a head during a session when she said something that cracked everything open.

She accused me of having enjoyed the abuse. Her words triggered an overwhelming wave of memories, confusion, and shame. My mind was fighting back, insisting that it wasn’t true — and yet, my body had reacted during those moments, which only complicated the emotions.

I felt stuck. Vicky was furious, and I couldn’t speak. Thankfully, my therapist noticed my dissociation and didn’t push. She grounded me and eventually guided us through understanding the difference between physical and emotional responses.

She explained how our bodies can react to touch — even in traumatic situations — because of biology, not consent or emotional desire. That was a turning point. It didn’t erase the guilt, but it gave me language to understand what had once felt unspeakable.

Even then, Vicky resisted. Her anger came from a place of deep pain and betrayal. But when my therapist spoke about how many survivors feel the same confusion — how the body’s reactions are often misread, even by the survivors and offenders themselves — something softened. For the first time, I could feel Vicky’s tears. For the first time, I understood how much pain she had been carrying on our behalf.

We didn’t just unpack trauma that day — we made peace with each other. Vicky apologized. And I told her, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You were trying to protect us.” I also told myself that there’s nothing to be forgiven because none of us wanted this. That moment changed everything.

For the first time in our sessions together, my therapist cried with us. She told me, “I feel very angry for you.” No one, besides my husband, had ever said that to me before. Hearing that gave me a sense of comfort.

I didn’t rush to tell my husband that day. I sat with it. I cried — a lot, over a few days. But for once, those tears felt healing. For once, we weren’t crying from pain alone, but from the relief of no longer carrying the weight of false blame.

It was a victory — not just for me, but for all of us inside. A long-overdue one.