ASHLEY M.

I had a VCUG performed on me at age 2. This procedure ruined my life more than words could ever be said. I was retraumatized by what happened to me over the course of several years by witnessing other extremely distressing events as a child.

I went on to have an external pelvic exam at age 5. I can still feel her cold hands on my genitals after she told me to take my clothes off and spread my legs. I remember not feeling real when she told me to do that—I was completely depersonalized.

As a result of this series of traumatizing events that took place as a child, I developed Complex PTSD. I am 20 years old now. In November 2022, all the repressed memories came flooding back in a therapy session. I completely dissociated.

The procedure ruined my attachment and relationship with my mother because she was in the room when it happened. As a little girl, I felt deeply betrayed by her. Hugs from my parents always felt violating. I lived every day feeling so unsafe in my body. When I was 14, I starved myself because I felt so broken and defective that I wanted to die. I ended up at an eating recovery center. I’ve been in therapy every year since then. No one filled me in on the trauma I endured as a child. My mom said that she knew it always traumatized me and that she told all my therapists…but no one ever filled me in. I was left to figure out why I felt so broken all by myself. My therapist gave me an assignment to write how my body felt with my left hand every day until we meet again. I showed up the next session with, “I felt like I was sexually abused. Everything feels wrong. My body feels so violated” written on the page. She asked me again if I had ever been sexually abused….that’s when the memory from when I was 5 came flooding back. I completely depersonalized and was in a daze for 3 days straight.

After this experience in therapy, I felt like something else had happened before that exam when I was 5, so I called my mom to ask, and sure enough, I had a VCUG performed on me prior. Not only did they tie down my legs while I was screaming with my clothes off, enduring excruciating pain; but they violently damaged several parts of my pelvic region and tore a part of my vagina. My mother got into a screaming match with the doctor after he said that he will have to do it to me again.

The doctor, who was an old man, said that I won’t remember. I wish I could look him in the eye and tell him, “My body vividly remembers. It was torture.”

I have several disturbing memories of desperate attempts to cope with what happened as a child. There were so many red flags of PTSD growing up. As a little girl, I would always threaten to kick, hit, and bite anyone that would come near me. During a phone call, my mom said to me, “You were angry at the world. You’ve never been the same since that day. It was inhumane what they did to you. It was terrible.”

Growing up, I always felt unsafe and violated. There was a constant sense of dread. Every time I got in the car, I feared it was going to happen again. I grew up thinking that all my fears and body sensations were something experienced by everyone but just no one ever talked about it, like it was some secret.

Fast-forward nearly two decades, and I’m learning that none of that was normal. It was PTSD. I am extremely angry toward the medical field for unnecessarily traumatizing children with this abusive procedure. This procedure should be illegal and should never be performed on any child under any circumstance. Not only did this procedure lead to CPTSD and disordered eating, but I also severely struggled with self-harm (cutting, burning, making myself pass out), suicidality (I almost overdosed on Xanax more than once), dissociation, anxiety, OCD, and depression.

Just recently, in April 2023, I attended a residential treatment program because the PTSD became debilitating. Prior to my admission, every day, I wanted to die. I would plan the countless ways I could end my life. I hated my body because it always felt broken and violated, so I would harm myself. I was trying to match how I felt on the inside to how it felt on the outside.

As a result of the trauma, I had lost all trust in myself and my ability to protect myself.

I always felt unsafe, no matter where I was or who I was with. After attending residential treatment, I am just now learning how to regain trust in myself and live a life free from the paralyzing effects of trauma. My voice was not listened to by anyone in that room as I screamed enduring that nightmare of a table—but my voice still mattered. It always has, and it always will.

I am not broken. What happened to me is not my fault. I am not alone. I am still hurting a lot, but every day—I choose to stay alive. I am rewriting the narrative. My voice is Unsilenced. I am unashamed of my story, and I am proud of the brave, intelligent woman that I have become.

To all of my fellow survivors: You are not broken. You never were.