When Survivors of Violence Get to Own Their Own Stories

Last week, I struggled to keep watch on the news. As a survivor of sexual assault and domestic violence, both as a child and an adult, it was hard to stomach what I interpreted as the rush to mourn and mythologize former Virginia Lt. Gov. Justin Fairfax, a man who murdered his brilliant and accomplished wife, Dr. Cerina Fairfax, in a final act of dominance before turning the gun on himself. 

The news hit one week ago, not long after a CNN investigation revealed the existence of an online rape academy in which men across the globe shared tips on how to drug and sexually assault their partners.

It also followed the resignations of two members of Congress, former Democratic Rep. Eric Swalwell of California and former Republican Rep. Tony Gonzales of Texas, after accusations of sexual misconduct.

The week ended with a mass shooting in Shreveport, Louisiana, in which a man killed eight children — seven of which were his own — and severely wounded his wife and suspected girlfriend. Women across social media shared personal accounts of survival, often explaining that ending relationships with an abusive partner took so much time because they knew that leaving without a near-perfect strategy could cost them their lives.

Then this week arrived, and childhood survivors of similar atrocities offered a glimpse into their stories. Two of my favorite writers’ accounts stood out: Bernice L. McFadden’s video posted here and Kahn Davison’s essay published by MS Now.

Davison was 15 months old when his father murdered his mother before killing himself. His maternal grandparents raised Davison, choosing to never tell him what happened and forbidding their social circle from revealing the details. (An easier mandate to uphold for a child born in 1976.) Davison’s own search for information during his freshman year of college answered some of his questions.

What strikes me most is Davison’s lasting appreciation for his grandparents’ decision to withhold the truth of his parents’ deaths from him. It allowed him to grow up without the mental and emotional burden the world places on survivors of such incidents, giving him power over his story rather than giving the story power over him.

While the Fairfax children now carry the grief of their parents’ deaths, he offers them permission to reject the stigma that the world will attempt to heap upon them and allow the fullness of their lives to still take shape.

“The most beautiful thing about life is that we get to be our own biographers,” Davison writes. “Every day is a new chapter, and I pray that eventually they wake up every morning looking forward to writing it.”