After posting Women in Tech and Trauma, opening my Pandora’s Box of secrets to the world, it’s time to talk about what it really means to be a survivor of trauma, and how that relates to the woman (in tech) I’ve become. Truth be told, I’ve struggled with what to write the past few weeks. No single blog post could ever tell capture what this journey has been. A “seven minute read” barely scratches the surface, so where do I focus? What am I really trying to say? For me, it’s about breaking barriers, being real, but also about disproving the myths about survivors.

One of the things that irks me the most is the assumption that because I’ve taken a few round trips to hell that I’m somehow broken and weak.

Throughout my childhood I held a vision in my mind of what I hoped life would be when I was free. In the terror of darkness I’d close my eyes and drift into it. I had so many ideas, so many big dreams, and no one could take them away. It is that vision and my determination to make it reality that got me where I am today.

Years ago, I questioned whether or not tech was the right place for me. While I loved my work I found myself surrounded by men with big egos who seemed to think my purpose at the table was to give them something to look at, not because I had something important to say. Once, jokingly, oblivious to the offense he’d committed, a male co-worker told me that it came up in a meeting that they should put me in a box and send me as a Christmas gift to one of our biggest clients.

As a young woman, I thought I was supposed to laugh and smile. I had not yet built enough self-confidence to see that I was worthy of being seen as more than an object. Instead of addressing the harassment as someone else’s bad behavior I internalized it.

I dyed my naturally reddish-blonde hair black, and wore baggy clothes hoping it would stave off some of the unwanted attention. Deep down I questioned what it was about me; what was I doing wrong and thought that changing my outside appearance would fix it.

Maybe if I’m uglier, they won’t stare. Maybe if I hide my figure that guy from R&D that keeps trying to pat me on the ass will stop….

Coming from a history of trauma these types of incidents were devastating. The lines of the past and present bled together and I no longer knew where I was. The men that stared at me reminded me of the abuser’s; the guy that kept trying to touch me, and my attempt to stay out of his reach brought me back to of all the times I’d tried so hard to avoid capturing my abusers attention. The triggers were everywhere. EVERYWHERE. There was no escape. I felt as if the walls were closing in. The only way out that I could see was leaving tech altogether. I considered nursing. One of my jobs while in college was as a nurse’s assistant and other than the poor man who was convinced I was his deceased wife, it was “safe.”

One day I got mad. Why was I changing myself so men would stop being disrespectful and abusive??? I finally realized that it wasn’t me. That was a turning point both personally, and professionally. It was then that I found power in my truth. It was then when I (at last) decided that I wasn’t going to hide or pretend; I was going to be me. I was going to forge ahead with my passion for solving problems and creating software that made people’s lives better. It didn’t matter what anyone said, the ogling eyes, or the side eyes. I no longer had time to consider other’s misogynist opinions. I’d let too many things hold me back for too long. I was on a mission, sexism and all of the garbage I’d been carrying, be damned.

I realized that by trying to change so that I would “fit” in this industry (or anywhere else for that matter) I was losing my identity; I was losing everything that made me the person I was, and ultimately, the only one that it effected was me. I had become my own barrier; building so many walls that I’d locked myself in. Little by little, I took them down. I claimed my natural hair color. I started wearing clothes that made me feel good instead of using them as a shield. I stopped holding my ideas hostage, and over time, I finally found me, under all of the layers of self-protection and defense. I stopped working with and for men that made me uncomfortable. I’d finally realized that the problem was not me or that I am a woman. The problem was with those that saw womanhood as a deficit.

My life since has been a series of goals. I set one, reach it, set another. Sometimes I feel like I take 3 steps forward and 2 back, but instead of being discouraged, I try to learn from every single step, no matter the direction it takes me. It’s not about reaching a destination, it’s about growing and learning. It’s knowing that no matter what sets me back today, I am light years ahead of where I ever thought I’d be, and I am grateful.

In general, women are typically seen as the weaker sex. Maybe it’s because many of us can’t bench press 200lbs. I can’t. However my strength, and the strength of every survivor I know is not in our arms, it’s in our hearts, our minds, and in our souls.

We’ve been shattered in ways that those who have not experienced trauma will never fully understand. We’ve cried, screamed, and grieved for the little girls we never got to be; for the women we used to be… Our lives are marked indelibly with a “before” and an “after” that can never be erased.

In Japan, pottery that has been broken is repaired with gold lacquer. They believe that it is more beautiful because it has been broken, not in spite of… and that is very much what happens to survivors of trauma.

We become stronger where we’ve been broken. Even though we’ve experienced the worst that humanity can be, we continue to love, to believe, and we continue to help others find their voices and in turn, strengthen our own.

We are empathetic leaders because we know that everyone, just like us, is more than what we see. We know when to be tough and when to be gentle because we’ve mastered the art of understanding others’ emotions. What started as a survival mechanism is now an invaluable tool for understanding our co-workers and the world around us.

More than anything, we are not “just” survivors. We are thrivers. We are conquerers. We came into an industry dominated by testosterone, and stayed, because our passion is stronger than our fear.