I used to believe survivorship belonged to people with the “worst” stories.
You know what I mean — the ones you see in documentaries, the ones people rally around.
Mine felt small.
So I kept it quiet for 12 years.
Not because I forgot.
Because I minimized.
I told myself:
It wasn’t violent enough.
I didn’t fight hard enough.
Maybe I misunderstood.
Silence becomes really convincing when you rehearse it long enough.
Then last year, I attended a small community event.
A woman stood up — shaking — and shared something eerily similar to what happened to me.
Not identical.
But emotionally identical.
And suddenly I realized:
I didn’t stay silent because it didn’t hurt.
I stayed silent because I thought I needed permission to call it real.
No one gives survivors permission.
We give it to each other.
The first time I said my story out loud, my voice cracked halfway through.
Not from fear.
From relief.
The moment the words left my mouth, I stopped carrying it alone.
And here’s what shocked me:
Three women approached me after and said,
“I thought I was the only one.”
I had spent over a decade believing my voice was unnecessary…
and it was exactly the voice someone else needed.
This is why storytelling matters.
Not for attention.
Not for pity.
For recognition.
Silence isolates survivors.
Stories reconnect them.
If you’ve ever thought:
• “Mine wasn’t bad enough”
• “It happened too long ago”
• “I should be over it”
• “Someone else needs the platform more”
I promise you — those thoughts are the silence talking, not truth.
Your story doesn’t have to be dramatic to be real.
It just has to be yours.
💜 Want to share your voice?
The Leila Grace Foundation is inviting survivors and supporters to share written stories or recorded conversations for our community platform.
You don’t need to be polished.
You don’t need to be ready to say everything.
You just need to not be alone anymore.
👉 Apply to share your story or volunteer as a storyteller.
Someone is waiting to recognize themselves in your words.