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Being a victim and being a survivor sound similar, yet the difference determines how people treat you, hear you, and decide whether your story is valid. This difference has come up in several conversations recently, from ordination discussions, the current CoE safeguarding audit, and general chats. This has caused me to reflect on what I name, why I name it, and how I understand the harm I have survived.
Childhood memories feel like blurry moments once lived. Photos, certificates, medals, and school reports usually prove those moments existed. I do not have that. My past has been erased. Adoption took the first part. Life took the second.
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It’s a bank holiday weekend. May bank holidays usually have us taking part in the Sweeps Festival, but this one is different. The six of us are driving to Wrexham to celebrate Hannah’s brother getting married on Monday. The rest of her family arrive on Sunday. We wanted to stretch the weekend into something more than a timetable and a wedding, so we left today.
