A few years ago, my friend Eric told me a story about him, his father, and his son. Eric’s father was dying of cancer, and he was visiting him for the last time before he died. While driving around together one day, his father suddenly yelled in agitation and anxiety at Eric’s driving. That moment reminded Eric of all the times in the past his father had yelled at his driving, and all of a sudden, Eric realized he had done the exact same thing while his son was driving. Eric had worked consciously for years to be a better father than his father was, and yet he had unwittingly reproduced a scene from his past. Once he realized this, Eric sat down with his son to make a repair and a pledge to change his behavior when he returned home. At the same time, he realized apologizing would not erase what had happened; his son would now carry that same memory and feeling for the rest of his life. 

I share this story with Eric’s blessing, to show how easily the line between survivor and perpetrator can blur.

I am a survivor of sexual trauma. 

I first came to understand myself as a survivor as I healed and gained distance from an unhealthy sexual relationship I had in 2019. For a long time, I resisted calling myself a survivor because what I had experienced did not align with what I had learned about the definition of trauma through individual traumatic events. As a reader, you have the power to decide whether you fall into this category or not. For me, it was only through years in therapy that I came to understand how a series of relationships in my past had profoundly shaped my sense of self. Rather than having intrinsic self-worth, I had been taught that I could only receive value from others through a rigid set of acceptable behaviors. Part of what brought me to my penultimate relationship of 2019 was the constant reinforcement of this belief in big and small ways over time. By the time I entered that relationship, I felt like I deserved the dynamic we had, which my then-partner took advantage of. 

For the first few years of recovery, I was convinced that I was a victim and my former partner an abuser. The black and white story of good and evil made me powerless, told me it wasn’t my fault because there was nothing I could do. But being powerless also meant that I could only depend on others for healing and love. That story reinforced the pattern of extrinsic self-worth, and prevented me from trusting myself or my future partners. 

Content warning: brief story, sexual coercion

Just last year, I had a moment with my current partner where my power to have a say in when I had sex felt threatened. When I was told no, in my fear I issued an ultimatum to my partner of either saying yes or leaving the room so I could meet the need myself, because it felt like the only way I could hold onto my autonomy. As soon as I saw how much my partner was hurt by this, I realized those were the same words my old partner from 2019 used to use to guilt-trip me.

It was easy, then, to blame the third party that wasn’t there. To imagine him, again, as a villain I was powerless to stop. But I was also shaken by the fear, “What if I am now becoming the villain in my new partner’s story?”

In the process of my recovery, I am still unlearning harmful thought processes and ways of assigning value to myself and others. When something happens that triggers that old power dynamic I used to experience, I sink back into this dark place inside of me, and I would do just about anything to crawl back out. I know I am not the only survivor who feels this way. 

But when I saw how much I hurt my current partner in that moment, I realized the story I was telling myself was a lot more complicated. I do have power. I had power back in 2019, and I still have power now. Power to inflict on others the same harm I internalized, and power to choose instead the healing and kindness I so desperately needed back then. When I realized I hurt my current partner, I apologized. I shared that those words came from my past, but that the me of today values the importance of always being able to say no. To do this, I had to remind myself I am no longer in that old relationship, that I am safe now and capable of change.

As I’m writing this now, believe me, I know how impossible that can feel. It’s important not to shame ourselves for what we do when we’re in that dark place. It’s important to have compassion for who we were back then and who we are still becoming. 

Eric has the power to build a better relationship between himself and his son. I have the power to strive to be a better partner in my current relationship. We have the power to end the cycle of harm, one soft, open-hearted relationship at a time.

This piece was published on December 8, 2025. It was authored by M. Z. R. Corum. 

M. Z. R. Corum (they/them) is a survivor of sexual trauma with a background in restorative justice. They now work at a reentry nonprofit with a focus on finding humanity after the trauma of incarceration. 

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