Science- After I was sexually assaulted, I felt disconnected from my body, and it felt surreal.
- One day I was taking a shower and marveled at how connected I suddenly felt to my body again.
I agreed to meet a Bumble match for a hookup. It was supposed to be an evening of casual fun, but the night took a turn that would change my life — and the relationship with my body — forever.
He picked me up and we went to a hotel room. The next hour is a blur; my boundaries and consent were repeatedly violated. I agreed to casual sex, but I did not agree to someone disrespecting and assaulting my body. The night ended with me buying an emergency contraceptive pill, going home, and then reheating day-old curry for dinner. Over the next few days, I felt my body split into two.
It would take me two months before I found a process that slowly helped stitch me back together. After some therapy, I realized a dedicated beauty and skincare routine was the key.
The first step was denial — but then came the grief
At first, I tried to find my escape in the arms of other strange men. I found another man off Hinge who seemed lovely, but he, too, sexually assaulted me.
As my denial about the incidences began chipping away, it brought forth an ocean of grief and anger. I spent therapy sessions trying to find the words to articulate my hurt, but it felt futile.
In those sessions, I started to talk about my relationship with my body, which felt like a cloak that can be pulled off at any time. The disconnect with my body felt surreal.
But one day, I suddenly felt closer to myself while taking a shower — I simply stood in the scalding-hot shower on a foggy winter day and watched the water turn to steam after hitting my skin.
I watched the bubbles froth when I rubbed soap against my skin. I watched the lotions and body oils melt into the crevices and cracks of my skin.
I tried the routine a few more times. Like a well-rehearsed magic trick, every time I did the shower routine, the distance that I felt from my body was replaced with warmth, compassion, and kindness. I told my therapist about it, and she suggested I continue.
"When you shower, imagine your abusers' presence and touch erasing off you and trickling down the drain," she said in one of the sessions.
I didn't know that a shower would become the start of a bigger self-care routine that would help me celebrate and make peace with my body. Warm baths — and then a skincare routine — became a reminder for me to treat myself with kindness and care. The broken pieces of myself that felt duct-taped together finally felt like they were coming together.
My routine is not complicated and does not involve any pricey or specific products
I use anything that I can get my hands on at the drugstore. For my face, I stick to Cetaphil products and sunscreen. But small additions are what make the routine special for me. For instance, when I use a face roller, I feel like I'm reclaiming my face again.
The rest of my routine is subject to change according to the weather. The feeling of lightweight products during the summer and heavier creams during the winter helps me further connect with myself.
When I oil my hair or use a hair mask, I feel like I'm reclaiming my hair, which was pulled with great force by my abusers. It's a reminder that my body is not the remnant of what my abusers did to me but a vessel that holds a variety of experiences.
The routine is a work in progress
On bad mental-health days, when depression confines me to my bed, I simply apply lip balm and some sunscreen to my face, or I'll use a small amount of hand cream to moisturize my hands.
In this ever-changing and everlasting relationship with my body, I take the time to appreciate it a lot more. Right now, I celebrate small wins with my body and try to be kinder to it. But I also check in with myself on the days when I'm not feeling particularly good about it.
A mix of therapy and this routine has given me a stronger set of boundaries with my sexual partners. Beyond turn-ons and turn-offs, I tell my partners the one thing that's now a nonnegotiable: respect and kindness for my body.