My childhood story

If you saw me in clinic as a young kid, you would almost certainly describe me as healthy, active, energetic and high achieving. I wore a smile as wide as my face and talked excitedly about my friends, sports and summer plans whenever asked. What you wouldn’t know about me was that in third grade, I was raped by a member of my extended family; and throughout middle and high school, I was sexually and emotionally abused by an alcoholic parent. You would not know this as a clinician because I always wore an impenetrable shield in order to get through my visit with you. My smile and kindness served as a mask to hide what I felt were the shameful, dark parts of me, and my costume always included some combination of athletic clothes and sports equipment.

Contrary to many recent high-profile cases,1 I was not subjected to sexual violence in sport. Yet sport was fully enmeshed in my experiences of sexual violence. Beyond the genuine joy and happiness I felt while playing sports, they provided me a necessary sense of safety and belonging outside my home and important safety from my unrelenting shame and fear. Simply put: sports saved my life.

My challenging experiences with clinicians

The summer before ninth grade, at a time when I was actively experiencing abuse, I visited my paediatrician for a preparticipation sports examination. My physician noted that I had lost a significant amount of weight since my last physical. I had never been preoccupied with my weight, but he accused me of restricting food and suggested treatment for anorexia. This was not the issue, but my truth …