Healing Words: The Story Behind The Voice

 

Learn how blogger and attorney Sheerin Siddique overcame three separate instances of sexual assault on bettysbattleground.comA guest writer series about the ways we heal-on bettysbattleground.comI’ve been getting a lot of traffic to my blog since my Vox article came out. I wish this beast were monetized! But hey, if you’re visiting from the Vox article, welcome to my ad-free blog! My husband thinks you’re here looking for pictures of me and my daughter. Considering the fact that I’m getting a ton of visits to my About Me page, I think he’s right. That’s a little sick, you guys. I gotta be honest. But I supposed we are all infected with that weird gossipy sickness in one way or another. Give the people what they want I guess? There’s pictures of the two of us around here, sure. Try the very first post, about taking her to the Womxn’s March against Trump, or this post about things that made me happy during this dark, crazy year.

If you’d like to hire me to write content for you, please visit my Contact Me page.

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Moving on…today I have something special. Today’s guest blogger is an attorney, public speaker, and blogger who still managed to find time to write a piece for my blog about how she healed from multiple sexual assaults. She is also a Muslim woman, and in this piece she address how her culture has served as both oppressor and liberator throughout her journey. I am so proud and honored to share her story on Betty’s Battleground. She asked me to note that, rather than using stock images, she has given me permission to use her original photography and artwork! It remains her property, and may be redistributed only with her permission and a link back to her blog, http://www.echoesofhervoice.com. Any unauthorized use is a violation of copyright laws.

Read Shareen Siddique's story of healing from sexual trauma on bettysbattleground.comSheerin Siddique is a Michigan-licensed health care attorney in the greater metropolitan Detroit area, a blogger at echoesofhervoice.com, a writer, and a single mother of three beautiful children.  She enjoys advocacy work, painting, photography and reading novels, and hopes to publish a novel about her abuse one day.
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A Family Problem: How My PTSD+Depression Affect My Kids

Learn how my PTSD+Depression affect my kids in a tellall confessional on bettysbattleground.com

Although living with PTSD, Minor Depression, and an Addiction Disorder often feels like the loneliest existence on the planet, these are issues which affect my entire family. Especially when I am in the depths of an episode, I like to believe that my words and actions don’t impact others. When I’m in that state, I feel like my family doesn’t need me or care about me. I feel as though they would be better without me; like I hurt them simply by being. Of course, it’s that line of thinking which truly hurts my family.

Mental illness or injury affects everyone it touches. Expressing that reality was the reason I began my “Tales From The Other Side” guest blogger series. I wanted to show that when one person in a family is hurting, the whole family hurts. Yet despite publishing these touching stories by real people affected by PTSD and other disorders, it has been difficult for me to truly realize that when I hurt, my family hurts.

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The Light That Shines Through: A Post About Dissident Happiness

Read about the good days in a crappy year on bettysbattleground.com

I have not been very happy this past year. Just over a year ago, on an innocuous evening in June, someone knocked on my door while I was in the bathroom. My husband answered, and accepted a packet that an unfamiliar layman was delivering for me. My world changed while I was taking a piss.

The packet was a lawsuit; a motion for genetic testing to establish paternity. Had I answered the door, I would have been able to identify the layman who’d delivered it to my home address as the father of the man who physically and sexually abused me for four years when I was a teenager. The paternity suit in the packet was legitimate; my abuser fathered my eldest child, though he had been uninvolved in my son’s life for almost as long as my son had been alive.

The parentage suit, which was quickly followed by a custody suit, threw my world into a darkness almost as deep and suffocating as the four years of our relationship. I had to recount, and then defend, the worst instances of my abuse. My abuser submitted intimate letters and photographs, which he had apparently kept in his possession for ten years, with the seeming sole purpose of humiliating me. I was obsessively fearful for my son’s safety, especially because he is a non-verbal autistic. My PTSD was aggressively aggravated, and my lowest shames were paraded before my abuser for his amusement and use. On top of that, my beloved Abuelita (grandmother) had died just a month earlier, and I was struggling to recover from my PTSD related suicide attempt. The past year has been a hell.

But this isn’t a post about hell. This isn’t a post about the custody case. This post is about the little pricks of light that shone through the darkness of the past year, sometimes impossibly so; those fervent, stubborn moments of happiness and joy that kept me dragging onward through the fight. This is a post about happiness that chose to exist beyond all odds. Dissident happiness.

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