Hi, loves. I think it’s important to understand why I have a blog and how it started. Of course, anyone who knows me knows that I’ve been writing since I was five years old. I would sit in my room writing for hours on end, from stories to journal entries and it was always so healing to me. I’ve had my blog since 2014 (the year I graduated from high school). At first, my blog was password-protected and private. It was just a way for me to get through the drama, lies, and tears of my teenage years. Only one person at the time had my password and could read my posts, a very close friend of mine, someone who is no longer a part of my life. At the time, she was like a sister to me and we shared everything. I had been writing a story called Taking a Bite (a story based on my moments spent in New York City as a teenager), which is where the name for my blog Take a Bite out of me came from.

Very few people in my life at the time I started my public blog knew that when I was sixteen years old, I was raped. My therapist at the time had told me that my words had power and that I could reach and help other women through writing about what I had been through. At sixteen, I was too fragile and broken to openly discuss what I had endured. As I got older though, writing about my experiences became healing. In 2014, I redesigned my blog, made it public, and wrote my very first public post (there’s a brief excerpt from that original blog post below, which can still be found on my blog if you have the patience to scroll all the way back). This post was raw, uncomfortable for some to read, long, and incredibly hard to write. I received dozens of messages and emails from other women who had felt so alone until reading my post. I had classmates of mine reach out to me, apologizing for not knowing what I went through. It was a life-changing moment. I realized after publishing that post on my blog, that I would never hide away after pain, and that I would always try to help others feel less alone in their pain and trauma.

I still cannot believe it has been NINE years since my first blog post, and one of the hardest ones I’ve ever written. I didn’t start a blog to earn a living, to get likes on social media, or to get someone’s attention. I wrote because it helped me survive the toughest chapters of my life. My blog has been by my side through every chapter of my adult life and I’m truly grateful for my followers, readers, and the continued support I experience through my writing. I’ve grown and my life looks very different today, so I write fun, home-styling entries, and beautiful moments about motherhood (and messy ones), but I still write about the tough moments whenever I need to heal. The pain and the heartache never leave you, but you learn to re-read the dark chapters with a different outlook.

Before reading an excerpt from my first blog post below, it may be triggering to some. If it is, I’m sending you love, and just remember, there’s power in your words and you’re stronger than you know.

Published Nov 20. 2014

Light After Darkness

I could easily start off with a string of statistics; 44% of rape victims are under the age of 18, every 2 minutes an American is sexually assaulted, and my favorite, 97% of rapists will not spend a day in jail. I could start off with a string of statistics, yes, but when you become a part of a study, it’s extremely hard to base your feelings off of a bunch of numbers that can be found on Google, or in a glossy pamphlet at the Gynecologist’s office (I can’t stand them, by the way). When has a pamphlet ever made a person feel better? I became a part of known rape statistics, in June of 2012, when a guy in my life took full advantage of me, and left me with a laundry list of scary issues. I am now sharing my story and my battle with depression, with all of you. Have you ever woken up from a nightmare, and felt disoriented and scared? Well, that was my life for close to a year after being raped. Unlike a bad dream, I was unable to wake up and feel safe, because my bad dream was a very real nightmare. It happened on a balmy night, in June, of 2012. Within three hours of hanging out with a guy I thought I could trust, he raped me. I still remember where my thong had been tossed, after he violently ripped it off of me, along with my favorite summer shorts (I could never wear them again). I remember every detail of that night, as if it happened yesterday. I thought that night was going to consist of me watching reruns of Gossip Girl (my obsession in 2007) and drinking a beer; boy, had I been beyond wrong. He left me that night and I fell to the ground, and drowned in a puddle of tears; his abusive words replaying in my head, over and over again. I called my best friend at the time, and left her an incoherent voicemail, which she heard the next morning. I drank myself to sleep that night, and wished to sleep forever. I showered, and while standing in front of the mirror that hung in my room, naked, I found bruises and bite marks on my body. I was no longer comfortable in my own skin. You assume that after being hurt physically or emotionally, you will fight back. I wanted so bad to fight. Where had my strength gone? I knew that at some point I would have to fight, to regain my life, and my security, but all I could do was drink and cry. There was nothing I wanted more than to defeat my demons, but instead of fighting, I completely shut down. I felt a level of nausea that paralyzed my entire body. The Lizzie who had once existed, was gone. She never returned. I emerged from this trauma, forever altered.