Reflections on the Old Me (TW: Mentions of sexual assault and grief)

Lately I find that I have been grieving my old self. A version of myself that disappeared the night I was assaulted.

I keep finding myself staring at this picture. Searching for recognition or connection to who this person once was & who I am now.

I took this picture in the backyard of my old house hours before I went out with friends. Hours before a few of us would end up back at the beautiful home I made for myself. Hours before I would be sexually assaulted & ultimately changing the course of my life forever.

I ache for her. I know that it was not my fault but I wish I could tell her not to go out that night. But at the time, I was so eager to go out and have a fun night. I had been working 80–90 hour work weeks and it was the first night I had been out in months.

My life was so wrapped up in work & the show I was working on. I remember so clearly. wanting to not be work Lauren for a night. I wanted to let my hair down & be silly, fun Lauren. Not be Director’s Assistant work Lauren where everything I did revolved around my boss & the needs of the production.

I used to value my long red hair so much. I called it my Pippi Longstocking hair. I was spunky and full of fire just like Pippi. I felt like my hair made me, well me.

Later that night, the actor who ended up raping me, would comment with a strange look in his eye that he’d never really seen my hair down before & that it looked wild. The look on his face & the way he said it still haunts me. I wish I had known but how could I have? Again, I now know it was not my fault but looking back that moment felt significant.

Seeing my once prized red hair would end up becoming a major trigger for me. Months after the assault I would end up chopping off my hair with kitchen scissors in midst of a flashback. I couldn’t take seeing it on my person. Part of me blamed my hair for what happened. I then would later dye it blond to try and not stick out as much to men. Beyond the trigger of seeing my own hair, on my own head, I was tired of the redhead jokes and being sexualized for the coloring of my hair. I just wanted to blend in.

At work weeks after the assault one of the other actors would tell me that he loved my red hair. I truly don’t think he meant it disrespectfully but it made me feel even more like I was marked.

At the time I took this picture I had no idea what lay in store for me. I was hardworking & working in my dream career, had a boyfriend I loved, and beautiful home. I didn’t know that the events that would take place later that night would take all of that from me. I want to hug her so bad. My heart breaks for her.

Months later I would sell my home and move because I no longer felt safe in my own house. That is someone else’s backyard now where they will take pictures & make their own memories. That’s not my life anymore.

I like the new person I am becoming but sometimes I really really miss her.

Yesterday I had this very brief thought that I missed my red hair. It scares me but also comforts me. Maybe I can find parts of that woman again.

Thanks for listening and holding this space with me. Sometimes the grief is too much to carry alone.