Filing a complaint or staying silent and living with it. I saw the first option as a way to seek justice and to stop someone who had meant and done me harm. But it was more than that. By speaking out about what I had suffered, I could unburden myself. I could pass it off, let it go. It was no longer solely mine to bear. In a sense, I was freeing myself from it. When viewed this way, the choice seemed simple, obvious. And yet...

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First, I had to process what had happened. For several weeks, I had been manipulated and abused by someone I trusted, someone who, due to his position, shouldn’t have been able to hurt me. I was in denial.

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Then I had to accept that it had happened to me. Yes, I was a victim. I felt ashamed. My sensitivity and kindness had left me vulnerable, and he had exploited that. I never saw it coming. By the time I opened my eyes, the damage was done. He had shattered me.

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Alongside shame came fear. Fear that he would retaliate and hurt me even more if I reported him. Fear of reliving the nightmare by recounting it. Fear of being paralyzed by despair again. I felt dirty, alone, weakened. I couldn’t report him; I didn’t have the strength.

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It took me a year and a half to start rebuilding myself, little by little. Finally, I found the strength and courage to speak up. By then, I felt I had no choice. I had learned that I wasn’t the first. If I stayed silent, I risked not being the last. For me, it was too late, but I had to protect others.

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I first met with LAVI, who recognized me as a victim. Then with a lawyer, thanks to that status. Then with the police, with my lawyer present. My interview lasted nearly ten hours. Ten hours that will remain in my memory as one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. To avoid breaking down, I kept replaying in my mind the reasons that had brought me there, reasons that gave me just enough strength to face it. I was doing what was right and just. The “price to pay” was less than if I had buried this and kept it inside me.

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I knew the process would be long and gruelling, but I never lost sight of my twofold goal: to seek justice and protect others. I owed it to myself. And I owed it to them. This purpose kept me going through the long months that stretched between each stage. “What does not kill us makes us stronger,” Nietzsche wrote. I discovered resilience, a quality I hadn’t known I possessed.

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His interview with the prosecutor assured me that he was no longer in a position to prey on others. My complaint had, in fact, forced him to stop working with vulnerable people. That was one of my goals. So, two and a half years after reporting him, I decided to end the process by signing a settlement. This spared me from the prospect of more months or even years of waiting and from “enduring” a trial. This outcome fulfilled my other need: for him to formally acknowledge what he had done to me and to apologise.

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This resolution feels like a major “victory” to me, and I emerge from this ordeal stronger than ever, with my head held high and the incredible feeling of having done what was right. My complaint allowed me to rebuild myself, and I am convinced it has deterred him from repeating this with someone else.

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January 2022

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