The Adulting Journals Story

Hey there and welcome back to Growing Pains!

In looking through my older posts and garnering inspiration for my last story, Halfway Through My 19th Year: An Observation, I realized that I have spoken lightly in my earliest posts on my inspiration for beginning The Adulting Journals, but never really delved into the actual creation of my blog.

One of the main pillars of my writing, especially for something as equally broad and personal as a blog, is honesty. I don’t ever want to lie to my readers to gain a few extra clicks, or to write a prettier story. I’ve made it my goal to be as truthful and genuine as I can in recounting my ugliest experiences, while still maintaining a hopeful message.

I’ve spoken often of my years suffering through self-harm, as well as my struggle with bulimia nervosa. I’ve also briefly mentioned my sexual assault, though I’ve never gone deeper into the subject than mentioning the fact that it happened. It’s a touchy topic, and one I, as well as many other victims, try to push to the back of my mind. I admit to still pretending it never happened, and even writing this story is very slowly aggravating the barely-healed wound.

If this topic may be triggering to you in any way, please feel absolutely free to skip this post. I will not be going into details surrounding my experience, but it will be mentioned often throughout this post.

I had been working towards my EMT certification since August of 2024 when it happened that September. I was eighteen at the time, which was a huge factor in the shame I felt. Many people I spoke to said that because I’m no longer a minor, it didn’t matter what happened. I reached out to a mentor the same evening of the assault, panicking and asking what I was supposed to do. He comforted me and pointed me toward a few resources.

Still, I spent the next week completely shaken, unable to focus on anything or speak to anyone else. When the shock began affecting my college assignments, I briefly considered dropping the EMT program to take a semester to focus on my mental health. Ultimately, I decided to reach out to my EMT instructors, who very graciously allowed me the week to gather myself before working on any more assignments for class.

After that week, I turned off any emotional thoughts and went on autopilot. I refused to allow my rapist to derail my career with his actions. I focused on my schooling and nothing else, memorizing everything from medical terms to drugs EMTs and medics can administer. On weekends, I studied hard, spending brief moments with my family over dinner or errands. And it worked for the next three months, until I finished my certification in December.

Without the pressures of school to distract me, this front that I had created came crashing down. I put on a happy face for my family as the holidays passed, but I was still so broken. I was told to report him, to confide in my parents, to seek a therapist, to call the police. But all those suggestions fell on deaf ears. I was so used to going through all my suffering alone. I didn’t want my parents to see their youngest daughter through that lens, I didn’t want to have to tell them what happened. I was so ashamed and hurt.

I lost so many friends throughout this time. The religious ones who told me to forgive my rapist otherwise I’d never find peace. The ones who told me I was an attention-seeking slut. And the ones who quietly backed away until I never heard from them again.

I slowly grew distant from my daily habit of journaling. I didn’t want to have to permanently taint my journal with all the shame and disgust that I felt towards myself. I wanted to ride these feelings out, and leave no trace that the assault ever happened once I was done processing everything. I wanted to convince myself that it never happened, and I figured as time passed I would begin to actually believe that lie. I turned to writing on my computer. I could vent to the endless void of my documents, and delete anything I wrote on the drop of a dime. 

As I began researching resources to help me, I came across so many painful news articles. I won’t go into detail for the sake of the people affected by these crimes, but I was enraged, and a fire inside me was ignited. I wanted nothing more than to make at least the smallest change in the world.

Inspired by all the incredible female artists in the punk scene, including Pussy Riot, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Patti Smith, I began Punk Pulse Magazine. It was a feminist web magazine that would highlight a female artist from punk bands and all their subgenres, and share the latest news on sexual violence and reproductive rights as well as advocate for victims of all genders and backgrounds.

It was a nice sentiment, I suppose. Despite my passion on the subject, it was just depressing to immerse myself so deeply in something I was trying so hard to detach myself from. Punk Pulse wouldn’t come to last as I slowly burned out from all my research with the rage and hurt it caused me.

After months of work, research, preparations, and my first few blog posts, I ultimately deleted Punk Pulse Magazine and began building “Untitled Alexandra Project” back from scratch.

I decided to open up a blank document, making the font bright yellow to inspire creativity, and I began typing. I wanted to build “Untitled Alexandra Project” into something that young people could turn to when they felt they had nothing else. I wanted my site to be a source of comfort, and something other disheartened people like myself could relate to. After hours of spewing out fun but otherwise unmotivating blog titles, including “Life, Unfiltered”, “Growing Pains”, and “In The Making”, it finally clicked. “Untitled Alexandra Project” finally had a name: The Adulting Journals.

I grew so attached to my other name ideas, that (as you’ve likely already figured out) I decided they would be the categories of my new blog posts. My Public page was an idea I had carried over from Punk Pulse Magazine. I wanted to build a safe space to allow readers to share their own thoughts, writing, and stories.

It truly pisses me off when life takes a painful turn and someone shrugs and says, “everything happens for a reason.” I was not raped because some higher power had a mighty plan to use my pain to turn me into a happy-go-lucky blogger. I was raped because some asshole thought he was entitled to my body and decided to commit an evil deed. I picked myself up. I put in the work. Punk Pulse Magazine, The Adulting Journals, and all this healing was made possible by MY strength.

I think a better assessment of my journey is that bad things will always happen, but they should never define us or our future. If I learned anything from this experience, it’s that the world stops for no one, and sometimes we have nothing else to rely on but our own inner strength and resolve.

It was so painful to learn that lesson the hard way. I felt so lost and alone. The more I think about it, however, the more I’ve come to find that lesson to be beautiful in a sense. Over and over again, I have proven to myself that I can survive hardship. Like a flower seeking sunlight, I will always find a way to not only prevail but to grow.

I mentioned many times throughout this post that I felt disgusted and ashamed with myself over having been sexually assaulted. I wish I could lie and say I didn’t feel that way anymore, but I do. That event changed many aspects of my life, and hurt a lot of my relationships. All I’m doing is trying to get better with each day.

If you’ve experienced sexual violence, please know that it is never the victim’s fault. And I know that saying it is so much easier than actually believing it, but the shame is not yours to carry.

Since I officially published The Adulting Journals, I’ve told my closest family members about my experience and sought therapy. I’m still backsliding and learning to heal, and some moments are really hard. But I couldn’t be more proud of myself for using my dark times to create something that continues to inspire others. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my posts, your views mean the absolute world to me. The Adulting Journals would be nothing without my wonderful readers.

We can survive,

Alexandra