Sharing my Truth

How do you share your story when you’ve always been the keeper of secrets?

Secrets that make you feel like no one would believe you.

For a long time, I believed my family would never consider my truth—because I wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t the popular one. I was the fat one.

It wasn’t until I turned 40 that I finally told my mother that a family member had molested me. She was beautiful, charismatic, and popular. People believed everything she said, even when she lied and me, I kept quiet. I believed it would be my fault if I spoke. That shame would be all anyone saw. That the words people used to tear me down would be justified if they knew what had happened.

Shame silenced me for years.

It taught me that I was unworthy. That people could do anything to me, and I was expected to accept it.

At 18, I was raped.

I remember lying on the hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and police officers asking, “Are you sure you said no?” The only person who believed me in that moment was the nurse who held my hand as I endured the rape kit.

I was just a young woman, unprepared for how cruel the world could be. I didn’t tell anyone. I carried the weight alone.

Later, my mom found me collapsed on the bathroom floor, hemorrhaging. She rushed me to the hospital. That’s when we learned I was pregnant—and having a miscarriage. That was the moment I had to finally say it:

A man hurt me. A man didn’t listen when I said no.

That wasn't the last time. I was raped again and again. Each time, the silence grew heavier.

Sometimes, when the world keeps hurting you, your story just… stays inside.

It festers; it grows into a wound that doesn’t heal.

But I’m here to tell you: You can share your truth.

The world needs your story. Not for their comfort—but for your healing, because it’s YOUR story and you deserve to own it.

Who I Am

My name is Linsay Hill. I am a community healer, a community auntie, and a big sister to anyone who needs to feel seen and loved.

I am a SURVIVOR—of domestic violence, sexual assault, and molestation. I share my story not because it defines me, but because it’s a part of what made me who I am.

I am:

• The auntie who will tell you that you are loved.

• The sister who will hold you when you need a hug.

• The mother who will wipe away your tears and remind you that you are worthy.

And if no one told you today—

You are loved.

I love you.