Immortalizing Resilience: Abbie Knight's Medusa Tattoo

As written by the Roman poet Ovid, the myth of Medusa is a tragedy- she is violated by Poseidon in a shrine to Athena, and as punishment for "desecrating" the temple, her hair is turned to snakes and she is cursed to turn anyone she looks upon to stone. She is shunned and punished for the actions of a god she could not refuse, and dies a monster at the hand of Perseus. Centuries later, Medusa's tale of injustice strikes a chord, especially with those who have suffered unfathomable consequences for actions they had no power to deny. Once considered no more than a monster, she became a symbol of strength, power, and resilience, especially for survivors of sexual violence- like myself.

On May 21st, 2009, I was raped by my older cousin in a shed on my grandparents' property. I was three years old.

In the years following, my parents fought for me, and my extended family fought back. Relying on the Mormon church and an unshakeable belief in neutrality and "family bonds", they argued against any meaningful rehabilitation for my cousin, and swore up and down that "the church would fix him"; that it would be better for everyone if the family were to move forward, push the "incident" under the rug, and never acknowledge the help or support I needed. They ultimately took my cousin's side, and I never saw most of them again- for a long time, I couldn't understand why, and I blamed myself for letting it happen and for "tearing the family apart".

At the same time, I was diagnosed with PTSD, and started dissociating often. I would panic and beg people not to grab my leg if they got too close, I would go quiet and space out, I would draw pictures of people putting their hands in fire and of myself crying next to my cousin. In kindergarten I changed the way my name was spelled, from Abby to Abbie, determined to be someone else, to leave behind what was done to me. My parents watched their eldest daughter faced with the weight of lifetimes before she could read, and I carried it, ashamed, as the event faded to painful black for a decade.

When I was twelve years old, the memories started to come back, ugly flashbacks that plagued my mind constantly. Lacking any meaningful sex education, I learned what sex was through the lens of what was done to me, and for years I floundered as the flashbacks developed into debilitating episodes through high school. Hours upon hours were spent alone, immobile, and nonverbal, rocking myself back and forth and praying his ghost would leave me be, covering my mouth real tight to offset the memory of what he forced me to do with it. There were times I considered killing myself just to stop seeing him. Hours upon hours were spent reliving hell, terrified.

Now that I'm in college, the episodes continue (about three a week), but I'm seeing a therapist. Things are getting better for me, and over the course of my freshman year I've reached amazing milestones and learned to ask for help in ways I never could before. I don't have my episodes alone anymore, because there are people here who love me and hold me and talk me through every second. Soon, I'll be facing my cousin in court, and I feel stronger than ever.

Like Medusa, I was betrayed by someone I looked up to and thought I could trust, and was punished for his actions and made to feel responsible by my extended family while he enjoyed a normal teenhood. I have walked through hell and back simply to stand alive and well before you, and I intend to keep going.

On May 21st, 2024, fifteen years later, I will be immortalizing my resilience in the face of impossible tragedy with this tattoo. It is a back piece that will be placed on my left shoulder blade, right over my heart. As a nod to NC, the place I grew up and the place I have been so privileged to survive and thrive in, her hair is copperhead snakes. I designed and drew this piece myself.

The artist I chose is incredible, but charges $300 an hour and predicted ~6-8 hours for the piece, so it will likely come out to ~$2,200. I would be honored if you'd be willing to help me fund it. Thank you.