A Tale of Resilience, Recovery, and the Power of Music

I. Who I Am

Since I was a little kid, the performing arts have been my favorite form of expression. Whether twirling around my living room or in a production on stage, attending concerts at the local Symphony Center, or watching Swan Lake on PBS, I've adored the beauty and dynamism of music and dance. The whole practice, rehearsal, and performance process fed me with adrenaline. As a teen, I was often asked to join regional musical theater casts as a dancer. When I have a goal, I throw myself headfirst into regimes and routines with complete commitment. No wavering. I create, measure, and tweak until I get the desired result. I grew up in a large city suburb with my mom, dad, and sister. We felt blessed and not sorry for ourselves — at least, that's the belief our parents raised us with. If we ever communicated that we were in distress, they said: suck it up and move forward. That's what I learned to do. In our house, only one person could express their anger; punishment followed for anyone else who did. I learned I was terrible if I expressed any emotion they didn't like.

II. What Happened

The month before my sexual assault, I was finishing my last semester in grad school, with one class causing me significant stress. My father's illness hospitalized him, leaving me unable to eat. With the help of classmates and colleagues, I earned an A in the class, and to my immense relief, my father was healthy enough to attend my graduation. When college and work pulled me away from the arts, I became depressed. After visiting a wellness fair, I discovered sound therapy through the harp. The sound was healing and mesmerizing. I found a local teacher and connected with like-minded people. Then I encountered a renowned harp prodigy in my hometown. His good looks and skillful playing had earned him acclaim from all over the world. After his performance, we spoke. But then everything took a terrible turn: he attacked me as I was helping with his luggage at the airport. I escaped unscathed, but the event filled me with fear and anxiety. Will someone ask why I was at the hotel with him? How could I not have seen this coming? I felt vulnerable and unprepared for what happened.

III. What My Life Became

I made an appointment with my therapist and told him everything. He urged me to go to the police. I told him I wanted to forget about it and move forward. But I felt so afraid inside. Every sound and voice made me jump. I scanned my surroundings to make sure no one was following. Sometimes I needed help remembering where I was or how I got there. I kept thinking I saw him everywhere I went. I could not eat. A few months after the assault, I began receiving messages from my attacker, inquiring about my well-being. I responded by outlining the horror of his actions — how they had hurt, offended, and repulsed me. He denied any wrongdoing, leaving me bewildered and frustrated by his lack of remorse. That he could do this to others, especially as a harp teacher to young children, filled me with deep fear. I considered notifying my musical association's board, but held back, fearing they might dismiss my allegations. At my next doctor's appointment, they took my weight. I had lost 10 pounds and couldn't explain the pace. I believed things were progressing well — a job promotion, a beautiful new home. My body and mind were bi-locating. The incident seemed behind me because he didn't rape me, and my life felt good. Then my psychiatrist said I needed to see the eating disorder specialist in his office. Be kidding, I thought — I'm not starving myself. Based on my history, she told me I had Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID).

IV. What Changed

Although convinced I didn't have a real problem, my refrigerator had been full of untouched food for the past two months, so I enrolled in an eating disorder treatment center the following week. I put my doubts aside and committed to the program. Explaining my emotions to others was impossible for me. When asked to write about my feelings after eating, I couldn't find the words. Attending eight-hour daily group therapy for five months helped me discover parts of myself that were not seen before — feeling forgotten and neglected, ignoring my feelings. Learning to feel emotions rather than analyze them took me a while. My doctor advised me to read The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, which explores how memories are stored in the body and mind. In counseling, I talked about my parents' responses to my powerful feelings. My therapist asked: if it's unbearable being treated like you don't matter, why do you treat yourself this way? This caught me off guard. Could this be true? Following my therapy, I accepted myself, including the aspects that were difficult to face. Eight months after treatment, I read Broken Silence — Living with Passion and Purpose after Sexual Abuse. I felt seen, heard, and understood. Many unanswered questions about the incident became clear, and so much of my shame and anxiety around it lifted. Working with Jean gave me clarity on owning my story and not using thinking to solve emotional turmoil. I felt more free and alive than I had in months.

V. Who I Am Now

I have changed my life. Throughout my therapy, I gained the ability to endure discomfort without self-criticism. I needed to cultivate patience as I adopted new approaches to life and new thought patterns — and I did. I am Elisabeth Henderson, and I live in the United States. I believe in the healing power of music and performing arts. I am a coach, and I support passionate educators, artists, and leaders in recovering their passion for their careers and distinguishing themselves from their peers — while fully acknowledging the gifts and talents that transform the lives of those they interact with.