Finding Myself in the Castro: Healing on My Own Terms

After I was sexually assaulted, there was a time when life felt incredibly heavy. The trial for my case was coming up, and my mind was consumed with the weight of it all. But amid the pressure and anxiety, I still wanted—needed—to find moments of fun, laughter, and lightness. I didn't want my life to be defined by pain. I just wanted to feel like a "normal" person again, even for a little while.

That’s how I ended up in the Castro district of San Francisco with some of my closest friends. The Castro, known for its vibrant, unapologetic celebration of life, felt like the perfect place to let loose and forget my worries. We spent the day being goofy, laughing, and enjoying the freedom of simply being ourselves.

At one point, I spotted a cookie shaped like a penis in a bakery. It made me laugh—really laugh—for the first time in what felt like forever. Without thinking much of it, I bought the cookie, took a picture, and posted it on social media. For me, it was just a silly, light-hearted moment in a day full of joy, something I desperately needed.

This cookie can be found at Hot Cookie in San Francisco. They are known for their odd shaped cookies and it gave me a good laugh. 

But not everyone saw it that way. My family called me out, saying it wasn't "appropriate," especially considering everything I had been through. It stung. Their reactions made me wonder: if someone else had posted the same thing, would it have been funny to them? Was I somehow supposed to exist differently because I’m a survivor?

Here’s the thing: I am a survivor, but I am also a person who wants to live, laugh, and heal in my own way. My journey to healing isn’t linear or predictable. Sometimes it means seeking out joy in unexpected places, or allowing myself to be silly when life feels too serious. I want to reclaim my ability to have fun, to embrace the parts of me that were there before the trauma—and still exist now, even if they’re harder to find.

That day in the Castro reminded me that healing doesn’t have to look a certain way. It doesn’t have to fit into a box that makes other people comfortable. I’m still figuring it out, but I know this: healing is about reclaiming my life, my laughter, and my right to feel whole again—on my own terms.