There are moments in life where a person reveals who they truly are—not through their public smile, or the title they carry at work, but in the private things they say when they believe their cruelty will never be repeated.
Recently, someone searched for me online. Not to know me, not to understand me, not to build peace or compassion, but to find something she could use to wound me. She typed my name into Google, and what she found was my story. She found my voice. She found that ten years ago, I survived rape.
She found that I did not stay silent. She discovered that I speak about my experience so that other women can breathe again, so that survivors know they are not alone, so that healing is possible and shame is not inevitable.
She found that I took my pain and turned it into advocacy, leadership, community activism, and social impact. She found that I lived, healed, recovered, and rebuilt.
Yet instead of seeing strength, she chose mockery. She chose humiliation. She chose to reduce a deeply personal wound into a spectacle. She chose to speak of my body as though it was something to joke about, implying that I was “damaged” and “stitched” — as if surviving rape is something to degrade, ridicule, or weaponize.
This woman is a nurse — a healthcare professional — someone who has sworn to do no harm, someone entrusted with compassion, someone who is expected to understand trauma and to treat all people with dignity. But she did not speak about me as a fellow woman. She spoke about me as someone who saw a healing wound and decided to press her fingers into it.
That is what we call secondary victimization. It is a form of gender-based emotional violence. And in South Africa, this conduct is not only morally reprehensible — it is legally and professionally prohibited.
Her words did not shame me. They exposed her. They revealed her lack of emotional maturity, her absence of empathy, and her disregard for the ethical, legal, and professional standards that govern her own field of practice.
A Registered Nurse in this country is bound by the SANC Code of Ethics, which requires dignity, respect, compassion, and non-maleficence. The National Health Act guarantees psychological respect and privacy. The Victims’ Charter protects survivors from re-traumatization.
The Constitution upholds every person’s right to dignity and emotional security. And both the Protection from Harassment Act and the Cybercrimes Act prohibit using communication to cause harm or distress.
So let it be very clear: when a nurse revictimizes a survivor, she is not “just being mean.” She is breaking law. She is breaching ethical standards. She is engaging in conduct that can lead to formal disciplinary action, suspension, or professional removal.
I want to say this without hesitation: I am not ashamed of surviving rape. There is nothing damaged about me. My body, my spirit, my life, my future — they are whole. I rebuilt myself piece by piece, prayer by prayer, step by step.
I found healing, I found peace, and I found love again. I stand today not as someone who is broken, but as a woman who knows exactly who she is. The shame is not mine. The shame sits with those who believe another woman’s trauma is something to mock.
This is not a threat. This is a boundary. While she was busy looking for things to weaponize, she missed one important fact: I am a fighter. I demand a sincere apology — both directly to me and publicly — for the humiliation she caused.
If she refuses to apologise, I will pursue every available legal and professional route to hold her to account. I will submit a formal complaint to the South African Nursing Council, provide full evidentiary support including screenshots and voice notes, and ask the Office of Health Standards Compliance and the Commission for Gender Equality to investigate her conduct as professional misconduct and secondary victimization.
I will follow the disciplinary process through, professionally and relentlessly, and if the findings warrant it, I will seek her removal from practice. I do not seek to destroy anyone’s life lightly; I seek to protect survivors and to make sure that no patient or vulnerable person is retraumatised by someone sworn to care.
This is not about her alone. This is about every woman who has ever been told her pain is something to laugh at. Every woman whose trauma was dismissed. Every woman who has been shamed for surviving.
To those women, I say: your survival is not embarrassing. Your healing is sacred.
Your story is yours. You are allowed to defend your dignity. You are allowed to say, “Not me. Not again. Not anymore.”
And let it be known: a wound that has healed becomes unbreakable.
