by Monika Korra
Maybe I shouldn’t have wished to get back to normal. Maybe all of the things I was experiencing were what happened to every college graduate. My parents knew something wasn’t right and confronted me after a fundraiser, which had gone very well. I didn’t really realize it until then. Even though things were going well for my mission and for me, I was not happy. My relationship with Nick was on the ropes as well, and both of us knew it. And so I ultimately decided to go back to my roots, to my family and to my childhood friends and to familiar trails and slopes. I moved home to Norway. Going home, finding comfort in the people who know you best and love you the most, felt right.
I also felt that way on the night of the rape. When I was put in that situation—between life and death—the only thing I could focus on was how much I just wanted to go back to my normal life—to drink just one more cup of tea with my sister, to get one last piece of advice from my mom, to finish up the last few miles of skiing with my dad, to stand on the starting line of one last cross-country race holding hands with Kristine and Silje, to be able to see my godson, to kiss Robin good night one last time. Those were the thoughts that sustained me in those horrific hours. Nothing could measure my success in life better than to be able to do just this—to be able to be present in the moment with those wonderful people. Over time (in my desperate attempt to find my way back to a normal life), I lost track of that simple truth and what really made me happy.
As I write this, just after coming in from the campfire, I’m glad to be back in Norway. Maybe it’s because I spent so much of my life running in circles on the track and in loops on roads and trails, but it feels exactly right to me to be back where I started. I’ve completed my journey of healing in a way—it wasn’t until I returned home to my loved ones that my world finally stopped spinning and I felt at peace.
It’s been a long road to get here, but in a way it’s been beautiful too. I’ve learned a lot, about myself, about others, about life. I feel safe now, I know exactly who I am—and I’ll stay true to my unique self for the rest of my life.
I’ve also found my mission in life, and I will do my very best to make a difference. I know where I belong and who my truest teammates are—together we can get through anything. I’ve been asked a lot of times if I would go back in time and choose a different path after high school. The answer, crazy as it might sound, is no! I would never go back in time and change my decisions, all of the things I’ve learned, the people I’ve met, the opportunities I’ve been given, the moments I’ve shared with friends, family and teammates.
I wouldn’t give that up for anything—not ever.
I followed my dream, and it led me on a new trail—a trail that was meant for me. Now I won’t be looking back any longer, but ahead, into my future. I have work to do. I want my story, my message of hope and healing, to be shared with the world. I hope and pray it will help others who have been through trauma of some sort in their life. I travel frequently to the United States to give speeches and attend foundation events. And I hope to be able to do so all around the world. As I write these words, my parents, my sister, and Jonas are resting up after working many hours in preparation for a race against rape and abuse to raise awareness and help support the Monika Kørra Foundation. I also continue to run and compete, simply because I love to. I’ll never lose the desire to go faster, but I’ve learned to slow down and enjoy the ride as well.
For me, it’s all a matter of keeping things in perspective and doing the things you love with the people you love.
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BEING RAPED ALTERED my life forever. It served as a catalyst, and in time I came to realize that though the attack initiated changes in my life, I was the one in control of whether the catalytic reactions were good or bad. It also taught me so many things about myself and about life. It reinforced in my mind something I had known and felt very nearly on the cellular level since I was a young child: Movement is good. Whether you’re moving backward or forward, just being in action is good. But the new concept I learned was that not only was it okay, it was sometimes better, to be still, to not be in motion. Once we get our body and our mind together, then we can take steps in the right direction. Without them working together we can stumble and fall or simply quit.
When we’re in crisis we feel like we’re being clamped down in place. That’s uncomfortable at first, and sometimes for a long time after, but we need to take the time to slow down, to be still, to assess, to heal, and to move forward when our hearts, our minds, and our souls tell us it is time. When I think back on how I approached my healing, I realize that I was in almost constant motion, rushing from one uncomfortable physical, emotional, and spiritual position to another. I was so determined to get back to being the girl I was before the attack, and then I was so eager to see who I was going to become after, that I had no real sense of who I was in the present. I looked for evidence of my progress in terms of GPA and times in races.
I never wanted to stop to look at myself or how I really felt. That would have been painful, but, I realize now, it would have been productive. I was so frightened that life, like the literal runners I competed against, would pass me, that I had to keep moving, keep driving, keep digging deep. The rape was going to transform me, but I made the choice to turn myself into a machine. I was responsible for losing the harmony among my body, mind, and soul. I was interested in producing good results, and I did, but at the cost of really being happy, really taking the time to enjoy the moments I spent with people I loved.
It’s funny that it wasn’t until I began writing the end of this book, after I’d had some time to slow down and reflect more deeply, that I remembered my meetings with the mirror. I could fool myself for weeks, pretend that I was fine, but when I would take the time to stand still in front of a mirror and look straight at myself, my eyes would always tell me the truth. They would express sadness, anger, fear, and so much more. Seeing what was reflected there, the truth of what I was experiencing and feeling, I gave myself permission to let those feelings out. For months and months, I’d periodically hold an impromptu mirror meeting. Finally, one day, I stood still and saw happiness, pride, optimism. The anger, the sadness, the fear, they were gone.
I also realize now that most people saw me the way I wanted them to see me all along, as unaffected, as strong and determined. I was strong, but no matter how strong we are, tears and feelings are allowed, never forget that. In the end, the only one I kept fooling was me. But that’s when the beauty of good relationships came into play and turned it all around. Family, friends, your loved ones—believe me, they are the ones who can help you put everything into perspective and show you what truly matters. They will remind you of who you are. To be surrounded by love will help you surrender, it will help you let go of the ideal you and accept the real you. It’s okay to let your guard down, to share your pain, fear, and feelings of gratitude. Let a crisis bring you closer together; don’t let it create walls between you and your loved ones. Openness is the key; let them into your world, and they will help you back to the real world.
I know one thing that really helped me: I was accustomed to dealing with physical pain. And to a certain degree running had exposed me to emotional pain as well. I know that we all fear emotional pain, and it is far harder to deal with than physical pain. Fear is a natural response. As athletes, from an early age we are encouraged to make physical pain our friend. We are told things like “pain is temporary, quitting is forever.” There is a lot of truth to that. Pain sucks. I don’t enjoy it, but I accept it because I know that after the pain comes healing and improvement. We need to allow ourselves to feel the emotional pain a crisis brings. There is no way around it if we want to eventually let go of it. We can hide the pain inside, refuse to take hold of it and accept it, but instead of healing, we will only make the damage worse. Pain tells us that we need to slow down, to get treatment, to let others assist us. Accept the pain and share the experience of it with others.
Unfortunately, I can’t
offer you a guaranteed set of steps to follow that will help you heal from whatever challenges you face. You have to find your own way of true healing; your unique way to slow down the waves in your mind to find the answers you need. To me, a big part of the answer was communing with nature, exercising, and practicing yoga. Counting my heartbeats and listening to my breath helped me slow down and find inner peace. No worries, no stress, just letting myself feel alive and to be grateful for it. To you, it might be playing an instrument, singing, writing, cooking, working on your car. It can be anything, just something that you are passionate about. Something that lets you forget time and place, that calms your mind, that lets you lose yourself and find yourself at the same time. Turn to your passion—it will guide your way.
It also helps to put some trust into the world, try to accept what has been and believe in the future. Try to envision the future: graduation, marriage, becoming parents, grandparents—all the things you dream about. They can put a smile on your face in the darkest of times. I can’t count the number of times I envisioned Kristine and me throwing our graduation hats up in the air, or Robin and me getting married. It’s okay to daydream, whatever it takes to keep your head up, leading you on to better times.
In the end, when you feel ready, try to forgive and let go. To forgive can mean different things to all of us; in some situations it may be impossible to forgive those who brought about the harm, but at least then try to forgive the world, the universe, your god as you believe, and yourself. It is a great relief to get there. Do it for yourself, let it go!
I truly believe this saying: “There is one emotion that is stronger than fear, and that is forgiveness.”
I know that my transformation isn’t complete and that it never will be. I will continue to grow, I will continue to dream, and I’ll continue to succeed. More important, I’ll take the time to still my mind, my heart, and my body to enjoy exactly where I am, who I am, and who I’m with. If you’re not in a race, there’s no finish line, just miles and miles to enjoy doing what you love.
So, I can give you the same answer now that I gave me father that night around the fire. Yes, I am happy, truly happy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to express my gratitude to the many people who have helped me regain my life and made my dream to share my journey of healing with the world come true.
Mom, Dad, without your everlasting love, support, and belief in me, I wouldn’t have been able to fight through that horrific night and all the nightmares that followed it. And when you told me, by phone, the very next day that we would make it through this together, I no longer had any doubt in my mind. I’ve kept that message in mind ever since, and I gain new strength from it every day. The way you raised me gave me the tools I need to fight back against any obstacle; thank you for always encouraging me to keep moving forward, to continue to learn, experience, and grow, and to never let my fears hold me back in any way. I know it was tempting to tell me not to speak out publicly or to share my story in details with the world, not knowing how others would react or the strain it would put on me, your own daughter. You felt I had been through enough, but when I decided to go forward anyway, you still believed in me and trusted that I knew what I was doing. Instead of trying to hold me back, you decided to join me on my journey, allowing us to fight back, together, against sexual assault. And here we are, this is our book; “when together, nothing can break us.”
My dear sister, Anette, my mentor in life, thank you for teaching me what life is all about. You assured me, throughout our childhood and as we grew, that the much-used term “Lille Monika” says nothing about me other than my stature. Together, we dare to dream, and if I’m in doubt you shake your head and get me on the right track. I got your back and you got mine for the rest of our lives. Jonas, you’ve been a brother to me since you fell in love with my sister. The way you’ve supported us all through this and how you now work with us at the Monika Kørra Foundation is admirable; thank you!
Kristine and Robin, my two soul mates, thank you for standing by my side, day and night, during the most challenging time of my life. You never questioned if I would make it through; you made me hold on to my dreams and believe in the future. You both held me as I cried, and you brought my smile back time after time. You encouraged me to fight to reclaim my life; to meet my fears and to fight through them. Knowing that each of you would be there, holding my hand on every step of the way, made it possible to get back up on my feet; it made every little fight worth fighting, my life worth living.
Ida, through ups and downs, we walk through this life together. A friendship like ours is irreplaceable. All the conversations, the laughter and tears; I cannot describe in words the value of our time together. Your mentality and rule of life—“Jeg får til det jeg vil”—has been an inspiration and reminder to me through all of my ups and downs and will continue to be.
Some friendships are established during our childhood, others in the strangest ways throughout life. My Texan family, the way you reached out to me during my college years, and gave me the kind of love and support that you usually only find within a true family, helped sustain me and give me hope during the darkest days of my life; Sidsel, Wenche, and Kelly, thank you for being there for me, my friends, and my family through a challenging time and for continuing to be our beloved friends.
Thank you to everyone at the Dallas PD and the Dallas County DA’s office who contributed to the arrest and prosecution of my offenders. A special thanks to Erin Hendricks and Brandon Birmingham. Without your hard work and professionalism I would have lived a life of fear. The guidance, support, and motivation you gave me helped me stay strong and determined to take the witness stand; to stand up for myself and others; to be the one leaving this part of my life with my head held high, knowing that I did all that I could to make sure my offenders received the punishment they deserved.
I would like to thank everyone at SMU. The athletic department, Coach Wollman and Coach Casey, all of my teammates, my professors, the health professionals, and all of my college friends. You all made it possible for me to make the decision to stay in Dallas and complete my studies despite my fears. The way I was taken care of at SMU, not only as a student and an athlete, but as a valued human being, is admirable.
I am forever grateful for the book I received from my friend Olivia’s coworker at Lululemon, a book with the title Begin on the cover and nothing but blank sheets on the inside. That’s where it all started; My thoughts became a diary and my diary became my book—my journey of healing.
Thank you everyone at Dupree Miller & Associates, and a special thanks to Jan Miller and Nena Madonia. You read through my diary and let me know right away that we were going to share my journey with the world in the form of a book. Thank you for all the support, guidance, and help on every step of the way to get there.
Thank you, John Bonnet, my advisor and trusted friend! Thank you for all the support and advice you’ve given me and my family and for working with us on the Monika Kørra Foundation.
Thank you everyone at Penguin Random House, for believing in me and my story, for all the work you’ve laid down to create this book and for sharing it with the world. A special thanks to my editors, Leah Miller, Michele Eniclerico, Diana Baroni, and Tina Constable, and to the publicity marketing team, Christina Foxley, Tammy Blake, and Rebecca Marsh.
Thank you, Gary Brozek and Jenna Glatzer for being my ghost writers, for all the time you’ve spent reviewing my notes, talking them over, and helping me organize them all into this book.
It’s been a long road to get here, but together, we made it—this is our book, teammates. Let’s Kill the Silence.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MONIKA KØRRA IS a native of Løten, Norway. She attended Southern Methodist University on a full scholarship in 2008, where she was a member of the cross-country team, which was the 2008, 2009, and 2011 winner of the Central Conference Championship. In 2012 she graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in
Applied Physiology with a minor in Psychology. She is now a yoga teacher, cross-country skiing coach, personal trainer, and a certified advocate for rape victims through Dallas Area Rape Crisis Center’s volunteer training program. Monika was the keynote speaker at the eighth annual Conference on Crimes Against Women, as well as the speaker for Take Back the Night at the University of Texas and the Pikes Peak Domestic Violence Summit. Her nonprofit organization, the Monika Kørra Foundation, provides significant services and referrals for rape and abuse survivors and their loved ones. You can visit her at MonikaKorra.org.