When I was very young, my mother was murdered by her boyfriend. I was raised by my grandparents and supported by my two aunts. My grandparents were always very open with me and the older I got the more they told me about my mother's death. So I developed a strong desire to help women and keep them safe, so I decided to go to school to study criminal justice, and in my third year, which was also hard, I was raped.

I didn't tell anyone for years. I spiraled and became very aggressive towards men who resembled my abuser. I was expelled from school, which was fortunate because it eventually led me to become a rape crisis counselor. I was the first person rape victims met in the hospital after their assault. I sat next to them, held their hands, and reassured them while they told their stories and got their rape kits. The experience gave me strength.

Eventually, I went back to school and worked in various mental health facilities serving low-income individuals. I witnessed the disparities in these facilities and how people of color and queer people were treated differently. I am a queer person of color. This is terrible. The people who came out of these facilities were worse off than when they came in.

One day I was trying to imagine what kind of work in the mental health field would continue to evolve! I have always found comfort in the uncomfortable. When people start cringing or getting nervous in a tough situation, I say, "Oh, there's movement. Growth comes on top of discomfort.

I call myself a Trauma Queen, which is a name I found when I really learned to love myself. Now I train people in the Personal Intimacy Coordinator program, create online content, and offer trauma and sex positive support groups. There are so many people who want to have sex but can't because of past trauma. My goal is to create a space for them and will offer affordable retreats once the world opens up again after COVID-19. One of my attempts is called Healing Intersections (opens in new tab). We focus on marginalized populations who may not get the support they need due to lack of funding or resources. Our program is on a sliding scale. We never want the cost to be a burden; we want our clients to be able to afford to pay for the services they need.

As for taking care of myself, it's something most people laugh about, but I like to watch wrestling. Wrestling is on the air every day and it gives me a break from writing. It also gets me outdoors. Culturally, I have been taught that it is not a "black thing to do." Somewhere in the woods, you see a black man hanging from a tree, which has a triggering and scary effect.

Like all sexual trauma survivors, I am resilient. We have been through a lot, and the reason I call myself a trauma queen is because I am self-empowered for my own trauma. That is just one side of me, one side of Zimanechia. I am royal, capable, strong, mysterious, and in control.

To support Eborn's work, visit traumaqueen.love (opens in new tab).

This article appears in the Spring 2021 issue of Marie Claire.

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