Meet Emily Mellen! BARCC is incredibly grateful to have Emily running the Boston Marathon and raising funds for BARCC. Below you can read her story on why she has chosen to support survivors.
My name is Emily Mellen…
This spring, I’ll be graduating from Harvard University with my PhD in Clinical Psychology. I am currently completing the last year of my clinical training as a psychology resident at McLean Hospital/Harvard Medical School, where I specialize in trauma.
I’ve dreamed of running the Boston Marathon since I graduated college and moved to Boston in 2017. At the time, I’d just taken my first job as a clinical research coordinator at a local psychiatric hospital. Part of my job was to conduct clinical interviews. During these interviews, I ask patients about whether they had experienced trauma and, if so, what sorts of traumas they had experienced. One of the first things I noticed was the staggering number of patients – across diagnoses, genders, sexual orientations, racial, ethnic, and religious identities – who shared that they had experienced sexual violence. Their disclosures began with statements like “I don’t usually talk about this but…”, ”I’m not sure if this is bad enough to mention…”, and, most strikingly, “you’re the first person I’ve told about this.” I was as surprised by these repeated disclosures as I was honored to receive them. I, like many, had been taught by both society and psychology that sexual violence is rare, a tragic anomaly and something that, if experienced, should be kept quiet.
A few months after starting at McLean, I learned that my observations held true outside the hospital as well. Tarana Burke launched the Me Too movement in 2005, but it rose to national and global recognition in the fall of 2017 following the popularization of the #MeToo hashtag. It was a moment when millions of survivors of SV began to talk about their experiences publicly, many for the first time. The stories I was hearing in the news, and reading on every social media feed were startlingly similar to the stories I was being told by my patients. Stories of relentless abuse and brutal violence that many had been told both implicitly and explicitly were “not that bad,” not worthy of disclosure or deserving of support. Stories that imply an undercurrent of invisible suffering running beneath a society that insists that this form of trauma is rare.
As I looked towards graduate school, I began to think that the best way to understand the causes and consequences of sexual violence may have less to do with my patient’s responses to their traumas, and more to do with the social context surrounding their assaults. I went on to write my dissertation about the stigma attached to sexual violence, how that stigma exacerbates adverse physical and mental health outcomes for survivors, and the ways in which structural forms of stigma (e.g. laws, policies, institutional practices) create an environment that makes it difficult for survivors to heal by barring them from access to basic rights and resources.
As anyone who has ever been involved in research – especially as a PhD – knows, you spend a lot of time explaining your work and its importance to peers, colleagues, funding agencies, friends, and family. I am no exception. But there are also many people I have the privilege of spending time with for whom this work requires no explanation. My patients, who have lent me their wisdom over the 6 years of my training, and whose stories created the foundation of my research questions. My colleagues in the healthcare field, especially those who specialize in trauma, who spend countless hours and sessions undoing the emotional knots caused by sexual violence and its stigma. Members of survivor advocacy organizations and rape crisis centers, such as BARCC, who are the front lines in the fight against sexual violence. And the many loved ones in my personal life, who have honored me by sharing their own survivor stories, and to whom my career will always be dedicated.
Today, I spend nearly every day working clinically with survivors of sexual violence. There is nothing else I’d rather be doing. But I am often asked, understandably, “how do you cope with talking about trauma all day?” For better or for worse, my answer is usually running. Running gives me routine, rhythm, a reason to get outside, a predictable period of peace in my day. It also gives me an outlet for the rage I am constantly feeling towards the perpetrators of sexual violence, and the current political environment that enables them. This year, I have the opportunity to use my running for more than just coping. As a qualifier for the 2025 Boston Marathon, I have the chance to donate to a charity of my choosing. I am thrilled to direct my donations to the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center (BARCC).
BARCC offers free, confidential services to empower and heal all survivors of sexual violence ages 12 and older, and their loved ones, regardless of when the violence occurred. They are dedicated to taking action to end sexual violence through education, advocacy, and social change. I frequently work with both patients and loved ones who have benefited from their services. If you are able, I would be hugely grateful if you considered donating to this worthwhile organization. No amount is too small.