What Reporting Abuse Did To Me

In this first episode, I talk about why I’m telling my story, why I created this space, and what I hope it offers to anyone who’s ever felt disbelieved or punished for telling the truth."I spent years trying to comprehend why honesty can cost someone everything, why staying true to one's values and standing up for what's right can lead to such considerable and personal sacrifices. It took even longer to understand why, in this world, those who have the courage to speak against injustices often face penalties. Meanwhile, those who perpetrate harm, whether by action or silence, are frequently protected, promoted, or simply ignored. I never anticipated that quietly reporting abuse through what I believed to be the appropriate and responsible channels would result not only in the loss of my job but also in the slow, painful unraveling of the very life I had worked so earnestly and tirelessly to build. Yet, that was exactly how it unfolded. I'm not here to retell the events of my life to garner sympathy or incite pity, and this isn't a dramatic performance meant to capture attention for the sake of entertainment. I'm here because what happened to me is neither uncommon nor remarkable. It's something that happens every day, to countless individuals, often behind closed doors and under the enduring protection of systems that were never truly designed to defend people like me. Institutions and organizations frequently, and often quite vocally, proclaim values of justice, fairness, and accountability, yet their practices tell a different story.However, when those values are put to the test, when an individual like myself steps forward to declare that an injustice has occurred and it is unacceptable, those very institutions tend to close ranks. They rally around to protect the abuser, safeguard their image, and preserve their power at all costs. My story wasn't isolated or in a vacuum. It happened in the organized and rigid halls of the military, within the complex and often carefully planned spaces of HR offices and federal agencies. These are places where the burden of proof was consistently and overwhelmingly placed upon me, rather than on those who had inflicted harm upon me. In each of these places, I was expected to stay quiet, to tolerate injustices silently, to nod in agreement even when my heart screamed otherwise. But silence is complicity. Silence slowly drains the spirit. It's the oppressive expectation to ignore my own pain in exchange for the comfort of others. Welcome to my podcast, Savage Daughter Arise. My name is Michelle Jubinal. This space isn't about pursuing perfection, its not a guide for recovery, or a quest for neat resolutions. Instead, it's a raw, honest exploration of truth, a refusal to be complicit in my own silence, and a call to action for those who want to reclaim their voice in a world that too often demands our silence.I launched this podcast because, for too long, the truth was left unspoken, collecting dust and fading into obscurity in the neglected corners of my life, hidden behind layers of fear and deeply ingrained shame. There were countless thoughts and experiences I once felt too afraid or too ashamed to voice aloud. These unspoken truths weren't silenced because they lacked merit; they were quietly stifled by a naive conditioning that led me to believe the truth inherently mattered and that it would find a way to breakthrough the barriers and resonate with those who needed to hear it. Sadly I came to understand the harsh reality that truth, far from being celebrated and cherished, is often unwanted and deemed irrelevant by the very structures designed to uphold it.This podcast isn't about seeking closure or tying up loose ends with neat, comforting conclusions. Nor is it about celebrating triumphs with a sense of retrospective satisfaction, as if battles won could erase the scars left by the conflicts endured."