The Day the VA Lost My Trust: When a Rape Survivor Wasn't Believed Until She Was in Full-Blown PTSD

A woman sits peacefully in meditation, basking in the warm glow of the setting sun.

By Julie Jewels SmootU.S. Navy Veteran, Military Sexual Trauma Survivor, Sound Alchemist, Author, and Composer

My Distrust of the VA Did Not Begin Yesterday

My distrust of the Department of Veterans Affairs did not begin with an unanswered phone call.

It did not begin with my knee pain.

It did not begin because I was frustrated with scheduling an appointment.

It began in 2017, when I told a VA nurse practitioner that I was a rape survivor, and I did not feel believed until I was experiencing a full-blown PTSD response.

That experience changed my relationship with the VA.

It changed how I felt about seeking medical care.

It changed how safe I felt around healthcare professionals.

And it left me questioning whether the people responsible for caring for veterans truly understood what it meant to treat a survivor of sexual violence.

I have carried the consequences of that encounter for years.

Now, in 2026, I find myself needing medical attention for my knee.

And the thought of returning to the VA brings back memories of why I stopped trusting that system in the first place.

This is not simply about healthcare access.

This is about what happens when a survivor asks to be heard and is not listened to.

I Told Her I Was a Rape Survivor

In 2017, I went to the VA for a gynecological examination.

I was there for a Pap smear.

For many women, this is a routine medical procedure.

For me, as someone who had survived sexual violence, it was an examination that required sensitivity, communication, and respect for my boundaries.

I told the nurse practitioner that I was a rape survivor.

I communicated that the examination was triggering me.

I needed her to understand that my body carried experiences that made this kind of medical procedure especially difficult.

I was not asking for special treatment.

I was asking to be listened to.

I was asking for my words to matter.

I was asking for the person performing an intimate medical examination to recognize that I was a human being with a history of trauma.

But I did not feel heard.

I did not feel believed.

And my distress continued to escalate.

Why did my words not carry enough weight before my body reached a state of overwhelming distress?

Why did it have to reach that point?

Why was telling someone that I was a rape survivor not enough?

My PTSD Response Should Never Have Been the Proof

I remember reaching a state of full-blown PTSD during that encounter.

I was no longer simply trying to explain that something was triggering me.

I was experiencing the very distress I had tried to warn her about.

And that is what makes this memory so painful.

I had communicated my history.

I had communicated my distress.

I had tried to advocate for myself.

Yet I felt that my experience was not taken seriously until my PTSD symptoms became impossible to ignore.

A survivor should not have to experience a severe trauma response to be believed.

A survivor should not have to cry, shake, panic, or become overwhelmed before a healthcare professional recognizes that something is wrong.

A survivor's words should matter before the situation reaches that point.

My PTSD was not a performance.

My distress was not an exaggeration.

My trauma was not something I invented.

And I should never have felt that my body had to demonstrate the truth of my experience when I had already spoken it aloud.

The Importance of Consent During Medical Examinations

There is something I want every healthcare professional to understand.

Consent does not disappear because a patient enters an examination room.

Consent does not disappear because a procedure is considered routine.

Consent does not disappear because a healthcare professional believes the examination is medically necessary.

A patient has the right to ask questions, express discomfort, request a pause, and withdraw consent.

For survivors of sexual violence, these rights can be especially significant.

A gynecological examination may involve vulnerability, exposure, physical sensations, and memories that are difficult to manage.

That does not mean every survivor will respond the same way.

It means healthcare professionals need to listen to the individual in front of them.

They need to explain what they are doing.

They need to respect boundaries.

They need to recognize that a patient may be experiencing distress even when the healthcare professional does not fully understand why.

Most importantly, they need to remember that the patient is the person living inside that body.

In 2017, I needed someone to recognize that.

Instead, I left with another painful experience connected to a system I was supposed to trust.

The Damage Did Not End When the Appointment Ended

Medical trauma does not necessarily end when someone leaves the examination room.

Sometimes the consequences follow a person for years.

For me, that experience contributed to a profound loss of trust in VA healthcare.

I did not simply forget what happened.

I did not wake up the next morning feeling confident that I could return and everything would be different.

I remembered how vulnerable I had felt.

I remembered trying to communicate.

I remembered the escalation of my PTSD symptoms.

And I remembered feeling that my words had not been enough.

That experience became part of the reason I stopped using VA healthcare.

I even sent my Veteran identification card back.

That was not a casual decision.

It reflected how deeply my trust had been damaged.

I had served in the United States Navy.

I had performed my duties.

I had lived through experiences that continued to affect my body and nervous system.

And when I sought medical attention, I encountered another situation in which I felt that my boundaries and my voice did not matter.

I could not simply pretend that experience had no consequences.

Why I Have Not Trusted the VA Since 2017

Trust is not something that can be demanded from a patient.

It develops through consistent experiences of respect, communication, and care.

When that trust is damaged, especially during an intimate medical procedure, rebuilding it can be difficult.

I do not distrust every individual who works for the VA.

I know there are healthcare professionals who genuinely care about veterans.

I know some veterans have positive experiences receiving VA treatment.

But those realities do not erase what happened to me.

My experience matters too.

When someone tells me that I should simply return to the VA, they may not understand what that request means to me.

They may see a medical appointment.

I remember an examination room where I did not feel believed.

They may see a healthcare provider.

I remember the vulnerability of trying to explain my trauma while my distress escalated.

They may see a routine medical system.

I remember the moment I lost confidence that my words would be respected.

That is why returning is not a simple decision.

And that is why I believe veterans with histories of medical trauma need meaningful alternatives.

Now My Knee Needs Medical Attention

Here I am, nine years later.

It is November 2026.

My knee has been hurting.

I have a history of knee surgery, including a Fulkerson osteotomy, lateral release, arthroscopy, and the placement of screws.

I have been experiencing pain and swelling, and I know I need a medical evaluation.

But I am also dealing with the financial reality of obtaining care outside the VA.

Doctor appointments, imaging, and possible treatment can become expensive.

For a disabled veteran living on a fixed income, those costs matter.

I have household bills.

I have responsibilities.

I cannot simply ignore the financial consequences of paying for medical treatment.

And yet, returning to the VA means confronting a system I have struggled to trust since 2017.

Yesterday, I made the phone call.

I obtained my eligibility number.

I left a message asking about getting my knee evaluated.

That phone call may sound like a small thing to someone else.

For me, it meant reaching out to a healthcare system connected to an experience I have spent years trying to move beyond.

By 9:30 this morning, I had not received a callback.

I recognize that medical offices have schedules and that callbacks may take time.

But the silence brought my frustration back to the surface.

Because this was never just about one unanswered message.

It was about the history behind that message.

Veterans Should Have Meaningful Healthcare Choices

This is why I believe veterans should have the financial freedom to choose their healthcare providers.

Not every veteran feels safe receiving care through the VA.

Not every veteran has the same medical needs.

Not every survivor of military sexual trauma will feel comfortable returning to a healthcare setting associated with a distressing experience.

And veterans should not be placed in a position where they feel that the only affordable option is one they struggle to trust.

I believe disability compensation and healthcare support should provide meaningful choices, including the ability to access appropriate care outside the VA when necessary.

That does not mean dismissing the value of VA healthcare for veterans who benefit from it.

It means recognizing that choice, safety, and dignity are important parts of healthcare.

I want to be able to choose a medical professional who listens.

I want to be able to explain my history without feeling that I am being questioned.

I want to know that when I say something is triggering me, the response will be compassion and appropriate action.

I want to know that my consent will be respected.

And I want to receive treatment for my knee without feeling that I am walking back into another battle.

I Am No Longer Willing to Silence Myself

Something has changed within me since 2017.

I have spent years writing, creating music, exploring trauma recovery, and learning how to listen to my own body.

My work as a Sound Alchemist has become one way I express experiences that are sometimes difficult to communicate through ordinary conversation.

My poetry has given language to emotions I once carried silently.

My music has provided space for reflection, grounding, and presence.

And my recent experiences at Claymont have deepened my commitment to honoring my body, my voice, and my boundaries.

I am not the same woman who walked into that examination room in 2017.

I still remember what happened.

I still recognize the impact it had on me.

But today, I can speak about it openly.

I can say that I did not feel believed.

I can say that my PTSD response should never have been necessary for someone to recognize my distress.

I can say that the experience damaged my trust.

And I can say that I deserve healthcare that respects my dignity.

I do not need to make my story more comfortable for someone else.

I do not need to apologize for being angry about what happened.

I do not need to minimize the consequences of medical trauma simply because years have passed.

I was a rape survivor when I entered that examination room.

I was a rape survivor when I told her I was being triggered.

And I was a rape survivor before my PTSD response became visible.

My words should have been enough.

My Body Is Mine, and My No Still Matters

One of the most important lessons I continue to carry is that my body belongs to me.

It belonged to me before I entered military service.

It belonged to me during my years in uniform.

It belonged to me when I walked into that VA examination room.

And it belongs to me today.

No healthcare professional has the right to dismiss my boundaries simply because they hold a medical credential.

No institution should expect trust without demonstrating respect.

And no survivor should feel required to endure emotional harm in order to receive necessary medical treatment.

I believe in informed consent.

I believe in trauma-informed healthcare.

I believe in listening to patients when they communicate distress.

And I believe survivors deserve to be treated as credible human beings before their bodies reach a crisis point.

These are not unreasonable expectations.

They are fundamental parts of respectful medical care.

I Deserve Medical Care Without Another Battle

Today, I am listening to my Root and Sacral Chakra Sound Alchemy music.

I am allowing myself to feel grounded.

I am writing poetry.

I am expressing my emotions without allowing them to consume my entire day.

And I am remembering that my life contains more than the painful experiences I have survived.

My knee still needs medical attention.

I still deserve appropriate treatment.

And I remain open to receiving care in an environment where my concerns and boundaries are respected.

But I am not going to pretend that my distrust of the VA appeared out of nowhere.

It has a history.

It has a reason.

And it began with an experience in 2017 that should have been handled differently.

I cannot change what happened in that examination room.

I can, however, tell my story.

I can advocate for better treatment of survivors.

I can speak about the importance of trauma-informed medical care.

And I can continue to insist that veterans deserve healthcare choices that recognize their individual needs.

I should not have to experience full-blown PTSD to be believed.

I should not have to beg to have my boundaries respected.

I should not have to choose between affordable healthcare and feeling safe.

I served my country.

I survived experiences that changed my life.

And I am still here, speaking with a voice that deserves to be heard.

My trauma was real before anyone believed me.

My boundaries mattered before anyone respected them.

And my right to dignity does not depend on whether the VA understands what happened to me.

I am not asking anyone to give me my voice.

I already have it.

And this time, I am using it.

Julie Jewels Smoot is a United States Navy veteran, military sexual trauma survivor, Sound Alchemist, composer, poet, and author. Her creative work explores trauma recovery, consent, personal sovereignty, nervous system awareness, and the healing possibilities of sound, breath, presence, and self-expression.