'My body carried me,' Elizabeth Smart says. Now she's celebrating it

Her abduction at age 14 drew international attention. After her rescue, Smart says she struggled with feeling shame around her body. Bodybuilding has helped her see herself differently.

Elizabeth Smart says she has gained confidence as a competitive bodybuilder. She continues to be an advocate for women and victims of sexual violence after she was kidnapped when she was 14. Kim Raff for NPR hide caption

The first time Elizabeth Smart stepped on stage at a bodybuilding competition, she was terrified.

She says her smile froze. Her hands shook. Every movement had been choreographed and practiced over and over again, down to the turns and poses she would hit beneath the bright stage lights.

But there was only so much she could do to prepare for the pageantry. Unlike in training, she was wearing oversized costume jewelry, including a large ring. The blonde hair extensions were new, too.

Then, as she flipped her hair over her shoulder, the ring snagged one of the extensions.

"I just ended up ripping through the extension and just taking out a chunk of my hair, and then turning around and smiling," she says, laughing about it now.

At the time, she says, she wanted to run offstage.

Instead, she kept posing in towering heels as the judges rated the body she'd spent years trying to survive inside .

Smart lift weights in her home gym with bodybuilding coach and friend, Robyn Maher. Kim Raff for NPR hide caption

For Smart, bodybuilding isn't about the trophies. Yet, four competitions and several medals in, she's earned something she never expected: confidence in her body.

"I'm at a point in my life where I want to celebrate it," Smart says, "I don't want to carry shame about my body."

In 2002, Smart was just 14 years old when a self-proclaimed prophet abducted her at knifepoint from her Salt Lake City bedroom while she slept beside her younger sister.

Volunteers head out to search for Elizabeth Smart in Salt Lake City a few days after she was kidnapped in 2002. Douglas C. Pizac/AP hide caption

For months, the world watched the search for her unfold. Her face was plastered across television screens and the front pages of newspapers. All the while, she was living in the woods just miles from her home.

Now, at 38, Smart remembers the ways she tried to survive the nine months she was held captive and repeatedly sexually assaulted. She endured frequent humiliation and psychological manipulation.

Smart attends a White House ceremony in 2003, after then-President George W. Bush signed into law the Amber Alert package which would create a system to help find kidnapped children. Alex Wong/Getty Images/Getty Images North America hide caption

In her latest book, Detours, Smart describes trauma as a detour — a path you never planned for and never wanted. She's says she survived captivity in part by holding onto small memories and moments that reminded her that her life existed outside those woods.

"My body was hurt, and it had felt like it had been crushed," she says. "But it carried me through."

That kind of positive relationship with the body after trauma can take years — and sometimes decades — for survivors to develop, says Robyn Brickel, a licensed therapist in Virginia who specializes in trauma-related disorders.

"When early childhood trauma happens, especially sexual trauma, people disconnect from their bodies because it's unsafe," Brickel says. "That's how they survive."

During the abuse, some victims mentally leave their bodies, focusing instead on small details in the room, she says.

"Lots of trauma survivors will tell you, 'I know exactly how many light bulbs there were in the chandelier,' how many cracks were in the ceiling, the pattern on the wallpaper" while the abuse was occurring , she says. "Because that's where they are."

Faith Matters Elizabeth Smart: My Faith And 'My Story' She says the body becomes something to escape rather than inhabit. For many survivors, that disconnection doesn't disappear once the abuse ends.

Brickel says survivors often struggle with feeling shame, confusion and betrayal connected to the body.

"Lots of survivors believe their bodies betrayed them," she says.

Smart says she understands that feeling.

Raised in a conservative Mormon home, where modesty and purity were heavily emphasized, Smart says she struggled with profound shame after the abuse. She spent much of her time playing the harp, avoided boys and had few close friends.

For years, after she was back home, she says she felt pressure to become what she describes as "the most innocent of victims," she says. "I had to always do the right thing, always say the right thing."

By the time she was rescued in 2003, nine months after she was kidnapped, millions of people already knew her name and face. Unlike many survivors, Smart had to heal while in the public eye.

Smart trains five or six days a week, usually 45 minutes at a time. Kim Raff for NPR hide caption