Healing from Abuse: Connections in KPop Demon Hunters

Warning: Spoilers for KPop Demon Hunters

Dear Friends of SafeHouse

My six year old daughter loves musicals. From Wicked to The Music Man to Frozen—if there are infectious songs involved, she’s all in. So when I pushed play on Netflix’s animated smash hit KPop Demon Hunters I was pretty sure my daughter would love it, and I would get some peace to do my own thing while she watched. I was unprepared to be riveted alongside her. (And if you haven’t seen it yet, you’ll almost certainly recognize it soon—expect to see plenty of trick-or-treaters dressed as its fierce, glittering heroes this Halloween.) I was swept along by the themes of shame, identity, and healing, and buoyed by the collective effervescence on display in the in the tear-inducing musical finale. Each time I watch (because it’s currently on repeat at my house), I am struck by the resonance the film has for survivors of domestic and sexual violence.

 

Rumi’s Secret and the Weight of Shame

Rumi, Mira and Zoey are members of HUNTR/X, a K-pop girl group, who are also living double lives. On stage, they are global superstars. But secretly they use their song to fight soul-stealing demons and to strengthen the Honmoon, a mystical barrier that keeps the demons out of the human world. HUNTR/X is on the eve of a great victory when a demon boy-band comes along to ruin everything. Their goal is to destroy the Honmoon forever, giving the demons free reign.

Silence, Stigma, and Self-Blame

Rumi, the lead singer of the group and the heart of the story, has a secret: the same glowing, jagged patterns that cover the demons she battles also appear on her own skin. Her father was a demon, and so Rumi is part-demon. She hides her patterns from everyone, even from Mira and Zoey, believing that nobody can ever know. The secrecy leaves Rumi ashamed and isolated, holding her back from full participation in human life and friendship. She even begins to lose her voice—her greatest strength and weapon.

The Lies Survivors Carry

In many ways, Rumi’s struggle mirrors what survivors of abuse often face. Like Rumi, survivors may carry secrets they feel forced to hide, believing that if others knew the whole truth, they would be rejected or misunderstood. That secrecy can create deep feelings shame and isolation, keeping survivors from fully engaging in relationships or community, even if the abuse itself has ended. Just as Rumi’s hidden patterns threaten to silence her voice, survivors may feel silenced by stigma, fear, or the lies told about them:

It was my fault

I deserved it

I am broken

I don’t deserve healing

These lies can feel louder than the truth. Many survivors of domestic and sexual violence struggle with shame, self-blame, and the loss of identity. Like Rumi, they may feel trapped in someone else’s story instead of free to live their own. We see this tension in the song “Golden.” It’s a soaring, empowering anthem in which Zoey, Mira, Rumi sing to bring about the future they long for—a world where the Honmoon shines golden and demons are no longer a threat. For Rumi, though, the song carries a hidden hope. She believes that once the barrier is restored, the part of her that is demon will disappear.

Waited so long to break these walls down—

To wake up and feel like me.

Put these patterns all in the past now,

And finally live like the girl they all see.

 

What Healing Sounds Like

But healing of any kind doesn’t come from erasing those pieces. It comes from integrating them, honoring the full truth of one’s story, and knowing that worthiness isn’t conditional. Just as Rumi eventually learns her strength lies in embracing every part of who she is, survivors, too, can find freedom and power in reclaiming all of themselves.

The climax of the film arrives with the song “What It Sounds Like.” Here Rumi finally speaks her truth and is honest with herself and with everyone about who she really is. In that moment, she begins to integrate all the pieces of her identity. We finally see her healing on full display.

I broke into a million pieces and I can’t go back

But now I’m seeing all the beauty in the broken glass.

The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony.

My voice without the lies—this is what it sounds like.

Rumi’s song pushes back against the darkness. Similarly, survivors’ voices—in whatever form they take—are powerful tools for breaking cycles of abuse and reclaiming identity. There is another important parallel here: the power of a collective voice. Rumi begins the song, but Zoey and Mira soon join her. Each has fought her own battle and faced her own demons. And as they add their voices to the harmony, they become part of a greater chorus of strength and hope. That collective voice testifies that healing is possible, recovery is real, and no one is defined solely by the worst moments in their life.

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Honoring Survivor Voices

As we move into October and recognize Domestic Violence Awareness Month, Rumi’s story reminds us of the courage it takes for survivors to embrace their full truth and reclaim their voices. Just as she discovered power not in hiding, but in harmonizing every part of herself, survivors, too, find healing by breaking through silence and shame. When their voices join together, they create a chorus that cannot be ignored—a chorus that calls for safety, justice, and hope. This month, and every month, we honor those voices, amplify them, and commit ourselves to building a world where no one has to fight their demons alone.

 

In solidarity,

Janelle Sierra

Executive Director, SafeHouse