More often than not, when I find the courage to say out loud that I am a survivor of sexual assault, there is at least one other woman who says me too.
We all have a story.
My story began in college. I was 18 years old. I never reported it. For over 10 years, I never talked about it.
But it happened. And ignoring it has caused a whole new set of complications.
Every story is different. I want to talk about mine because I wish that I had done so sooner. If only to find other women to help me understand I am not alone.
I'd like to tell my story differently in that I'm not going to tell you what happened. The physical act of what happened makes me cringe to this day. But the emotional consequences of sexual assault are what never leave you. They evolve but they do not ever go away.
The Assault
I vividly remember every second of what happened. It happened in a space I knew as one of the safest place I could be. With a man I considered a friend. I don't remember any pain. I don't remember feeling hurt. I do remember every beat of my heart. I remember feeling frozen. I remember being confused. And after it happened, I remember running to a friends dorm and nothing else. Not one other thing that happened that night. Nothing. I don't know what I said. I don't know if I slept there. I don't remember.
The Days Following
I chose not to report what happened for a myriad of reasons. Fear. Guilt. Shame. Anxiety. I didn't talk about it with anyone. I went to class. I went to practice. I went home. I don't remember being any different outwardly. I don't remember anyone asking me if I was okay. But I also don't remember feeling anything. It's so cliche, but I was numb. I don't remember.
Years Following
For a good number of years afterwards, I lost value for myself. I remember feeling worthless but acting out in a way that said I was the most confident woman on the planet. I hated my body. I hated my curves. I hated anything that felt sexual about who I was. I spent a lot of time trying to regain control of my body and my sexuality and said yes when a lot of times, I was screaming no inside. And now I don't remember any of those times.
Now
I feel an incredible guilt for not reporting what happened. I wonder if he's hurt other women. I wonder if that's my fault. I am ashamed that I am so vocal about women's rights and yet I said nothing, to anyone. Who am I to say tell your story, fight back? I didn't.
I see stories like Brock Turner and I feel angry. I read the victim statement and thought to myself, you are not alone. And you are so brave.
I feel fear. I don't like enclosed spaces. I am constantly on guard when I'm in a room full of men. In every situation, I have usually formulated a worst case scenario and a plan for how to escape. When I meet men, I wonder if they only see me for my body.
And I feel ashamed and frustrated because it's been over 10 years and I can't let it go. I can't NOT remember.
I'm shaking right now because I don't want my family to read this. I don't want men to see me as broken because of this.
The truth is, we all have a story. And that story, no matter how hard we try, it can define us for years to come. For me, this isn't the end. I get to write that ending because my story isn't just this one chapter.
If I can offer any advice to those of you who love survivors of assault, it's to love without judgment. Let your person come to you. Listen to whatever they choose to share with you and support them. There is no right way to survive. To survive is enough.
If you are a survivor, I am sorry you're part of this club. I am proud of you for surviving. However you choose to do that, I'm proud of you and I believe in your ability to be stronger because of it.
We all have a story. When do we finally make those stories about stopping the villain?
Quite frankly, women are shown that we don't matter because of how these assaults are handled. The rate in which they occur. We don't matter because men think its okay to grab us in bars. We don't matter because consent is grey. We don't matter because convicted rapists are given a slap on the wrist and a "he's a good guy though."
Our safety, comfort, space - they don't matter.
When we speak up, we have to prove it. We are called dramatic. We are asking for it.
The culture of sexual assault has gotten so out of control that we all have a story.
We all have a story because nobody speaks up. Nobody steps in and says stop. Nobody says I believe you and I'm so sorry. Nobody says this shouldn't have happened and we will fight for you. Nobody says actually that's not okay and there needs to be punishment. Nobody says this can't happen, let's stop it.
Not enough people have said sexual assault is happening and these women matter.
My story is now making sure that I matter. That you matter. And that the women who will face this in the future matter.
We all have a story. What's yours going to be?