Not Alone

Quick trigger warning: I will be discussing sexual abuse and rape. If this topic is triggering for you, I urge you to take care of your mental health and skip this post. Thank you for your support.

I was raped and that’s the least interesting thing about me. Indeed, statistically speaking, it would be much more interesting if I hadn’t been raped. I know you’ve heard the statistics, something like 1 in 4 women has experienced sexual assault or harassment. My experiences corroborate this statistic. Without fail, anytime I’m in a group with three other woman, at least one of them has experienced sexual assault or abuse. Of course it’s never phrased so boldly, especially around mixed company. It usually sounds something like:

“I was in a…bad relationship before this one.”

“I had a bad experience.”

“Yeah, it didn’t end well.”

I can feel myself exhale and my eyes soften in understanding. These are like secret codewords for a club we wish we didn’t belong to. And that’s just for those who can identify it. I know for myself, I didn’t even realize the extent of what happened to me until years after. We hear about these awful event so often in the news that it almost seems distant and surreal - as if something so brutal could not happen to normal people. But it does, and it does often.

I think the strongest emotion following these events was shame. At least for myself, shame was suffocating. My skin itched and all I wanted to do was unzip it like a dress and peel it from my bones. It wasn't necessarily that I hated my body as much as I didn't even feel like it was mine to begin with. I felt dirty and vulnerable, as if someone could take one look at me and know what I had been through.

One of the most damaging emotions was the sense of loneliness. I didn't feel like anyone could relate to the intense experiences that I had been through. In not being able to open up to anyone, I felt isolated even amongst close friends and family. It caused me to push people away. I felt inhuman and unreachable.

But I continued on. I grew in experience, wisdom, strength, and happiness. I carved out a beautiful life for myself bit by bit. But still, the past haunted me. It was a nagging presence in even small aspects of my life. So I began to research and in so began to understand that what happened to me had names: rape, abuse, manipulation.

Finding out I was not alone was extremely bittersweet. There was a freedom in being able to share my experiences with others and receive true understanding. I've made beautiful friendships with women who share experiences similar to mine. On the other hand, it was extremely disheartening. Almost every woman had a story of harassment, abuse, and degradation.

Then, I found I was simmering with rage. How quickly the shame was chased away by anger. Anger burned through the clammy feeling of shame leaving the taste of smoke on my tongue. I was angry that this had happened to me. Angry that I was even ashamed to begin with. Angry that people see these things happen and allow it to happen over and over and over again. Angry that no one wants to hear about these things because they're too taboo, too graphic, too disgusting. Angry that almost all women have the same story and no one seems to care.

Well, I'm angry because I care. I hope that other women know they are not alone. We do not have to swallow our rage and our experiences. I believe in sharing in our rage gives us freedom. I hope men are angry too. If they are so adamant that "not all men" are perpetrators of violence, it is easy to be angry on behalf of women. It is easy to stand with those you wish no harm. And when we use our rage to unite us, to move forward, these acts of violence can become a rarity.