Assaulted: What A Nice Way To Label Rape

I’ve never spoken publicly about my sexual assaults. Yes. Assaults. Three of them in my lifetime and almost a fourth a few years ago. The first was when I was a child and to publicly speak of it now would be of no benefit as the perpetrator is dead and to do so would inflict more harm than good.

The second was a trusted friend of the family and a respected elder of our church. I was 15 years old and he groomed me over the course of the summer so that when he finally did push it over the line and I balked he tried to place the blame on me by telling me how much I liked it – the physicality of the interaction. It worked. I didn’t tell anyone for months because I didn’t want them to find out I had liked the attention and I couldn’t let anyone know I was gay in 1970’s small town Indiana. It was only after an aborted suicide attempt that I spoke of what had happened but insisted that no charges be filed as I was afraid of being put on the witness stand and having to admit my sexual orientation. Before you tell me I was wrong keep in mind that I was a child and the only knowledge I had then of legal proceedings was from watching Perry Mason or similar TV shows.

The third was in my 20’s and was a case of date rape. I didn’t report that one ether. Who would believe me? I was in a relationship with him. I had willingly gone to his house. We had both been drinking that night. How could that possibly be rape? And yet it was as I hadn’t consented and yet could not get him to stop even though he was hurting me. So I gave up and my mind took me someplace else during the act. I ended the relationship the next day.

The fourth potential assault could have happened on vacation about seven years ago. We were in Ft. Lauderdale and had gone out one night. I made the rookie mistake of leaving my drink at the bar while I went to the restroom . I vaguely remember a man in a Michigan ball cap hovering around and luckily Robbie made us leave when I went from sober to dead ass drunk in about 15 minutes. It wasn’t until the next morning we realized someone had slipped me a roofie.

So yes, I believe she was assaulted. I believe there are hundreds of times more women who are victims of assault and have never come forward than there are men falsely accused of assault.  And I also believe that women have for years not come forward because “who would believe me?” Or worse “I must have done something to cause it to happen.”

And if it’s you that’s been assaulted, I will listen and believe you, then hug you a little tighter (if that’s what you need)  and tell you that you do not deserve any of it – the assault itself or the feelings you may be harboring since then. Far too often the victim is made to own the act and not the perpetrator. We have to change that.