Me Too? Sadly, But Of Course
CW: Discussion of sexual assault. If you need someone to talk to about your experiences, visit RAINN or call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-4673
I’ve been thinking about this a lot. How this post was probably years overdue. How it’s been weighing on me more frequently in the past few months. How this is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write, and might be the hardest thing to read from me. How, in the #MeToo era, I too am a statistic. A person with a history of being sexually assaulted, more than once, who never reported. Because, what’s the point? Then, and now. Then, because I was scared and didn’t know who to turn to, or even if what transpired counted in some meaningful way. Now, because oftentimes in an ever-connected world, a man accused of sexual assault and rape could be overwhemlingly sympathized with based on his social standing, and the accuser painted as a liar and whore, out to ruin a good man’s life on events that have long passed. At best sharing my stories years after the fact would get me praise and scorn from those I expect to be praised and scorned by, but not much else.
But I feel I need to share them, and now’s as good a time as any.
The first time was when I was young, a kindergartener. A neighbor, a teen boy no more than 16, babysat me on occasion. Sometimes his sister would trade off with him, depending on who was free at the time. I don’t remember too much, but I do remember him encouraging me to help him masturbate. Me, 5 years old, seeing a penis before I even had a word for it. Me, 5 years old, happy to help, because why wouldn’t I want to help him? It only happened a couple times, before my parents caught on enough to my forthcoming uncomfortableness around him that he didn’t babysit me anymore. I don’t know how much my parents knew at the time, or what his parents knew, or what anyone else knew, really. And over time as I became aware of the severity of his actions, I kind of rationalized it as a teen boy full of hormones, not knowing what he did was Wrong. I think it took me until I was in college to realize what he did could have put him on a sex offender list.
The second time was college. Not at a party. Not drunk. No, just a lazy sober weekend afternoon. I was chatting with a friend of a friend about sex tips, as young adults do, and he insisted he could teach me some good ones. I passed, having zero interest in being “taught” in any physical manner, and was in a relationship. He was insistent, but initially respected my wishes about not being touched and instead described them best he could. It wasn’t long before those wishes were violated and he was groping me. I stood there frozen for a second or two, but managed to break from his grasp. I think he might have realized what he did, as he began apologizing as I told him to leave. He was informally unwelcome in my dorm after that, until a younger roommate of mine told me he made her uncomfortable and had for quite some time. I didn’t press her for more details, and she didn’t offer them. Instead, I asked our mutual friends to not bring him around our place under any circumstances, and to let him know he was banned. Thankfully they abided without much question. We didn’t have any classes together, as he was an older student, and so the time I had to see him around campus was kept to a minimum. For a while after the incident though, whenever we happened to be in the same room with others (always with others, never alone together after that), he always got awkwardly quiet, and couldn’t look me in the eye. Maybe it was guilt? I’d like to believe so.
The last time and most recent time was not long after I had my first “all by myself” apartment. An ex came over to pick up some stuff. In the midst of discussing our very awful breakup, he said something about us having sex again, to which I replied along the lines “I don’t think so if we’re not together”, his answer close to “we’ll see about that”. He managed to grab hold of me, bent me over, and well. Yeah. Thankfully, again, it wasn’t long. He stopped almost as suddenly as he started. It happened so quick it took both of us a minute to process what had just occurred. Me, paralyzed in shock and confusion. Him, zipping up his pants and saying how he shouldn’t have done that. Before he came over that night, he kept telling me he was a good guy who made some bad choices, who didn’t hurt girls. I’m sure he believed that.
This is of course excluding the general harassment. Cat calls regardless of what I was wearing. Men my dad’s age laughing as they tried to slip dollar bills into my clothing at a bar’s karaoke night. The guy who followed me in his car as I walked home from Starbucks when I was 14, asking if I spoke English, and when I responded with “huh”, yelled “DO YOU LIKE SEX?” Those who would have been more than happy to have their way with me when I’d been out drinking, had I not had stellar friends watching out for me. The man who inserted himself in my group at a conference who followed us from event to event to hit on me. The now ex who would constantly try to guilt me into sex. The aforementioned rapist ex who wanted so badly for me to visit him after he left, for us to be friends, after I told him I wanted nothing to with him, who told me I was the one being mean (he had a bonus of being grossly manipulative on top of you know, a rapist).
It’s a lot to live with.
There’s no point in me naming names, although I’m sure some of you reading this can guess at some of them. Not like naming any of them would lead to any sort of criminal convictions. Honestly, I doubt reporting them at the time would have done much either, outside of incite anger and maybe violence from friends and family. The incident in my childhood? So long ago that most of the surrounding details about who he is, what he looked like, long gone. We moved away less than a year later and that was that I guess. College guy? Married now, in a respected profession and so well liked by others that I don’t know what would happen even if he admitted to it. Maybe our remaining mutual friends would hang out with him even less than they do now, not that I know of many who still see him even semi-regularly. And the most recent offender? A man praised in his field. Promoted. Seen as a pillar of dignity, honor, and virtue. To be married soon. Soon soon. Within days of this posting soon. To a friend of some acquaintances. Back in Vegas (I moved recently so at least I have a very minimal chance of ever running into him again). I feel mixed, having this knowledge. Maybe he’s changed. I genuinely want to believe he’s a better man now. Maybe he hasn’t, but treats his fiance well enough that, mixed with her love for him, she doesn’t realize or care about the bad stuff. What is my moral obligation to tell her? Do I have the right, or duty, to say “hey, you don’t know me, but your future husband was emotionally abusive, and also raped me once”? Even hearing this, what would she owe me? Belief? I don’t see her throwing her relationship away out of nowhere because of my story, let alone believe it. Why would she? Why should she? Would I, in her situation? I’d like to believe if someone came to me and accused my husband of sexual assault in the past, that I’d take her seriously and believe her. But, maybe I’d also want to brush it off, because my husband’s been nothing but good to me.
Learning a person you’re close to, you love, who has been so kind and good, has an awful past, cannot be easy to reconcile.
But know, very rarely are these allegations made falsely.
Rape and sexual assault allegations are not made lightly. Rape is already grossly under reported, given its terrifying frequency. It’s incredibly difficult to pay someone enough to come forward with an allegation, especially on the record, let alone get them to fake one (as Susie Tompkins Buell and Mike Cernovich have found out in the last year). And cases like mine are more complex, where the criminal definition of sexual assault might not cover what happened to me. Victims don’t report, or even tell those close to them sometimes, because doing is a whole hell unto itself, and only drags the nightmare out. Even if a rape is reported, and meets the legal definition enough to be investigated, rape kits go untested, rapists never get their day in court, or not found guilty, or worse yet, found guilty and barely punished. And then there’s the god awful personal dealings. Would you be believed by those around you? Do you think they could handle your story, or would you want to spare them the thought? Would they blame it on your actions and tell you you should have done something different? Would they dismiss your story outright, as the assailant is someone popular and of good standing and would “never do such a thing”. Would they be more concerned with you sullying the assaulter’s “good name” with a “made up story you didn’t tell anyone about when it supposedly happened” than the trauma you’re living with? Especially when they dismiss high profile cases, and talk trash about those will waited to come forward, making you unsure they’ll treat your situation differently. I don’t blame them for wanting to avoid it. Nothing like seeing how victims are treated, both legally and personally, to make you want to never share your story.
But I felt I needed to. Not just to maybe help me get my thoughts sorted, but also to let others know they’re not alone. Sharing is hard. It’s okay not to if you’re not ready. It’s okay to never be ready. But if and when you find the strength to do so, I’ll be here for you when you do, supporting you, believing you as I hope you believed me.
Listen to survivors.
Believe survivors.
Please.
