When I was 14 years old, I was sexually assaulted by a man
my parents hired to hang wallpaper in our home. My parents went out for the
evening and left me home, alone, with a total stranger.
All of these years later, I can remember every detail of
that day: how excited I'd felt because a boy I had a crush on told me he liked
me; how it was a warm spring day; how I sat cross-legged on the floor and
watched while the wallpaper man worked; how my mother had instructed me to keep
an eye on him.
I remember chatting with the man, being the polite good girl
that I was raised to be. I remember getting him a glass of water.
I remember looking down at one point and noticing in horror that
the shorts I was wearing had hiked up around my thighs, revealing the edge of
my panties and a few dark wisps of pubic hair. I was embarrassed and quickly
stood up, but it was too late. He'd seen it too.
In an instant, he had me pinned against the wall in the
hallway with his body, telling me that this is how it always starts, with some pretty young girl making him lose
control.
I hated his coffee breath as he forced his tongue in my
mouth. I hated his fingers gripping my breast and the intrusion of his other hand
between my legs. I hated my awareness of his erection - the first one I'd ever
felt - against my leg.
I pleaded with him: I don't want to do this. I'm only 14!
Please just leave me alone. Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease. I'm sorry. I'm
sorry. I'M SO SORRY.
His response to my pleas was to pick me up and throw me on my
parents' bed in the room across the hall.
I fought against his body on top of me. Remarkably, I managed
to get away from him, but I would never be free of the memory of the terror I
felt. I tried to block it out of my mind by not telling anyone or even
mentioning it in my journal, but it was always there. It colored every
relationship I ever had with a broad brushstroke of unworthiness. I felt
damaged and guilty for what happened to me. Had I led him on? Were my clothes
too revealing?
Even though I realize now that I should have blamed my
parents for putting me in a dangerous situation, I blamed myself instead, as if
it were somehow my fault by the very fact of my having been born female. I even
felt guilty for allowing the assault to wound me as deeply as it did. After
all, it's not like it was a full-blown rape. Why couldn't I just get over it
already?
Later, as I grew older, feelings of sexual desire were always
accompanied by feelings of intense shame. How could my body betray me with such
yearnings after what had happened to me? Clearly my body couldn't be trusted. I couldn't
be trusted.
Decades later, I'm finally able to talk about what happened
to me. Years of self-work have afforded me the perspective of realizing that
the actions of that terrible man were not my fault. I did nothing wrong. I was a
victim.
Guilt still lingers, though it's of a different variety than
over what I was wearing that day. I feel immense guilt that I didn't tell
anyone. Because of my silence, some other girl - or girls - may have suffered
the same awful violation at the hands of
that man that I did.
This is not an easy burden, and it's one I've lived with
for nearly forty years. I don't know that man's name, or if he's even still
alive, so I can't make him face the justice he should have faced decades ago. But
I can tell my story, and encourage other women to tell their stories. It's time
to end the shame and stigma that women feel over finding themselves victims of
sexual assault.
Perhaps the most important thing I can do is teach my sons
how to treat women with respect; that "no" always means no, without
exception. A drunk girl isn't an opportunity, and a young girl certainly isn't
an invitation.
Teaching boys about consent isn't a lesson that can be
taught once - it's one that must be refined and discussed and revisited as the
boy grows. Friends, other parents, and the media have a powerful way of
influencing our boys in negative ways. The only way to raise kind,
compassionate, and respectful men is to keep the conversation going - a
conversation that begins with us.
(originally published on Medium.com on 10/14/16)
