I Didn’t Know I Was Raped
A Confession (Three Years Late)
I’m here to tell a story that somebody, like myself these past years, could really benefit from hearing.
I was raped.
It’s hard to confess this when I don’t feel like a victim (or want to identify as one). I wasn’t lured into an alley by a stranger. I wasn’t held down against my will nor did he do anything maliciously. I met this man a few hours prior, which we filled with (what I remember as) decent conversation.
It’s a hard confession because I’ve hardly told anyone. It’s hard because my rapist has no idea that he is a rapist. It’s hard because I know that I am so much more than this. It’s hard because I fear people will let this unwanted event define me. It’s hard because I feel like a fool for not realizing this sooner.
It’s hardest because I didn't know I was raped for three years.
The lines of consent were blurred with alcohol, as they usually are in these stories. I was young and naïve. It was the first week of college. Maybe I didn’t realize what actually happened due to the excitement of new-found independence.
House parties are just so cool when you’re seventeen. Seniors are just so cool when you’re a freshman. It was all so college and I, being a small(ish) town girl, wanted to prove I could be just so cool as well.
Cue: binge drinking.
I was drunk. I don’t recall giving consent, and at some point there were hands around my neck. My dress was still on, and I became present about halfway through and it felt wrong. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be anywhere else. Even if I had given consent, it was void due to my level of intoxication.
I didn’t stop it. Confused and drunk, I believed it was my fault I was in that situation. I had worn a short dress. I flirted with this man for an hour or so. He was nice to me and complimented me, so this was the natural progression of things, right?
He’ll never know or think he’s a rapist, and that’s something I’ve come to accept. I didn’t even know I was raped. I got too drunk and I wanted to kiss him, but why did I feel so strangely about taking that kiss further? Why did I feel wrong after? Why did I feel uncomfortable during? In time, I made peace with everything and recognize that neither of us were at fault. That still took a few years of self-realization to realize.
Society conditioned him (wrongly) to believe drunk consent (or lack of) was okay.
It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t his. It was the fault of the world we’re in.
Thankfully, due to social media and accessible blogging forums (like Medium & Tumblr), advocacy and information is being spread rapidly about rape and rape culture. The internet has allowed us to come together, share our stories and ideas, and come to important conclusions about rape, consent, and the culture in general.
I’m thankful for this. Sites like Medium and Tumblr serve as great platforms for social advocacy and change. These websites are able to reach populations that include people of all ages, genders, races, and sexual preferences. Important information like the statement on the cardboard in the picture above are able to spread quickly and in an easy-to-consume way.
Knowledge is the answer. Spreading knowledge is the mission of people like me who see little sisters and cry at the thought that she may have to deal with this one day. I advocate and educate for girls like her: seventeen and naive and prone to victimization.
For the girls who aren’t sure: drunk consent is not real consent. It may feel easier to blame yourself. This was my biggest issue. Chalking it up to my own drunken choice was easier than accepting the reality of the situation: I was raped. I didn’t want to be another girl who fell victim to this (mainly) unreported type of crime. I thought I was stronger, I was better. After years of soul searching and an excellent social work education, I realized this could happen to anyone. Everyone is at risk. I was silenced for so long out of fear of being a victim and of being weak when in fact, I am not a victim nor weak at all.
I am a survivor.
Coming to terms with this was extremely difficult. However, it is your choice and your choice completely to tell anyone, expose yourself as a victim/survivor, or press any sort of charges. You can realize this and keep it all to yourself, or you can speak up. As long as you are comfortable and safe, you can choose how you deal with being a survivor of rape. Like your body, you have no obligation to share it unless you fully want to.
That’s what we are: survivors. If you are still breathing and living your life, you made it through. You are strong. You are already more than your rape.
If you’re feeling confused and unsure, consider whether you can let go of what happened. If you can’t, it was probably rape. Don’t feel bad for not realizing it sooner, or for being unsure. It is your body, you dictate how it’s used. If someone violates this against your fully conscious will, it’s wrong. Don’t think you’re doing anyone (especially your rapist) a favor by not speaking up or identifying yourself as a survivor. Remember:
This experience does not define you.
You are still you. Don’t allow anyone to take ownership of your body or your identity. You are what you want to be and if that happens to include surviving rape, that’s fine. Unfortunately, it’s become part of many of our stories. Use it to make you stronger. Use it to be better. Use it as a kick start to a career in a helping profession (as I did) or simply to grow into the type of person who educates their sons not to rape, rather than only educating their daughters not to get raped.
However, I do urge you to share your story if you are comfortable. Even doing it anonymously can help. The more we speak up as women* who have experienced this, the more we can do to prevent it.
There is strength in numbers, and when those numbers are educated and advocating for change, they can move mountains.
I like to think if this movement had started ten years earlier, I would have never been raped. I want to believe in 10 years, rape will be something in history books rather than newspapers. I don’t want that familiar sting of fear every time my little sister mentions going to a party or on a date.
I want a safer world. If you’d like, join me in spreading the word (or your own experience). Every little bit helps. We can live in a world where rape is no longer an epidemic, but a rare and terrible event unusual to where we will be (can be) in society.
We can do this. Together.
- I acknowledge the presence of rape in other genders, sexualities, and situations and the importance of advocating for them/with them as well.
