Content warning: This article discusses sexual assault. I was sexually assaulted when I was 16 years old by my first boyfriend. However, it took me years to finally realize it. I wondered why I’d experience PTSD symptoms anytime I’d engage in intimacy with someone, pinning it down to “regular anxiety” before realizing that my assault — being coerced, several times, into doing something I didn’t want to do — had manifested itself into so many different aspects of my life.
And sometimes, I blame myself. I find myself wondering how my life would be different if I had just broken up with him and walked away, but I’ve come to realize that it was never my fault.
For months, my discomfort was disregarded for someone else’s pleasure. In the times I did say “no” to my boyfriend, I almost felt like I was disappointing him. Like I owed it to him to do these things that I didn’t want to do. So, after saying “no” countless times, only to be met with persistence and begging, my body just froze when he started doing what I’d told him no to.
And after having a conversation with my friend, who told me about how her situationship repeatedly pressured her into having sex when she didn’t want to, I realized how often coercion happens — yet, it’s barely talked about. According to a study from the National Library of Medicine, 63% of college women reported experiencing sexual coercion. That number is really hard to ignore — and yet, despite how common it is, coercion is still rarely labeled what it actually is: sexual assault.
Coercion comes in so many different shapes and forms, but according to sex and intimacy coach Annette Benedetti, coercion is “any tactic used to pressure, manipulate, or wear someone down into sexual activity they haven’t genuinely agreed to.” This can range from guilt-tripping and threats to relentless asking and even begging. On the inside, it can be hard to define coercion as assault because, as women, we’re so used to being taught that our discomfort isn’t as important as someone else’s pleasure. But that’s not true.
Consent should never have to be negotiated, begged for, or worn down. It should be freely given — or not given at all. And if it’s not freely given, it’s not consent.
And for a while, I thought that, because I eventually “gave in,” it was consent. But really, it’s not. According to Primary Prevention Education Coordinator Alyssa Davis, consent can best be defined by Planned Parenthood’s “FRIES” acronym: “It stands for freely given, reversible, informed, enthusiastic, and specific,” Davis says. And with coercion, the “freely given” and “enthusiastic” aspects are always missing.
In moments like these, how you respond can shift the entire dynamic. You’re allowed to be direct — and sometimes, that’s exactly what the situation calls for. “Name what’s happening out loud. [Saying something along the lines of] ‘you’re pressuring me and I’ve already said no’ disrupts the dynamic and makes the coercion undeniable to both of you,” Benedetti says. Calling coercion out for what it is makes it a lot harder to ignore, which is why it’s so important to address it in the moment.
Davis pushes the importance of using clear and direct language rather than letting someone down gently or attempting to “soften” the situation. And if that doesn’t work? Leave — literally. Whether this is just walking out of the room for a few minutes or ordering an Uber ASAP, it’s crucial to exit the situation rather than letting coercion happen. “You don’t owe anyone a debate about your own body,” Benedetti says.
In the end, coercion thrives in silence — in the moments we second-guess ourselves, minimize our discomfort, or wonder if it was “really that bad.” But it is. And it deserves to be named for what it is. Consent should never have to be negotiated, begged for, or worn down. It should be freely given — or not given at all. And if it’s not freely given, it’s not consent.
I’m at a place in my life where I’ve accepted that this happened to me — yet I still find my body filled with guilt anytime I say no to intimacy, even getting to the point where I’ve cried in front of my partner because I feel so bad saying no. And while I am still working on growing from this, I’ve learned to establish boundaries when it comes to intimacy.
I wish I could go back and tell my 16-year-old self that what happened to her wasn’t her fault — that saying no once should’ve been enough. But I can’t change what happened to me. What I can do, though, is name it, talk about it, and hope that someone else reading this recognizes their own experience a little sooner than I did.
If you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted, you can call the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 800-656-HOPE (4673) or visit hotline.rainn.org.