CONTENT WARNING: This story contains detailed description of sexual assault.
If you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted, there is help available. At TCU, call the 24/7 confidential counseling helpline at 817-257-7233 or contact Confidential Advocate Ms. Leah Carnahan at l.carnahan@tcu.edu or 817-257-5225. You can also call the national sexual assault hotline at 1-800-656-4673.
Hi. First off, I want to say that I hope by my posting my story, I can help others who have also been through anything like this. So we’ll start bluntly: My senior year of high school, I was sexually assaulted.
I’ve never truly told my story before, but many people have heard me discuss the topic or the idea. It’s difficult to find a medium through which a survivor can share their story without strings attached. The power to tell my story has been here, but now I have an audience that I hope will listen to and learn from my experience.
It all started with a break-up. My boyfriend of the time broke up with me and immediately began dating one of my close friends. I was devastated and angry, and so I jumped at the chance to show that I didn’t care. I immediately reached out to this guy that I’d talked to before dating the other guy. He was excited and wanted to take me out that weekend.
I said yes. I should have seen some of the warning signs throughout the date. I mistook his controlling actions for chivalry. I confused his domineering personality for “manliness.”
The night went relatively well, if not for the obvious attempts all night for him to get me home with him. Eventually, I caved, excited to hear him play one of my favorite songs on his guitar.
Soon enough, we were watching a movie, and he was quick to offer me a blanket to share. His hands were immediately on my leg, pushing up. I resisted and said no, too gently, thinking I could still be “kind” (despite the fact that he didn’t deserve my kindness). I was so grateful when his dad (yup, he lived with his parents) walked in and scared him off.
But I still needed a ride home, didn’t I? And I still had to have a “good time” to show up my ex, right?
We got into the car and he asked if I wanted to drive around. I agreed. We had similar music taste to listen to, and it would be fun enough. Plus, we were driving, so nothing would happen.
But then he pulled over into a parking lot. And kissed me. I kissed back, still hell-bent on showing up my ex and having a good time on this date. I even scooted across his front seat to kiss him a little closer.
But then he started unzipping my pants. And his pants. And I pulled away, and I tried to tell him no and get back into my seat. Instead, he shoved his hand into my pants and grabbed my hand, which he then put into his own pants.
I kept resisting until I didn’t have it left in me. Until I realized that in this dark parking lot, late at night, when no one knew where I was with this guy, my best bet was to just get out. So I faked my own finishing, and he continued to force me to finish him until he was done with me.
I quietly scooted back to my seat and gathered my purse and things close to me. I asked him to take me home.
He did, and I walked into my house after the date, silently acknowledging my mother’s scolding about curfew.
After this happened, I didn’t know how to deal with this. I tried to tell some of my close friends, but instead of supporting me, they laughed it off and congratulated me on my rebound. Said I was starting my “hoe phase” the right way.
I started to doubt my experience, afraid that they were right and that I was just rebounding. After all, I hadn’t broken out of the car, I hadn’t called 911. So how could I call this sexual assault when I hadn’t fought him off? I’d just sat there and taken it.
It was another two and a half years before I learned that that’s a trauma response. Two and a half years for me to feel validated in my own experience. Two and half years for me to even put a name to the event that had happened.
That’s what I want to change. I want to come out of this experience and acknowledgment and change the culture that allows survivors to walk around doubting their own pain and their own trauma. I want to make sure every survivor is supported, and everyone is able to intervene if this happens around them.
So believe yourself, and believe your own trauma. Don’t let others convince you to change your own story. Someone will believe you. But first, you have to believe yourself.