By Adwoa Ampofo
TW: Sexual Assault & Coercion
“Protect our community.” For so many women of color, that phrase feels less like guidance and more like a command. We’ve seen it over and over in media and history: women standing by men who’ve harmed them, or worse, harmed others. Even when they knew. Even when they felt it themselves. We’re told to stay, to defend, to keep the peace.
When I was assaulted, that mantra rang in my head louder than my own pain. Instead of letting myself grieve what had happened, I kept asking, “What did I do that signaled a yes? Do I need to report it? It wasn’t violent.” It’s a weather to be silent or speak that slowly crushes you from the inside.
What made it even harder was the dismissal. Because I knew him. Because we had been involved. Because it wasn’t “violent” in the way people expect when they hear the word assault. I started to feel like I had to prove it, like my trauma needed a witness, a scar, or a headline to matter. That kind of gaslighting, from others and from myself, kept me small and trapped in shame.
And the truth? It broke me in ways I never expected. My faith dimmed. I looked at my body with disgust, like it was no longer mine. Anxiety lived in me like a roommate that never left, pulling me into constant melancholy. I thought I had lost something sacred forever.
But I’ve had to relearn: assault doesn’t only “count” if you screamed, if it left a bruise, if you were sober, or if you had never kissed them before. Coercion is assault. Pressure, manipulation, and being pushed into sex you didn’t want is assault. If you didn’t (or couldn’t) say yes, then it wasn’t consent.
And it’s not rare. In fact, approximately 26.4% of female undergraduate students in the United States experience rape or sexual assault involving physical force, violence, or incapacitation before graduation. That’s not a statistic; it’s classrooms, dorms, and campus events filled with survivors who may never speak about it.
For so long, I thought healing would mean forgetting. Instead, I’ve learned healing means remembering differently. It means knowing that my hypersexuality at times wasn’t “me being reckless”, it was me trying to patch up a wound I hadn’t named yet. It means speaking out even when my voice shakes, because silence only kept me sick. It means letting the community remind me that I’m not alone.
And maybe most importantly, it means reminding myself every single day:
- My body is mine.
- I will love myself again.
- My trauma is not my definition.
- What happened to me does not decide who I become.I want you to know: healing in community is real. There is power in speaking, even if it’s just a whisper at first. You don’t have to carry this alone.Resources if You’re at Towson (or beyond)
- Title IX Office: Title IX Coordinator – (410) 704-0203, titleix@towson.edu
- Towson Counseling Center:Â (410) 704-2512
- Maryland Helpline (211):Â Call 211 and press 1
- National Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN):Â 1-800-656-4673