Content warning: child sexual abuse, intimate partner rape,
By Beatrice,* a survivor
*A pseudonym
My name is Beatrice, and I am a survivor of child sexual assault and intimate partner rape.
I never expected to feel brave enough to write and share my story on a platform like this. Even though I’ve found so much courage, strength, and bravery within myself for the past seven years since my first assault, doing something like this is still a challenge. I’ve been a shy and timid person for most of my life. Plus, disclosing any amount of your survivor story is always a difficult, even terrifying, experience. I’m lucky in that I have a strong support network and that people I’ve told have believed me, but a lot of survivors unfortunately don’t have that. Survivors are all too often questioned, blamed, and not be taken seriously or kept safe. So I’m telling my story here as a testament to myself that my story is my own, and that I have a voice. I’m also writing it to assure my fellow survivors that you’re not alone.
My first assault took place during my sophomore year of high school. A classmate said that he needed to pick up a project before the day started and asked me to come with him. But he didn’t take me to the classroom. He took me to a secluded part of the hallway and forced me to hug him and kiss him, putting his hands all over me. I kept telling him that I wasn’t comfortable with what he was doing and telling him to stop. But he wouldn’t listen. He kept touching and kissing me. I told him to stop again and he let me leave.
I got my stuff and walked to my homeroom without saying a word. Everything felt so blurry, like I had tunnel vision. I couldn’t stop shaking and eventually broke down. My teacher took me to the guidance counselor. I was given the option to press charges, but I decided not to at the time. I was too scared of having to face my abuser in court. He moved to another school a couple months after it happened, but every time I saw him in the hallways after that, my stomach hurt. I felt like a deer frozen in the headlights.
Afterward, I mostly kept silent about it. A few of my family members and close friends knew, but that was it. I just wanted to try to move on with my life however I could. I became a reclusive, sullen, even snappy teenager. Any prolonged touch would make me get tense and shiver.
But five years after it happened, I found out that my abuser was in jail for assaulting another child. Finding that out, while terrifying, was a really freeing experience. For the first time, I finally felt that my experience was valid. It really solidified that what happened to me was assault and that it wasn’t my fault at all. By this point, I was a college student and thanks to amazing mental health resources and groups on campus, I felt safe to share my story and start the process of healing. I also shared my story at Take Back the Night. Survivors and listeners alike empowered me even further. I’ll never forget that. I finally felt like I was thriving.
Then, just after I graduated college earlier this year, a boy that I had been in a relationship with for a few months raped me. This experience shook me to the core even more than my first assault because this boy was someone I loved and trusted, who seemingly loved me back just as much. I had also told him about my first assault. He promised that he wouldn’t do anything that I didn’t want to do. But that night, he asked me if I wanted to have sex. I didn’t. But he kept asking and pushing, even though I repeatedly told him no. He did it anyway.
I felt numb. I think my brain was trying to convince myself that this didn’t just happen, that this wasn’t as horrible as I thought it might be. He knew my history and promised not to hurt me, so he didn’t actually hurt me, right?
Unfortunately, most abusers are people that the survivor knows and has a trusting relationship of some kind with--80%, according to RAINN. 33% are by a current or former survivor’s partner.
But my body knew. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that I just couldn’t shake away. When I looked at that boy, I didn’t see someone I loved and trusted—I saw someone who was a total stranger. As much as it hurt, I knew that I deserved someone who respected my boundaries and kept their word on promises they made. I escaped and later went to the hospital to get a rape kit done and report to the police.
Making the decision to report wasn’t easy. I thought back to when I was a sophomore—how terrified I felt about facing a court hearing. If I reported, I knew that I was going to have to face tough questions and possibly testifying in front of him. Also, the chances of this going to trial or even resulting in an arrest were slim (RAINN reports that out of every 1,000 rapes, only five result in a prison sentence). But this time, I felt empowered to report. I wanted to stand up for myself, to give this boy the message that I wasn’t going to keep my story silent and that he was going to face the consequences for what he did.
Unfortunately, the case was eventually dropped. The police said they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him. Part of me was relieved at not having to face him in court, but I was also furious. The thought of him walking away like nothing happened cut deeply. But if anything, that only fueled my desire to share my stories and find ways to be an advocate for fellow survivors.
I still have a long way to go with my healing journey. Some days are still really difficult. I still have nightmares and times where I feel completely depleted and just want to cry, sometimes making it hard for me to fall asleep. However, I was given an F2F AfterCare Kit when I was at the hospital, which has been a huge part in my healing journey. I hug the teddy bear when I have trouble sleeping, and reading the note brings comfort to me knowing that whoever wrote that is thinking of me and rooting for me, even though they have no idea who I am. On particularly rough days, I put the box out where I can see it to reassure me that I have support and that I’m strong.
This pandemic has brought unique challenges. Sexual assaults are still happening in quarantine—I am among those. Social distancing can’t prevent us from finding ways to support survivors. We’ve made steps in the past. It continues during this pandemic, and it must continue after it passes.
To all survivors out there who are struggling with finding their voices or are not believed, I offer these words:
I believe you.
You are not alone.
What happened wasn’t your fault.
You have a voice.
You are strong.