The decision to disclose one’s status as a victim or survivor of sexual assault is to make oneself extremely vulnerable. When a friend asked, “Are you sure you didn’t just do something you regret?” I did not react to her emotionally. Instead I heard myself validating my feelings by offering an explanation of why I felt something terrible had happened. Later, after our phone call ended, it slowly started to hit me. Her words gave voice to my fears and the hesitation that ultimately lead to the decision not to report the incident to the police. I feared sitting in a police station across from a police officer who would force me to repeat the details of that horrible night. He or she would write my statement down, put it in a file and start asking questions like my ob/gyn and (former?) friend. Having someone judge me and asking me questions that would indicate some level of blame kept me afraid to talk to anyone with the exception of trusted family and friends.
In the days, weeks and months following my assault, I constantly thought of the many ways I could have avoided the incident. As a former rape crisis counselor, I was aware that I was guilty and continue to be guilty of victim blaming. While I would never blame someone else that is sexually assaulted, it became different when I was the victim. I rarely recall the perpetrator, thinking of him in this context is to try and remember a shadowy figure that I don’t really know. Instead, I think of my own actions leading up to the point where a dark curtain is pulled across my memory. I consider the moment a friend offered me a ride home from the networking event we attended, the decision to grab dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, and going to my friend’s holiday party. I remember sitting at the restaurant and thinking I should just go home as it started to drizzle outside.
In some of my weekly therapy sessions where I recounted the series of events, and analyzed the many things I could have done differently that night, my therapist would ask, “What is the point of doing that? What are you hoping to accomplish?” In those moments, I would pause. I am aware that this line of thinking does not contribute to my overall healing. Every time that I blame myself for what happened, I am forcing myself into a prison. In that prison, I cannot exist and live my life as I once did. Sure, I have changed since the incident. But I do not want to be in that prison that teaches women that we ask for it based on what we wear, because we go out, or any other nonsensical reason that holds the victim/survivor accountable for someone else’s wrongdoing.
The writer (“Kaya”) works in international affairs and is originally from an island in the West Indies. She enjoys the outdoors, spending time with friends and reading and writing in coffee shops around town.