Wading Under Water
Content warning: Sexual assault. The following work contains sensitive content. Please be advised.
I contemplated back and forth on whether or not I wanted to write about my experiences with sexual assault and consent within our society. In truth, the words make my chest tighten, and my brain turns over into a new month of hibernation. When I originally wrote this piece, I jumbled my thoughts into one big paragraph, unorganized and scattered. The more I wrote, organized, and re-started, the more I realized I wasn’t being authentic to myself or my possible readers. The grinding truth is that I am so far from understanding how to categorize my emotions on my assaults, let alone put them into words for the public eye to read. Even though my words might be scrambled around and messy, they’re a genuine and real reflection of my insight. For those who are willing to read through my unsorted thoughts on sexual assault and consent: I did manage to put just a few thoughts into words for you.
I grew up hearing the word consent. The word was strongly familiar to me and was preached during my teen years as I grew involved in a nearly four year relationship throughout high school. The word felt constant in my life, yet I never took the time to understand what it truly meant. It wasn’t until my relationship eventually came to an end, and I endured another situation that lacked consent, when I realized I knew where the daunting word was meant to be placed. While I wish I could be the strong woman who shares the details behind her story with everyone, I don’t think I’m there yet. But, the more time that goes by, the more I realize there is no timeline on sharing the details of your experience, and that is completely okay. The nerves of knowing anyone could read this are certainly there, but I do know I have just a few things to say.
I think my hardest strike of reality was accepting the idea that my assaulters were people I knew. People I trusted. Their touch was familiar; one I hadn’t questioned. They weren’t people I had met the night before, but individuals I confided in on multiple personal levels, sharing my highs, lows, dreams, and aspirations with. They were people I felt a genuine sense of care for. Questioning why they didn’t uphold the same emotions toward me when it came to being intimate was one of the most painful and confusing processes I have ever gone through.
Let’s talk about consent and victim-blaming. I went through my fair share of victim-blaming, more than I went through my share of acceptance. I felt guilty for “walking into the situations,” “what did you think would happen,” “maybe you should have been more clear with what you wanted,” and “maybe there was a misunderstanding and he didn’t mean any harm.” These and more are all thoughts I had on a frequent basis, where they seemed to circle my mind on an endless loop. The word consent was one I also struggled with after my experiences because I so badly wanted to defend them. I wanted to find any reason to defend their reasoning for what they did, because I wasn’t ready to accept that any form of basic human compassion, and respect was less important than satisfying themselves. I became a bundle of worry that I would become the “over-dramatic,” “sensitive,” and “untruthful” woman if I ever allowed myself to feel the emotions of what had occurred. Sound familiar? I spent over a year feeling as if I were wading under water, unable to reach the surface for a breath.
Tired of blaming myself for the situations I went through, I realized I needed others to understand the importance of consent and what it looks like—no matter where you are, what you wear, and who you are with. I first want to clarify: you have every single right to wear whatever you want to wear. You have every single right to walk into any situation, and be provided with a presence of safety and respect. You have every single right to be guaranteed an attentive and consensual atmosphere. I spent months on months battling with myself, convinced maybe they weren’t aware of what they had done. I formed the idea of needing to stay quiet, as to not seem like the girl who “made it all about herself.” I have so many mixed emotions when it comes to my assaults, don’t get me wrong. A part of me still wants to believe they cared about me the way I cared about them. A part of me still wants to believe they viewed me as more than a body, but a human with emotions. I still allow myself to feel guilty for never saying anything sooner, or for never coming out with a powerful story to tell. I truly applaud all the strong women who have come out with their stories, the admiration and gratitude I have for them is unyielding. Hearing others stories at times made me feel a little less isolated, and a little more supported, even if we were computer screens away.
While I wish I could write an influential letter on how to successfully heal from an assault, you might not be in the right place. If you have made it this far, I’m sure you’re wondering what life-changing, jaw-dropping insight or information I have to share with you, right? In all truthfulness, after writing this piece about a million times, I know I have to keep it raw and real. The truth behind my writing is to simply say I love you. I hear you. I believe you. To be a reminder there is no right way to come forward with what you’ve endured, and to prompt that you are not defined by your experiences. I wish I had more figured out, and I wish I could tell you I’m on the other side of our journey, but I’m also still wading under water. What I do know is clear:
The term consent is concretely set in stone. It’s a sentence we’ve heard as women time and time again in our modern society, where “yes means yes” and “no means no.” Yet, “no” is not the only way of saying you don’t want to partake in any form of sexual activity. “I don’t know,” “I’m uncomfortable,” “can we stop” are all valid forms of “no.” Silence is a form of “no.” Consent is always freely given, reversible to change, informed, enthusiastic, and specific.
We’re all wading under water to some degree, trying to figure out the right way to cope.
With wading comes an eventual break to the surface. ◆