#metoo
I was sexually assaulted.
That deserves its own line because it’s a lot (especially if you’re one of the many people who does not know this about me). This is your official trigger warning.
Humor is my friend (and also sometimes my coping mechanism), but I will try to keep jokes to a minimum to emphasize that: 1. Yes, I am serious. This did happen to me. 2. This is obviously not funny or a joke. 3. I do not want to minimize anyone else’s experiences with this subject or compare mine to theirs. This is just the only way I know how to say this, and it’s taken me a long time.
FAQ:
Why didn’t you tell anyone?
I did (eventually), but for a while, I honestly didn’t know I was sexually assaulted. That term, in my mind at least, was reserved for Lifetime-Original-level violence and, although I didn’t have the perfect childhood, my experiences felt pretty much like those of all the people around me.
When did this happen?
There are a lot of incidents of “abuse,” (I put that in quotes not because they were not abuse, they were, but because they’re a million little inappropriate moments that made me uncomfortable but either weren’t sexual in nature or didn’t cross the physical line over to sexual assault). This happened when I was 17.
Was it someone you knew?
Yes. And after reading and listening to stories from other survivors, I now know that this happens all the time.
The Details:
I spent a long time trying to decide whether or not to mention the person who assaulted me by name. There were (for me) about a million reasons not to reveal his identity. Here are some of them.
He isn’t worth it. I don’t talk about him ever. This isn’t to say it’s to the point of what I call “The Voldemort Factor”. I don’t want to give him power over me and feel afraid to say his name because of the emotional repercussions (I’ve been there and have gotten past it through therapy). I can say it now and feel nothing. I just don’t believe in giving harmful people the privilege of identification. He’s not important enough to mention and doesn’t deserve credit for anything in relation to me (even if it’s something this negative).
Haters will say it’s fake. This is one of those jokes I referenced in the beginning. I want to make it clear (again) that this is real, and I don’t find it funny at all. This is just me pointing out that making an “accusation,” about someone who’s a public figure (even if they’re not a big one) in our society isn’t usually met with grace and acceptance. In short: People don’t believe survivors.
Retaliation. If (and this is a big “if,”) people do believe me, and those people also happen to be his customers/friends/relatives, it could negatively affect his life. I’ve spent over seven years passively resisting seemingly constant attempts to get information about me and, even after all this time, even though I haven’t “told,” he somehow found my home address about a year ago.
There’s no real legal action I can take against him to keep him from showing up at my front door. Even if I don’t say his name, he could find out that this exists. A year ago, I would have omitted this bullet point, but a year ago I never would have written this (even if I knew it would never be published). Last year, I made a pointed effort to get a protective order. I’d looked into it before but never really gotten anywhere and never really committed to it. After months of taking off work to sit in waiting rooms and talk to lawyers and gather evidence, I got my final answer: It’s never going to happen (at least not in the state of Texas). Even if I had a video of the time he made me kiss him on the mouth or the time he let me lie next to him when he took a nap and his boner pressed into my lower back or the time he sat and waited to listen to every detail of how the doctor touched my on my first PAP exam (I know this is cringy; I promise it feels that way for me too), I can’t “say for sure that he derived sexual pleasure from it”. Also, a lot of lawyers explained that Texas judges often side with the accused when the victim is a family member unless there is a lot of “proof”. Even if I had a sappy, sad diary entry about what happened from back then (I don’t because I didn’t even know it wasn’t okay), his pulled text records of telling me he loved me and asking me why I didn’t show up to family-related events (that I wasn’t actually invited to) would win out. When I finally made an official police report about it (almost ten years later), they didn’t classify it as “sexual assault,” because laws in the state of Florida (where it happened) define that as “oral, anal or vaginal penetration”. In short: Since he didn’t use tongue and he’s too sneaky/careful to threaten me in any way that I can prove, there’s no legal action available.
I don’t want this to be the first thing people think of when they see me. Sure, that may happen whether or not I identify him, and it shouldn’t (at least in my mind) be my only reason not to say his name, but he’s biologically related to me and it still makes me feel extra gross for being involved in it. I know (now) that it’s not my fault. I know (now) that “child grooming,” is a common practice among sexual predators and made it both more difficult for me to identify it as sexual assault and more difficult for me to talk about it to anyone (even myself).
He might go after the people I love instead of after me. People who target children aren’t usually the type to be upfront and pick a fair fight. I know that’s a generalization (which is bad), but I’d venture to say it’s accurate (“I’d venture to say,” is sardonic - not a joke - but I’m just pointing out that, obviously, sexual predators/abusers are sneaky and, as stated in their title, “predators”). Even though I can’t get a protective order, I’m lucky to now have a house with a camera security system, a great support system of friends nearby and a husband who could physically protect me if there was ever a threat of violence (I don’t foresee that anyway because physically hurting me now would have repercussions for him). I do, however, have loving parents who currently live in the same town as him. I don’t want my mom to get a surprise visitor when no one’s home or my dad to walk out to his car for work and find all four of his tires slashed. Maybe all of that would happen; maybe none of it. It’s enough to make me hesitate.
People who do know him might contact me. Although he sexually assaulted me when I was 17, I didn’t completely cut off all communication with him until I was 21. There are a lot of people (some of them genuinely good people) who know both me and the person who sexually assaulted me and probably have no idea that this happened. I don’t know how people will react (whether they believe me or not) and do not want this to be the new focus of my daily life.
There are so many other reasons (some of which I typed and then deleted) why I don’t want to tell anyone who it is. Some involve fear. Many involve shame. Most involve me wanting to move on and never talk about this again.
There’s one reason why I should reveal his identity that keeps coming up as an answer to my “but what if,” questions: He could do this again to someone else. I don’t know the nature of his daily life, how often (if ever) he interacts with minors or how likely (if at all) it is that he would do this to someone else, but if my kid was the next potential victim, I would want to know.
Will it make a difference either way? Maybe not. He isn’t a public figure who’s known for interacting with kids on a regular basis (at least as far as I know). Maybe it doesn’t matter whether I say his name or not. Maybe he would read this without his name in it and know or maybe I’ll say his name and no one who knows him will bother to read it at all.
So, why speak up now? The thought of making this public is terrifying and (I didn’t bury the lead for no reason) if I’d mentioned at the beginning of this post that I’m changing my legal middle name (Daryl) because it’s the last part of me that remotely ties me to him, my biological father (Darryl), in my eyes, it obviously would have been a giveaway. Daryl (my middle name) has always been something I’ve almost exclusively associated with me (not with him). It’s the first name of the actress who played Elle Driver in Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2 (Daryl Hannah, of course), and it’s androgynous, which I dig, but it’s still pronounced the same way as the name of the person who sexually assaulted me, so I don’t want it anymore.
The cover-up (or lack thereof): My name has been a part of my identity (and handles/usernames/emails) for almost three decades. Changing it is hard to explain to people who know me without digging up this whole story. My usual M.O. (until recently) would be to push past it and not explain it, make a joke about it or change the subject. That feels dishonest to me now and like I’m still covering for him, and that last part hurts me.
The fallout: I don’t know what the repercussions of this public post will be (Positive? Negative? Both? Neither?), but I do remember a time when I couldn’t see a way out of a toxic, scary, harmful situation that I didn’t fully understand. I wish I could talk to me then and tell myself that I have value (not in the bullshit “Life is a roller coaster,” or “Hang in there, kitty,” way that I would have rolled my eyes at). I would tell myself to hold onto the parts of me that felt I was worthy of love and that writing (even when it felt pointless) would help future me understand more fully who I was when I felt like no one at all.
No matter which way this goes, I know (now) that one day soon, this incident will just be a boring blip on my radar. It didn’t ruin my life (although it had a lot of negative impacts that I didn’t understand until later), and it isn’t the thing that made me who I am by overcoming it (though it did lead me to therapy which helped me make other positive changes in my life). It was a shitty thing that an abusive person chose to do to me, and hopefully now, that person will never have the chance to do the same thing to anyone else.
Afterword (04.17.20): It’s been almost two months since I posted this, and I can’t express just how grateful I am for all the support I received. Thank you to every person who said they believe me. Thank you to every person who said it wasn’t my fault. And a heartfelt “Thank you. You are valid,” to every person who reached out to me directly with your own story. It’s not your fault. This doesn’t define you. We’re stronger together (even when we’re physically apart).
If any of this resonated with you, know you’re not alone and it’s not forever. Here are some resources:
National Sexual Assault Hotline