An Open Letter to the Stanford Survivor

Dear Miss...

I've been reading about you.  I've been reading what you said.  I've been reading the court documents, the statements from various people, all the letters and blogs and news articles.  And I thought I'd add my two cents, not out of any desire to add to your pain, nor any conviction that anything I might say would prove in any way cathartic or helpful to the conversation, but I wanted you to know, if someday, somehow, you stumble upon this blog, that you are not alone.

I, like many others, am the survivor of a sexual assault while I was a college student.  It was my freshman year.  I will never forget it.  It was in December 1993 in Manhattan.  In public.  In the street.  It was freezing.  I was dressed like an eskimo.  And I was stone cold sober.  And still, it happened.  My attacker was never convicted.  He was never charged.  He was never caught.  He was never reported.  Instead, I went back to my dorm, took a shower, tried to get warm, and crawled into bed.  As soon as I did, I could still feel his hands all over me.  Touching me, violating my body.  I could see his face as clearly as if I had his picture in front of me.  I called my mother.  My family came down.  I told them what happened.  I was embarrassed.  I was told, "It doesn't sound like it was any big deal.  You were probably just scared."  Stop being dramatic.  Get on with it.

I did, eventually, get on with it.  I didn't go to counseling, even when, two years later, a member of the religious at the college I attended kissed and groped me out of the blue, leering at me, defying me to report him.  I kicked him out and told him he was no longer a 'friend'.  We never spoke again, but I heard from several other women in the dorm that he had done the same thing to them, and to others they knew.  As far as I know, nothing was done about him.  I feel a deep sense of shame and guilt that I didn't do more, I didn't do anything. I was afraid that I had overreacted, that I imagined the uncomfortableness of the feelings, that I had been too friendly, that I had in some way suggested it was ok with me that he do that.  He's a teacher now.  I wonder if he can be trusted with the kids. 

When all this dies down, you will be able to find out what normal feels like for the new you.  But you have been profoundly impacted by what has happened to you and you may find that strange things can no longer be a part of your life.

I can no longer attend street festivals.  I can't stand crowds.  I can't handle people being behind me, pressed up against me, touching me from behind.  My daughter may be the only child in our town to never attend the Christmas parade--I sheepishly explain to those who ask "Why not?" that "I just don't like crowds" without the full explanation why.  When I'm in line at the grocery store, I keep a grocery cart between me and the person behind me.  I don't want strangers close.  I'm not worried about my PIN or credit card number--I'm worried about my personal space, my body being violated.

I gained weight.  I wanted to be invisible.  Undesirable.  Unnoticed.  Even scorned was fine if it kept people away.   I dress in shapeless, shiftless clothes.  I don't wear make up, don't do my hair.  I developed trichotillomania.  I tense up whenever I pass people on the street, I don't go out at night alone, even though that had nothing to do with the circumstances of my assault.  Thankfully there have been and continue to be people who find me and love me and accept me.  But I'm always on guard. Trust no one.  He could be anywhere. 

My life since December 1993 has been nothing short of extraordinary, and ordinary, and regular, and hard and normal and wonderful and awful.  And yours can and will be too.  In time. I met and married a wonderful man, although allowing for intimacy in any way, shape, or form is still challenging for me.  I am friendly, but not too friendly.  I don't flirt.   

I have a daughter of my own.  I fear for her for so many reasons, not the least of which is that she is female.  What do I need to teach her?  When?  Why should I have to teach her those things at all?  Should she know my story?  Will she ever find this blog and learn about it or is it better to tell her myself?

And yet, I am not ashamed.  I am even proud of myself.  I've come a long way. 

Perhaps people will want to make you into the poster child for sexual assault survival.  Perhaps you will give people strength to face their own attackers.  Perhaps, like me, you will try to pretend it never happened to the people who enter your life "after".  Perhaps your feelings will be a jumble, and you'll try to fix it and nothing will ever seem right again.  Perhaps getting through your minutes and hours and days will be all you can manage.  Perhaps that "someday" when you feel alright seems like it will never come.  Perhaps the injustice of the situation, the intense scrutiny the attack, the attacker, and you are under will be too much.

I hope not.

I hope, instead, that you will find peace in your journey, kindness in every person you meet from here on, compassion from those who have and have not walked a similar path.  I hope you have the courage and fortitude to move forward from that point, that incident, in ways that make sense to you.  Forget the rest of the world.  Don't be a victim, be a survivor. And if it takes you a while to get there, know that there are lots of us watching you on from down the road, and cheering your every step, understanding how hard it is and hoping you never give up.

Sincerely,
A Survivor Too