Sex after Sexual Assault

“The essence of a therapeutic relationship: finding words where words were absent before and, as a result, being able to share your deepest pain and deepest feelings with another human being. This is one of the most profound experiences we can have, and such resonance, in which hitherto unspoken words can be discovered, uttered, and received, is fundamental to healing the isolation of trauma—especially if other people in our lives have ignored or silenced us. Communicating fully is the opposite of being traumatized.”

Context and a content warning: 

I was raped on 28 October 2019. I wrote about what happened and the subsequent failure of the justice system here. I'm sharing my experience publicly for two reasons:

1. My rapist told me not to tell and by speaking publicly I'm directly defying him and thereby gaining autonomy.
2. Reading about the experiences of other rape victims has helped me feel less weird, damaged, and worthless. My hope is that my experiences will help other victims feel less alone. 

Before you continue to read, you should know that in this post I speak very explicitly about sex, sexuality, and my body. When I say explicitly, I really mean it. You are under no obligation to continue reading. 

This post is written in a fragmented fashion because that is currently how my brain is processing. Each section is punctuated by a quote from Bessel A. van der Kolk's seminal book on PTSD, The Body Keeps the Score. 

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“Trauma, by definition, is unbearable and intolerable. Most rape victims, combat soldiers, and children who have been molested become so upset when they think about what they experienced that they try to push it out of their minds, trying to act as if nothing happened, and move on. It takes tremendous energy to keep functioning while carrying the memory of terror, and the shame of utter weakness and vulnerability.”

I've been hesitant to share what I've written because - GASP - what if someone knew that I, a 39 year-old mother of three, is and has been a sexual being. *clutches pearls*

I've decided to share these vulnerable and intimate details about myself because I'm a librarian.

Yes, you read that right.

Academic librarians versed in information literacy instruction will be familiar with the Association of College and Research Libraries' (ACRL) Framework for Information Literacy in Higher Education. In layman's terms, these Frames are intended to guide librarians in teaching information construction and evaluation. One of the Frames is "authority is constructed and contextual;" information is based on information need and how the information will be used and there are different ways one can look at what constitutes an authority on a subject. For example, a historian, journalist, or ethnographer could all be experts on 1970's queer culture, but looking to own voices via zines, archives, and interviews is an important authoritative voice in queer history. Without own voice narratives, information is incomplete at best and greatly skewed at worst.

Who has the authority to say what constitutes rape? What credential allows one to determine the impact of sexual violence on one's body, memory, and sexuality? The police? Media? Scholars? Rapists? People with power, money, and voice?

I posit that shame silences those with the authority to speak on sexual violence. Shame silences victims. There are discussions on Reddit, in support groups, and among friends, but who can even begin to contextualize violation in a wider conversation?

I can. We can. Those who have experienced sexual violence can say - with authority - how rape has shattered, shifted, and shaped our lives.

When I am silent and I listen to others talk about sexual violence, I realize that there are core misconceptions. False reporting is exceedingly rare, yet people second guess those victims who come forward. Date rape is not a "lesser" assault; however, I've heard countless arguments centered on "who can really say what happened?" These myths are perpetuated because we - victims, survivors - lack voice.

I've determined that talking about the impact of rape on my body and sexuality is important in adding validity to the public narrative regarding rape. 

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“The essence of trauma is that it is overwhelming, unbelievable, and unbearable. Each patient demands that we suspend our sense of what is normal and accept that we are dealing with a dual reality: the reality of a relatively secure and predictable present that lives side by side with a ruinous, ever-present past.”

I'm having a wonderful year. I traveled to Philadelphia for ALA Midwinter and made so many new friends and professional connections. I've spent time with my children, my cat, and curled up with good books. I've successfully surrounded myself with folks who are close to my heart; there's been meals cooked and enjoyed, laughter, dancing through the night, endless cups of coffee, and hours of conversation. I'm so pleased to have so many good people in my life. I am loved. 

I'm having a difficult year. January 28th signaled three months since my rape. After the 28th, I was able to go to my doctor for a second round of STI testing. I sat in the chair getting my blood drawn and resenting the fact that this man mucked up my morning schedule and my peace of mind. My results were negative. Nonetheless, I was pissy. 

My attorney sent me a text message on February 4th:

Attorney: "He's in Detroit!"

Me: "Yay!!!!!!!! I hope I scared him enough for him to not do that to someone again."

Attorney: "Me too, sister!"

I knew he moved to Detroit, but my attorney had the police double check. 

I continue to carry my order of protection. I carry it to work, my son's basketball games, on dates, to potlucks and coffee shops. It doesn't leave me. 

For some reason, I've been avoiding my case worker from the rape crisis center. I'm trying to forget. It isn't working, but I'm trying. She left me a voicemail this week saying that Tuesday is her last day with the crisis center. "I know that your investigator closed your case and I believe that is a huge injustice."

I can't talk to her because I'm really tired of crying because this unbelievable horrible thing happened and I need for people to believe and not everyone does. The horror of this experience was unbelievable, please believe me.

When I first wrote about my rape, people commented many kind and hopeful words. Several people simply commented, "I believe you." The first time I read that, I wept. That is all I want... to be believed. To have someone sit with me and say, "yes this happened... and right now you are safe." 

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“In order to change, people need to become aware of their sensations and the way that their bodies interact with the world around them. Physical self-awareness is the first step in releasing the tyranny of the past.”

I'm in EMDR therapy. I haven't even begun to discuss this rape. I was diagnosed with PTSD in 2003 from a physically and sexually abusive relationship with my oldest daughter's father. 

I'm not even to the point of completing EMDR on those memories from that relationship. 

Instead, my therapist and I have identified the first physical manifestation of sexual shame in my life. 

In that memory, I'm 16 and with my feet in stirrups at the gynecologist's office. I knew I was going in for an exam because I had recently lost my virginity, but I didn't know what that meant. The doctor's hands were inside me and he said your mother raised you better than this. 

That is the first time I remember feeling like trash. 

That shame rests in my pelvis. Once I'm done with that memory, we'll proceed through other remnants of purity culture, to the relationship with my oldest daughter's father, and then - finally - to the rape. 

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“In our studies we keep seeing how difficult it is for traumatized people to feel completely relaxed and physically safe in their bodies. We measure our subjects’ HRV by placing tiny monitors on their arms during shavasana, the pose at the end of most classes during which practitioners lie face up, palms up, arms and legs relaxed. Instead of relaxation we picked up too much muscle activity to get a clear signal. Rather than going into a state of quiet repose, our students’ muscles often continue to prepare them to fight unseen enemies. A major challenge in recovering from trauma remains being able to achieve a state of total relaxation and safe surrender.”

When I was being raped, I had an orgasm. 

It was terrifying and confusing.

He laughed at me. 

I told the intake person and the nurse at the crisis center. They assured me it was more common than most people thought.

It is involuntary, like a sneeze. It is just like a sneeze. 

After the rape, I couldn't feel anything between my legs. Weeks later, I still couldn't wear a tampon or touch myself. There has been improvement in the past three months, but I've had a significant amount of trouble "achieving" since the rape. I can't let go. My body shuts down. I'll be almost there and then everything stops. Sexual touch feels good, until I get to a certain point and then my body clamps down. I can feel everything tighten and shut-off inside me. 

In a fit of frustration and anger, I bought a vibrator and the book Come as You Are by Emily Nagoski. I even bought Dr. Nagoski's accompanying workbook. Masturbation feels like a task on a health and well-being checklist: Teeth brushed. Medicine taken. Face washed. Hair brushed. Try to remember what it is like to enjoy sexual touch. Breathe. Practice the handful of recommended yoga poses: Baddha Konasana. Tadagasana, Shavasana. 

I'll get there. 

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“As I often tell my students, the two most important phrases in therapy, as in yoga, are 'Notice that' and 'What happens next?' Once you start approaching your body with curiosity rather than with fear, everything shifts.”

My rapist claimed he was motivated because I wore fishnet stockings. It didn't seem to matter that I wore them all day and for hours before I knew I would see him. He took it as a strong indicator that I knew what would happen. The police questioned my dress. I realized that if I took my rapist to a civil trial, then our dating history would be open game. Every flirty message, picture of my boobs, or sexual encounter would be scrutinized. Not just with my rapist, but with every one I've been sexual with since separating from my husband. The end goal would be to paint me as a slut who was lying. I've told myself that the orgasm and the stockings are what made my story unbelievable. Intellectually, I know that is bullshit. Emotionally, it weighs on me. 

After the rape, I didn't want my picture taken - I especially didn't want pictures taken of my entire body - and I eschewed make-up. In January, I took a picture of me in a dress. Then I took a few more. 

Over a week ago, I wore fishnet stockings and a dress to a night club and danced for hours. I also took pictures of my tattoos while in a corset. This is huge fucking progress. I haven't wanted to touch my body or look at it. I haven't wanted anyone else to touch my body or look at it. I'm on the cusp of fuck you, I'm here, I don't care if you see me, I'm okay and I'm encouraged by being more comfortable with and within my body. 

It is the most liberating thing in the world to wear as little or as much as I like and have it not tied to my self-worth and morality. Therapy and talking about the emotional aspects of the rape is important, but right now I feel hell bent on reclaiming my body in a tangible way.

Recently, I've realized that I've been sexually hesitant and timid even when I feel "rarin' to go."

Why?

I'll tell you.

My sexuality and sexual behaviors were weaponized against me. If I hadn't been so slutty then maybe I would be believed. Taking initiative and actively participating in sexual activity is radical and frightening and I hope I'm getting better at communicating what I need, how I need it, and when I need it.

That's empowerment.

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“As long as you keep secrets and suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself…The critical issue is allowing yourself to know what you know. That takes an enormous amount of courage.”

A person close to my heart brought to my attention that I never call my rapist a rapist. I will write the word, but I never say it. He's been: the bad dude, the mean guy, that asshole, douche nozzle, Brandon. Never rapist. 

I want you to say the word. Call him what he is. 

I couldn't say the word rapist.

Brandon is a rapist.

He knew what he did was wrong, but he chose to do it anyways. 

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“Being able to feel safe with other people is probably the single most important aspect of mental health; safe connections are fundamental to meaningful and satisfying lives.”

“Feeling out of control, survivors of trauma often begin to fear that they are damaged to the core and beyond redemption.” 

I am not under a delusion that a person can undo the damage that has been done. No lover, therapist, or friend can do the work of healing for me. Recently, I tried to distance someone from me by telling them that I was, "not in good working order." Luckily, I was unsuccessful in distancing that person. I don't want to be viewed as being broken. I don't want someone to feel like they need to rehabilitate me or shelter me. I need support, but I CAN DO THIS.

It is important for me to remember that I'm not passive towards my healing. I'm actively seeking to reclaim my sexuality and feeling of safety. I take my medication, I go to therapy, I'm writing, I'm even doing my self-prescribed masturbation homework. I'm willing to put in the work to save myself.

It should be noted that if I trust you with my body, then you are an extremely special person and I would simply ask for patience.

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“It is one thing to process memories of trauma, but it is an entirely different matter to confront the inner void—the holes in the soul that result from not having been wanted, not having been seen, and not having been allowed to speak the truth.”

At the American Library Association's Midwinter conference in January, Chanel Miller was the closing speaker. Her memoir, Know My Name, details her sexual assault from Brock Turner, the legal aftermath, and her path towards healing.

I stood in line to have her sign my book and I started to cry as she inscribed my copy. I managed to sputter a "thank you for writing about this." I wish I could remember her exact words, but Miller said something to the effect of, "of course, what good would it do if I didn't speak?"

What good would it do for me to not speak?

In fact, it wasn't that I didn't speak... it is that no one with power heard me.

I'm sick of hearing worries about alleged false reporting. I went to a crisis center at 3 a.m. My naked body was photographed. I was swabbed and poked and questioned. I was questioned by police and detectives and court house employees. I had to say the same thing over and over again. I moved to a new home. I couldn't sleep. I was terrified he would come back and kill me.

I AM PLACING A BIG CONTENT WARNING HERE FOR A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF ONE KEY MOMENT OF MY RAPE

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At one point, my rapist left me on the couch to go to the bathroom. He was looking for lube and said he would just masturbate since I was being uncooperative. While he was in the bathroom, I put a large sweatshirt on. He returned, pushed me to bending over the couch and spread my legs. I heard him say I wonder if this will fit and then he shoved as much of the 8 ounce bottle of lubricant as he could into my vagina. The pain was unbelievable. I kept saying

whatareyoudoingwhatisthatwhatareyoudoingwhatisthat

I lifted my left leg up and tried to pull my body away.

He laughed.

He said, I bet that really hurts

The police have that bottle.

They have it. It has my DNA and his DNA.

It didn't matter. The case closed. It didn't matter that he put something inside me that never should have been there.

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The police said... he admitted to the contact. That means that he agreed with my narrative except for one key point; he said I wanted it.

When I went to the crisis center at 3 a.m., I told them I didn't want to report. I went to the crisis center because I was in pain and worried about internal damage. I was afraid that he had irrevocably injured my body. I didn't decided to report until 36 hours later.

My case was dropped because Brandon, my rapist, admitted what happened and simply said that I wanted it.

He was able to walk away.

I can't walk away from this.

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"Trauma, whether it is the result of something done to you or something you yourself have done, almost always makes it difficult to engage in intimate relationships. After you have experienced something so unspeakable, how do you learn to trust yourself or anyone else again? Or, conversely, how can you surrender to an intimate relationship after you have been brutally violated?"

How do I learn to trust myself and others again?

I don't have the answer yet, but I know that I cannot fully trust others until I trust myself.

My worth is not tied to my body. My worth is not bound to the number of people I've fucked. My worth is not determined by my stockings or dress.

My body is mine. My sexuality is mine. I am 100% okay exactly as I am.

I am not trash.

I'm working on understanding and appreciating my worth and celebrating that all bodies are good! Sex is phenomenal! Pleasure is a damn wonderful thing!

This is a process and it will take time... but when I get there - and get there I shall - y'all better hold on because I will be unstoppable.