As I begin this chapter, I feel it necessary to provide a content warning. This chapter contains descriptions of sexual violence, physical assault, and trauma.
This chapter is the most challenging for me to discuss, as it has had a profoundly significant impact on me and my perspective on the world. I know that, unfortunately, it is not an isolated experience, as millions of people, mainly women, have gone through similar experiences to those I will share. This chapter is not just about pain, though. It's about questioning narratives, unpacking belief systems, and finding truths and healing on our own terms. Please engage with care and at your own pace.
***
Growing up, the statement ‘a man is a man’ was used to describe how men were inherently violent and sexual predators. It was up to us as girls not to tempt them or put ourselves in situations where things could go wrong. Back then, that statement made me sad and feel like I had a part in the violence that I had experienced. Today, it disgusts me and makes me sick to my stomach. I understand the need to teach young girls and women to take measures to protect themselves, given the world we live in. However, this message needs to come from a place where the blame, shame, and guilt are clearly on the perpetrator's end.
My first experience of sexual assault happened when I was only around eight. Unfortunately, the ‘ a man is a man’ rhetoric implanted deep-seated humiliation. I also knew I could not trust the people I thought I could with such information. I had understood and taken the blame for the horrific events that had taken place. My pain was mine to bear and mine alone.
A few years later, when I was maybe ten or eleven, a boy in my class attempted to assault me sexually. My first thought was, how could this happen again? In my young mind, assault was something that only happened once, and you then take the pain and deal with it for a little while, then get over it. I still wasn’t over the first boy, so how was I in this predicament again? To make it worse, unlike the first assault, this one wasn’t a secret. Some girls in my class had seen it happen, and for what felt like years, I was the topic of conversation among my classmates. It had become so much of a conversation that some teachers were involved. After going through the re-traumatizing process of going over the events that had occurred, decisions were made to resolve the issue. The boy received no real punishment apart from a shallow reprimand from my class teacher. Meanwhile, I got shamed and got a ‘nice’ talk about how I shouldn’t have been so available or put myself in such a situation in the first place. It felt unfair, and I began to think about the concept of being a victim. I didn't feel like I had done anything wrong, yet I was being treated as if I had.
It broke my heart that soon after, I found myself back in the same situation, only this time, there was no attempt. A boy, almost two years older than me, assaulted me in what would turn out to be years of ongoing violence. He groomed me to fear him by beating me up, so that by the time it got to sexual violence, I was so afraid of him that I couldn't even speak up. To make it worse, the person who inflicted such gruesome abuse and taught me to fear him for years, leading into my adult years, was practically a relative. Without a doubt, I realised something was wrong with the world I lived in. A world where I could be harmed and have to bear the pain of it by myself. In this society, I couldn’t trust those I was taught to trust.
My second realisation of this bizarre and cruel societal set-up happened when I was at university. After going through rape with physical assault, where I almost lost my life, I sought comfort from someone I thought was a friend. Instead of comforting me, this person blamed me for being sexually assaulted and soon after proceeded to rape me too. I vividly remember the isolation and betrayal I felt so deeply. I had sought out this person because my home and family didn't feel safe.
I grew up in spaces where victim-blaming had been so normalised in the advice and the mundane conversations I heard while growing up. Up until this point, I always believed I had some blame for the different forms of violence I had experienced. However, this moment made me question this narrative. I could not see how I could be responsible for being raped by someone who had been my friend and confidant for years. I could not see how I deserved the near-death beating and rape I had experienced before that. There was no way I had brought this upon myself. There was no sin so grand that I had committed that warranted such punishment. In all my...