How to Survive After Rape

I struggle with how polite to make my tone in the delivery of this short essay. The internal dissonance rubbing like a grain of sand in the folds of an oyster. You really should say 'sexual assault' What the fuck for? To placate and assuage the feelings of those who hear the word rape with the same wince of pain as nails on a chalkboard. I don't want it to feel good when I discuss the physical, spiritual, mental and emotional violation that is rape. I don't want people to ever be comfortable with the language of perpetration and violence. But don't you owe your fellow 'survivors' a break? Or at least a trigger warning? If you have survived rape, you can survive my essay. To believe anything other than that would only be playing into the stereotype and expectation of y(our) vulnerability in relationship to the topic. Not everyone curls up and cries at the thought of our attack(s). Some have reached the point of acceptance: It happened. Some, beyond acceptance have forgiven. Two years after my rape, I found myself somewhere in the middle. 

Next week is my youngest sister's Sweet 16. I am wading in emotion at the occasion because it feels like just yesterday that I was holding her in my arms; she a newborn and I, a tender and sweet 16. I thought about her transition into womanhood and how our relationship was about to evolve. I considered the things I wanted her to know from her big sister, the things that I wish I had known much sooner that would have saved me from a lot of heartache 

So, Sister, as odd as it may seem, I wrote this for you. And while other people are privy to the words, hear me when I say I write them with all the love I have for you in mind. I speak candidly and I pray my candor does not offend or scare you. And though I hope a terrible thing like rape never, ever happens to you (or QR), I want you to remember these words because they will be a lifeline.  

How do you survive being raped? First, if you got this far, you already show a commitment to healing. Even if driven primarily by morbid curiosity, it takes a determined will to read that word, be reminded of your assault, repeatedly, and still have the stomach to press on. It is this type of fortitude that will get you to therapy, to the gym, to the grocery store, to your best friend's couch, and yes sometimes even the bathroom floor. There is a misconception about healing, that wellness has a look, a sound, a specific aesthetic. For me, healing looked like not answering my phone. Healing looked like not wearing make-up, and sometimes healing looked like spending trap hours on my make up. I once read that there is no right or wrong, there is only what you do and the world will adjust accordingly. I always liked that ideology because it released me from the pressure of having to get it "right". Similarly, there is no right or wrong way to begin your healing. What there is, is full permission to do what you need to do to get better. 

Two days after my rape I went to see a therapist. In my intake interview she said to me in a kindergarten-teacher tone of voice Sometimes after traumatic events, people like to self-medicate with drugs and alcohol... I told her I was aware, and that I wished I were both drunk and high at that very moment to escape the pain and confusion in my body. She was shocked and concerned by my answer, but it was the truth. I would have done ANYTHING not to feel what I was feeling in that moment. So did I drink to escape? Once or twice. Yes. And, I do not regret it. Because sometimes it is just too much to have to reside in the vessel that was just under attack. Can you imagine, I would tell people who judged my choice to drink or smoke to medicate, having to sleep in the bed where there was a murder? When I look at my naked body, I still see my bruises. When I shower, I never feel clean enough. I have to remind myself to stop. That my mind is playing tricks on me. That though this horrible thing happened to me, I am not...spoiled or without value. How did I keep myself from going "off the rails" and becoming overly dependent on self-medicating substances or behaviors? By being honest. If Step 1 is: Do what you need to do to survive. Then step 2 is: Refuse to carry the shame.  

From the very beginning, I told myself I was going to hold my head up high through this process of healing. I wanted people to know what happened to me because I didn't want to feel the pressure of having to be okay. Having to look, or be put together felt like a tall order so in a way I was honest to release me from the responsibility. I did not expect that my honesty would mean MORE people wanted to talk to me about their own accounts of sexual violence. I found that somehow my refusal to dim, be silenced, or shrink made me a sort of lighthouse for those lost in a sea of hurt, pain and confusion. Step 3: Believe that you are stronger than you think.  

Over and over again, to every counselor, detective, nurse, and even to my attacker I was asked the question WHY DIDNT YOU SAY NO? Why didn't you keep saying no? It felt like hot, firey judgment. I didn't know how to answer the question and I felt as though I was not the strong, empowered woman I always thought I was. I couldn't come up with an answer. I was sobbing uncontrollably to my therapist, Robert, one day and he told me: Jessica, in that moment you did what you believed you had to do to stay alive. You are an intelligent woman, you must have believed that compliance would save your life. Sometimes your strength is in knowing you are stronger than the hurt of the moment. I truly had the best therapist. I did what I needed to do to survive that moment. I cry every time I think of that session and that lesson. It gives me such freedom from the shame of not fighting back. Women are taught all these self-defense mechanisms to protect themselves against sexual predators...what are men taught? Does campus police have programming to teach consent or just how to fight off an attacker? Why is it the woman's responsibility? Because in our society we accept the "boys will be boys" mentality. Women and girls are not allowed such freedoms. Which is why, you have to take it for yourself. Demand it. Insist upon it. Hold people accountable for their actions especially as it relates to their interactions with your mind body and soul. 

The morning after my rape, 27 showers later, I laid on my bed, stripped of the sheets, in my most comfortable clothes and I texted my rapist. I told him he raped me. I told him how I was left feeling. I told him it was not okay, what happened. And I told him I was going to tell the police. And I did. What came of it was no arrest, but a restraining order which he violated twice now by contacting me via social media. The law does not stretch that far yet, my detective told me. Only if it was continual and considered "stalking" would there be cause for action. If the act of experiencing assault wasn't bad enough, learning how truly UNDERVALUED women are in this country hurt more. Laws and policy around sexual violence are still set up for the stranger in the bushes type of cases. I explained to my doctor the trauma of the rape kit after you've just experienced rape. Why do we have to do this exam? I know who my attacker is, I could drive you to his house! I've known him for months!!   Police talked to him once to get his story, and me? The one who had experienced the traumatic event? Six times. Each officer apologetic empathetic and kind. Yet it did not stop my frustration at the process. I knew as soon as I was strong enough, I had to fight to become an advocate for changing this broken system. Step 4: as soon as you can, become an advocate. 

I don't mean as soon as you're healed, because honey who knows when that will be? I don't mean as soon as it's convienent because when will it ever be a good time to disrupt the status quo? I, and many other women, took it personally when people openly and proudly supported Donald Trump after his disgusting and vile comments about women; explicitly condoning and encouraging sexually assaulting women he found desireable. And you know what? We have every fucking right to take that personally, because it was personal.  

I had a girlfriend who went on Facebook espousing the horrors of Planned Parenthood and championing Trump and his plan to police women's bodies. I asked her, straight up, how could you say that, believe that and be my friend while you saw what rape did to my life? Someone you know and presumably care about as a friend? To this day she has said nothing to me. But I would challenge her and anyone else again, to look my in my face and have the courage to tell me I don't matter. That is what 50 million Americans said to me last November. So, it is my duty and my work to meet their glare straight on and say WATCH ME RISE and watch me carry every wounded woman over my shoulder across the finish line with me. We do not need your approval nor your permission, and if you get in my way, don't hold your breath for an apology. I will overcome any obstacle in my way as I fight for gender equality and women's rights. I will do so unapologetically.  

Step 5: become radically free. And this is truly my favorite part of the healing process so far. I have begun to define my womanhood in a way that is unique to my own being. I have not found it to be disonnate with that of other women, which only encourages me to become MORE free. What does freedom look like? For me, freedom looks like never being on a diet and loving my body. If I love my body, truly love this home, then I don't need to be on a diet because when we love something we care for it. Freedom looks like dispelling the myths that virginity and sexual selectivity are gold while promiscuity is bad. I'll tell you something, I've slept with my fair share of men. Particularly after my assault, I needed to give my body a different experience of sex. I needed to feel in control and like I could stay there, stay present and continually consent and enjoy physical intimacy. I learned so much about myself through sex, I would never ever take it back. Even if I could. That is freedom. Freedom is also deciding that my body and what I decide to do with it is MY decision solely. From tattoos and piercings, weaves, wigs, color, to wearing tight or revealing clothes; I learned to give myself permission to be how I felt in the moment. Erika taught me that. I was crying one day on the floor of my office and I told her I just wanted to be in yoga pants and a sweatshirt because I couldn't STAND for my body to be on display. Who says you can't wear yoga pants? Do what you need to do to feel better. Who cares what people are saying? It's what you need right now and remember just right now. Not forever. She helped me keep my context. It was a moment. I might not feel that way tomorrow but today? I needed yoga pants and I started to give myself yoga pants. Or no pants! Or tight pants. Or short pants. Whatever it was, I gave it to myself and I stopped assigning meaning of what I looked like to who I was.  

I still struggle with this a bit. As I began to write this essay, I knew the photo I wanted to use for its feature. I was topless and one of my breasts was exposed. Should I cover this ? Should I crop it? I'm looking for jobs right now, will they think I'm unprofessional? The answer is "probably". I make some people uncomfortable. Lots of others think I share too much or show too much. But when I talk to God, I am always at peace with my art. I never press publish without consulting with my Self. And I've learned that, nothing meant for me will ever miss me. So I keep pushing the boundaries. Fighting for what feels like my right to simply live a life outside of the box that's been built for me. 

Yesterday, and again just now, I talked to my best friends about the movie Moonlight, and how it was both very regular and yet very extraordinary. For me, the story itself was not particularly revolutionary. It all felt very normal, or at least within the realm of normalcy. I know people whose parents had substance abuse issues. I know people who have struggled with their sexual identity. I know people who have had both. Yet that was not the remarkable part of this film for me. The thing that made it special was that Black people were allowed the freedom of dynamicism. Black people were allowed the freedom of intersectionality and compounded social injustice. Black people were allowed to be compassionate to one another. Black people were allowed to be human. It is both sickening and sanctuary that witnessing regular life on film would be revolutionary. That seeing a Black man show compassion would warrant an Academy Award. It made me hungry. I want my Academy Award. And I want to do for Black women what Moonlight did for Black men. I want to set us free through humanness...authenticity, being real.  

Sister, I pray you never know the horrors of sexual assault. I hope you never have the grueling task of putting yourself back together after someone violates your home, your vessel, your being. Still, these lessons I learned they are not tied to just surviving rape. I think they're key to surviving patriarchy because really, isn't that what violates us? The idea that someone can have me without permission, that they are entitled to me or that somehow I am incapable of knowing what I want. "I thought she liked it?" My rapist told the detective. Who then asked me, "Do you like rough sex? Was it just a little too rough for you? Are you sure you weren't into it?" I wish I'd taken photos of my body, sometimes. Deep purple bruises on my breasts, back, hips, legs, shoulders. I wish I had visual evidence so I could use it in my art. I wish I could show it to people who believe rape is something you can get over. I wish I could show it to people who are tired of hearing about rape. I wish I didn't see them when I looked at my naked body in the mirror. I think that's why I take so many pictures of myself now...because I'm never sure what is real and what is a figment of my fear. 

Step 6: Integrate. I describe my rape as a knot in my wood. It did not ruin me, but it certainly will never fade quietly into the whole of me like an old scar. In a very real way, my rape birthed a version of me that I like even better than the old me. This me has a shorter fuse, a smaller capacity, and finite energy. But this me gives intentionally and not out of obligation. I no longer feel obligated to anyone beyond myself. Not even my sisters, who are arguably the most important people in the world to me. I would easily trade my life for theirs. Yet, while I would die for you, I cannot and will not live for you. I know you know where that's from, right? 

Healing from rape taught me not to set myself on fire to keep others warm. Healing from rape taught me that I cannot help others while my own life is in peril. Healing from rape taught me how to say no and feel no guilt. Healing from rape gave me access to another part of womanhood I was too righteous to explore before. Healing from rape diminished the power of my ego but made me at home in my soul. 

When I tell men who love me about my assault, they typically grow angry and then sad. My first love said, "it frustrates me that this could happen to someone like you. And that my love for you couldn't protect you from it." Someone like me...who was I? Rape, I told him, should not happen to ANYONE. Period. I thought I understood it, I explained to him. I thought if it ever happened to me, I would fight and scream and defend myself. Did you? He asked. Eventually, I told him. But I think I was like you before. I didn't think it could happen to me, and that belief is so problematic because it inhenrently suggests that there is a certain type of person that we DO expect rape to happen to. 

The night of my assault, I was sober. I was not wearing any make-up and I was in a hoodie and leggings with tennis shoes. The one pair of sneakers I own remind me of the worst night of my life. Yet I keep them because they remind me of how stupid it is to believe that what a woman wears warrants intolerable treatment. There are no such things as sluts or whores. Never refer to yourself as one and never refer to another woman as one either. Do not reinforce the idea that a woman's worth is in anyway tied to her body. It isn't.  

Sister, you are worthy because you ARE. You deserve to be treated with dignity and respect not because you dress a certain way or carry yourself a certain way, but because you are human and a child of God. You are beautiful without the world's acknowledgment and you matter despite societies conditions. Despite your skin color, you matter. Despite the size of your breasts, you matter. Despite your number of sexual partners, you matter. Despite the texture of your hair, you matter. Despite the fullness of your lips and hips, you matter. YOU MATTER. Your story matters. Your existence is necessary and your talents are vital. You are here to evolve us in a way that only you can. Do not let the trifles of man distract you from your purpose as a spiritual being. How do you survive rape?by never for a moment believing that rape ever destroyed you.  

I do not exist solely in my vagina. I was violated, but not demolished. If I believe that a physical violation destroyed me, what does that say about my non-physical self? I had to reframe my understanding of who I was. I had to realize that while what happened to me was real and horrific, it did not and could not end me. Because I and so much more than my reproductive parts. And that message, especially as a woman, is huge. I don't need to be virginal and I don't need to be a mother. The two messages women get most regularly about our wombs: keep it exclusive and make use of it. But you know what rape taught me? No one gets to decide what happens to my body ever again, except me. Maybe I will be a mother and maybe I won't, but I will not believe myself to be less of a woman for my decision to not. 

Right now, I am existing by my own rules. I still struggle with internalized misogyny and systemic patriarchy, but I'm waking up and becoming more aware. I am speaking out against injustice and I am working to integrate more advocacy into my life. I am pushing to be just as unapologetically feminist at work and home as I am in my classroom where I am authority and autonomous. It is much harder to buck the system when you're in charge than it is when you need a job, for example. Which is why I have to be ready to accept the consequences of my actions. Some places may not want to hire me because of my public presence and how I choose to represent myself. I have to believe that those spaces and institutions are not for me. Because beyond gainful employment, I need to be okay with the woman in the mirror and I need to go to sleep at night knowing that the woman I am is well with my soul. And if you can do that, Sister, you can not only survive rape. You can survive anything.