survivor

Although I hesitate to admit it, I have a hard time believing that men can be victims of domestic violence, and I know that my stepfather Joe is at the root of my problem.

Much has already been said about the way the Stanford swimmer's privilege has insulated him from consequence, about the ever-pervasive victim blaming in public discourse, and about the inadequacy of the criminal justice system. But in so many of these conversations, in our rage against the rape culture machine, we forget the survivors — the most important people in the fight against sexual violence.

Individual “parts” of my system [...] have become dysfunctional as a result of trauma. Some of these parts are stuck as young children or teenagers, while others carry individual emotions like worry or anger. They’re all still parts of my whole — not full-fledged personalities as in dissociative identity disorder — but they are separate enough to take on a life of their own to protect me from harm.

Survivors need support, but often, when they reach out, they are met with responses that only cause further trauma. The impact of these responses is immense.

[CN: sexual assault] It happened to my mom, three of my best friends, and then it finally happened to me. Like so many women, I never imagined I’d face such a terrible violation, let alone that I would have to struggle to recover.

[CN: rape, victim-blaming, mentions of sex work] I felt violated. I felt angry that no one had stopped him, or stopped me from going outside with him. That no one had noticed how intoxicated I was. That no one had cared. And most of all, I felt utterly confused as to why I still allowed him inside my house after everything that had happened.

Not every victim speaks out, and few actually report the crime to the authorities. If a friend happens to trust you with this information, it’s your duty as a human being to be there for them in every way possible.

That’s the thing about being a breast cancer survivor — it’s always there: it never goes away. The scars, the fear that lurks in the back of your mind like a boogeyman. You’re going along nicely, living your merry life, and you’re fine, until you’re not.