Fifteen years ago I was raped. Fifteen years ago almost to
the day. I’ve been thinking about writing that first sentence for a long time.
Now it’s out. While the U.S. was getting ready to be hit by one of the worst
terror attacks, I was on the other
side of the world juggling the physical and emotional trauma connected to
my own attack in the midst of a visit from my mother and her (our) good friend,
Marilyn. And suddenly we were swept away in the chaos of 9/11. Caught up in
international borders, stranded in Canada, and finally recovering and seeking
intensive therapy in Washington D.C.
I don’t need or want to go through the details now. I just
needed to write that first sentence in order to keep moving forward.
I want to tell you that most of the time I want to think
being raped was just a blip. It was just a horrible event that couldn’t have
affected me that much. After all, it could have been so much worse. I’m lucky
that it only happened once and that I wasn’t hurt. People experience so much
worse and so I minimize my own experience. It’s true. The phrase “no big deal”
pops up in my head when the memory tries to come back or someone asks about
it. While I cannot know others’
experiences, I realize I must be honest that in my own life, being raped was a
big deal. It does affect me.
It affects the way I talk to my boys about the words “no”
and “stop.” It affects the way I watch interactions between men and women. It
affects the way I watch or cannot watch movies. It affects the way I hear jokes
or comments that use the word ‘rape.’ It affects my family and friends in that they
don’t know how or when it will come back in my head. It affects the way I walk
or run alone in broad daylight or in the dark. It affects my need for control.
It affects me everyday.
I’ve discovered recently that the PTSD
that I experienced from that one event comes back. Suddenly emotions are
uncontrollable, concentrating is extremely difficult, and it’s hard to let go
and sleep. I didn’t know this could happen. No one told me that the emotional
aftermath of an event that I deemed “over and done” could come back so clearly.
What comes up for you? What experiences have affected your
life, both positively and negatively? How do you acknowledge the impact and keep moving forward?
If you’d like to read the story from my mom’s perspective, she has
self-published a book that is available on Amazon. Little
Girl, Get Up by Rosalie Koehler.
