Stop asking why we wait.

Rape- (definition) sexual activity and usually sexual intercourse carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female, or with a person who is beneath a certain age, or incapable of valid consent-

Stop asking why we wait.

We wait for all kinds of reasons.

I waited to tell anyone because the first time I was 14 years old. I was ashamed, and felt I'd somehow let down my parents. They had taught me how to protect myself, what to look for- and it still happened. No, I wasn't asking for it. It doesn't matter how I was dressed, or if I was under the influence. I was a child. I was innocent, and someone took advantage of that. It's been 20 years- this is the first time I'm talking about it openly.

I felt dirty. I felt used. I felt broken. I thought if I kept it to myself, then maybe it wasn't real. I could wipe it away. No one had to know, so I turned inward. I hid my feelings behind my surly teenage years. I was so angry all of the time, and the little faith I had at the time was lost. I didn't even tell my friends. I lied, and I hid.

It happened twice more. That doesn't even account for the sexual harassment I've experienced. Everything from unwanted touching, to words. But those unwanted advances weren't the worst violations I'd experienced.

It happened again right after I graduated college. I begged them to get off of me. My friends were a room away. We both walked out of the room like it was fine... I cried all the way home that night. I didn't say anything because earlier in the night we had been quite amorous. I knew what it would look like. I didn't want to hear all the tired accusations, and I knew the statistics. The chances of them actually being punished- let's be serious. They wouldn't have been. How it was far more likely I'd be a social pariah. Who would really believe me?

The last time was with someone I was dating. I'd had a panic attack. They were comforting me. The comforting turned to touching. Then more. I didn't say anything because I was in love with them. I talked myself out of believing they had forced themselves on me. Someone I loved- how could they? I didn't even realize what had happened could be characterized as rape until years later. I was a grown woman, who didn't even fully understand the scope of what rape was.

I told someone close to me just the other day about my experiences. They were shocked. I'm outspoken. I'm an advocate. "How? When? I didn't know" they couldn't believe it had happened to me.

I'm not unique. It's sad what's far more unique, is to find a woman without a story like mine.

I've gone to therapy to process these experiences. I've written them down, talked them out- and now I'm sharing them.

Because women are the last to be believed. Our word holds less value. We were taught silence was best...we must have done something to provoke the actions against us...we are eternally fragile, victims. Less than, and preyed upon. At least in the eyes of society.

We aren't less than. We aren't dirty. We aren't broken. We are courageous. We are survivors. And we can speak out when we have the strength to do so- even if it takes us 20 years or more to do it. How we process our traumas are our own journeys- not for anyone else to define. Not to be told how we should and should not feel.

So stop fucking asking why we wait. It's not your story.