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When it comes to this idea of regrets, I have an interesting perspective. As a child, I was raped and molested from the ages of three to nine by my father. Then when I was 16, I was raped by a stranger.The ways that society responds to incest as opposed to stranger rape are somewhat discouraging. I found that people are much more sympathetic to the idea of a stranger blitz attacking you once than your father sneaking into your bedroom at night for years. Why? Well, there’s a great deal of shame involved, certainly. I think it’s easier to say you were attacked by a random person than a family member. And when you report being raped by a stranger, you aren’t risking breaking up your entire family while admitting that your mom unknowingly married a pedophile and you’re his kid. Because believe me, that sucks. And I can’t tell you how often I actually wished that if I had to have been raped, it could have just been one really brutal stranger rape instead of all those nights in my own bed as a child. If I could, I would still go back and make that trade. If it meant that I could have had a father who supported and loved me instead of the man I actually grew up with, but then had to go through something really hideous as an adult, I would take that. Because the way I see it, when you demolish a house, if there’s a solid foundation you can start rebuilding right away. But if the foundation is shit, then you have to dig an even bigger hole and start from scratch. My foundation was shit. And then my house got demolished.

And those aren’t the only regrets I have, the only wishes and trades I’d make. I have no idea who raped me when I was 16. None. And I never will. I didn’t report it, there was no evidence collected, I never said a word to anyone until almost three years later. And I didn’t really tell the whole story until eight years later, when I was 24. I wish that I had. Sometimes I think, you know what, if it happened to me now, if it happened again, this guy would not get away with it. I think about how I would do everything right this time: go to the hospital immediately, do a rape kit, a police report, take care of myself medically and psychologically. I’d follow up on the case and make sure that the DA went through with prosecution, I’d get up on the witness stand and be strong under cross examination. I’d get a conviction this time. I would get justice. And that would make up for all the injustice of the past.

Just a few problems with this little fantasy. One, I don’t live in an episode of Law & Order: SVU. Two, I think I’ve experienced enough sexual assault for one lifetime; I’ll pass on the refresher course. Three, let’s say for the sake of argument that everything I stated above happened. One perpetrator was convicted. Does that really make up for the ones that weren’t? Even thinking that it could is such an impoverished brand of justice, it makes my heart break. Can there even be justice with such a crime as rape? I really don’t know.

What I do know is that there is a way to live after rape. There is a way to pick up the pieces of your heart and your life and your body, and put them back in a way that fits, even if it isn’t exactly like the original. There is a way to move forward without one eye constantly trained on the past, and a way to settle back into your own skin, your own soul. As for justice? From what I understand, justice is societal; revenge is personal. And I don’t believe in revenge. Except, of course, in the form of living well– without regrets.

© Sarah Ann Henderson 2010

I don’t know a sexual assault survivor who doesn’t have regrets. I’ve never met a single woman who didn’t say, if I hadn’t been walking alone, or if I had only fought harder or I knew better than to get in that car. No matter how many times people tell you it isn’t your fault, those doubts, those “what ifs” always linger. What if I hadn’t been out so late? What if I had screamed louder? What if I hadn’t been drunk?

What if I could have stopped him?

Everyone tells you there’s no way you could have. That the whole point of rape is to overpower, to control. It is not your fault.

So why don’t we believe that?

The best theory I have been able to come up with is survival. Our brains have an amazing capacity for protecting us from the worst shit, and have built-in mechanisms to defend not just from physical attacks, but psychological ones as well. Most of us have heard the term “fight or flight” and have a general idea of what it means. Overly simplified, it’s your brain’s spidey-sense. Those survival instincts that tell you, in the moment, that guy jogging over there is dangerous; I should or shouldn’t follow this person’s commands; now’s the moment I could maybe escape. That part of your brain is also the one sending out signals to your body that make your heart pound, your breathing fast, and cause adrenaline to rocket through your veins. It’s a tiny, almond-shaped organ called the amygdala, and it’s got a shitload of power. It’s operating on hyper drive before, during, and unfortunately, long after a traumatic event like a sexual assault. And I think it’s part of what keeps us stuck in self-blame.

Why would a rape victim prefer to believe that she had some responsibility in the attack? Because to admit that she was blameless is to also admit that she was powerless. If you had some culpability, if there was another decision you could have made to stop it, then you still have a crumb of control to hold onto. But when you fully grasp the concept that it was really not your fault, then also you give up that illusion of control. You have to accept the reality of everything that you lost: power, control, dignity, security, bodily integrity, and so much more. It’s a little different for every person, the things that were lost. Correction: the things that were stolen. And I believe it’s the unconscious reticence to fall into that abyss of grief and loss that keeps people blaming themselves. There is also, of course, post-traumatic stress disorder and the physiological hypervigilance that keeps you in survival mode, keeps you thinking and acting like you’re still in the attack. When that’s very active, I don’t even know that it’s possible to reach a place of acceptance like is necessary in order to grieve. You don’t hold funerals in the middle of the war zone; the soldiers have to get safely home first.

When it comes to this idea of regrets, I have an interesting perspective. As a child, I was raped and molested from the ages of three to nine by my father. Then when I was 16, I was raped by a stranger. The ways that society responds to incest as opposed to stranger rape are somewhat discouraging….

© Sarah Ann Henderson 2010

Note:  We are publishing Sarah’s blog in two parts.  (You can read the conclusion Thursday morning.) So for now, what are your thoughts about how “society responds to incest as opposed to stranger rape…”?  We look forward to your responses to this question and other ideas in Sarah’s blog.

We had a friend visiting this past weekend.  He was on the sofa flipping through cable channels.  I’m focused on enjoying a Blue Bell/Coke float—paying no attention to what’s on the screen.

But my attention perked up when he said, “I just read ‘one in five females is sexually assaulted.’ (long pause)  Is that true?”

“Yes, hard to imagine, but it is. Estimates depend on what study is used.”

Then I added, “and one in six men.”  (l-o-n-g-e-r  pause)

Silence.  End of conversation.  The TV screen had moved on to something else and neither of us said more.

I’ve thought about that exchange several times since – especially about the silence, about what felt like an abrupt end of conversation.  It’s not usual for me to just let that sort of conversation drop (I’ve been having those conversations for a long time).  But this was different. It was with someone close to me, about a subject close to me… I said no more.  And neither did he.

Thankfully, the silence about male sexual abuse is broken more and more often.  Today on the Oprah Winfrey show 200 men will step forward to speak about their own childhood sexual abuse.  It’s the first of two episodes.

The first episode on Friday, Nov. 5, begins as each member of the audience holds a photo of himself at the age at which he says he was first abused. Then, joined by Oprah, Tyler [Perry] and Dr. Howard Fradkin, a psychologist who specializes in working with male survivors of sexual abuse and assault, the men come forward to share their stories and experiences.

In the second episode on Friday, Nov. 12, the men are joined by their spouses, partners and girlfriends to talk about the affects abuse has had on their relationships.

You can read Oprah and Tyler Perry Raise Awareness about Male Sexual Abuse on RAINN’s website to learn more about  male sexual abuse, the program and some of the participants.

I plan to watch and celebrate the breaking of silence as each man speaks.

And I commit to doing more than just bring up the subject of male sexual abuse and  sexual assault.  I will try to provide an opening for the men I know to ask questions, to tell a friend’s experience – or their own – if they choose.

Resources: www.1in6.org;  www.malesurvivor.org; www.rainn.org

“…received eight life sentences for his inappropriateness with a 13-year old girl.”

Inappropriateness?  What on earth does someone do that’s “inappropriate” to end up in jail, much less prison for eight life sentences?

Reading or hearing something like this makes me want to scream!  I want to yell, inappropriately for sure, “Why can’t we call sexual assault, sexual abuse and rape what they are?”  I think it’s important that reporters correctly identify and name these crimes instead of resorting to euphemisms and vague language.  I want to be fair to the writers of this newspaper article .   Most of the report details the trial in which a local resident was found guilty of aggravated sexual assault of a child and continuous sexual abuse of a young child.  They clearly named those crimes.

They didn’t use terms that minimize victimization or totally obscure the crime.

Until the article’s end, that is.  There we learn this was the second sex offender to be sentenced in four months.    It was the first who “received eight life sentences for his inappropriateness with a 13-year old girl.”

So what do I do beyond feeling angry and frustrated that still it seems so hard to call sexual assault what it is?   I’d like to talk to the two writers, who are both new in the community.  I want to thank them for writing about a child sexual abuse trial and highlighting how important it is for the community to work together to combat sexual abuse.  And then I want to talk about the “inappropriateness with a-13 year old” phrase.

Perhaps now that I’ve cooled down a bit, I can do that.  Any suggestions for what I should say?

Child sexual assault is a concern shared across political, racial and socioeconomic boundaries. I attended the Children’s Advocacy Center of Texas annual conference in Austin last week and was overwhelmed (in a positive way) by the information.

I walked away with a deep appreciation for the delicate process of a forensic interview and child forensic interviewers. Child sexual assault issues have received much legislative attention the past two sessions. The Texas tough penalties are in effect, however the muddled dynamics of child sexual assault remain the same.  Societal (potential jury members’) expectations rely on definitive physical and DNA evidence, however most confirmed cases of child sexual assault presented at emergency rooms across the country are found inconclusive. This highly-charged atmosphere places a huge burden on all agencies involved in these cases, specifically child forensic interviewers and prosecutors.

I attended a session by Chris Newlin, executive director of the National Children’s Advocacy Center, in which a prosecutor in the audience raised two concerns: first, the lack of specific information (date, time, place, type of assaults, etc.) obtained from the interview process and, second, the lack of knowledge of child sexual assault statutes amongst interviewers. Mr. Newlin countered with a methodical explanation of child sexual assault disclosure as a process rather than an event.

The concerns, although valid, are very cut and dry, whereas the dynamics surrounding child sexual assault are not. Therein lies the impediment to justice for child victims and society as a whole.

The burden on child victims and forensic interviewers are great and with the stiff penalties of Jessica’s Law the stakes are high for prosecutors. The responsibility of keeping children safe lies unduly on child victims, agencies obtaining evidence and prosecutors putting away the bad guys.  The community must recognize its role in creating an environment conducive for the safety of all its members.  Until then… hats off to those in the trenches.