Words of Love that We Long to Hear

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Those are the words someone I know wished she had heard from her parents when she told her story about being sexually assaulted. Instead she heard, “Why now?”

It took my breath away because I realized that the words she longed to hear were the words I did hear from my parents. When I told them about what happened to me when I was between six and twelve years old, it was 20 years after it happened. I know what a difference their words made to me. They were upset and I’d say very distraught, but they believed me. I was grateful for that. But as victims often do, I told them I was OK — fine, just fine — it was a long time ago — they shouldn’t worry about me. I lied. Of course, I wasn’t really OK. Well, I was OK. Except for when I wasn’t. 

During those 20+ years, I became a teenager and then a young adult woman trying to find a way through the maze of high school and college relationships. Somehow I found ways to “forget” or “repress” my experience. Eventually, I became more comfortable with my body and sexuality.

I often make jokes about my strong “creep-dar” regarding men. I feel like I learned at a very early age, how to keep my distance from men. My “Me Too” experiences so early in my life taught me that “stranger-danger” was the least of my worries. None of my high school or college relationships were problematic. Then again, I didn’t have many relationships. I know there were plenty of wild parties with too much drinking, but I didn’t go to many parties. Well, truth be told, I wasn’t invited to many parties. I don’t know what category people placed me in, but I was certainly not considered a “party girl”. I would complain about curfews, but I was secretly grateful for the excuse to leave parties. 

I’m lucky that the few boys I dated were never sexually aggressive with me; never touched me inappropriately. There was only one occasion where I was so uncomfortable that I had to assert my boundaries and that person backed off respectfully. And stayed respectful. I know I am lucky. Really lucky.

For sure, just like millions of other women, I’ve had enough (too many) bad experiences to be able to teach young girls what they might experience so they can be prepared. There’s the overly friendly, overly touchy, overly feely, uncomfortable, inappropriate hugs. There’s the cat-calls and whistles while walking down the street. People who don’t understand how a seemingly innocuous song or melody can be a triggering event have never had the other Head Start volunteer sit behind them on the field-trip bus, creepily singing “Lay Lady Lay” while leaning forward over the back of their seat when they were 16. 

These are probably the same people who whine “Why now?” It feels like they are the same people who make women like me feel like WE are the ones who should explain our positions about sexual assault and all the variations and gradations of that behavior. It’s as if we can’t just be anti-sexual assault, we have to have been sexually assaulted to have a valid opinion. We have to defend ourselves over and over again.

I don’t think you have to have a Me Too Story to understand or believe the people who do. I know plenty of people who do believe and understand the answer to “why now?” I guess I’ll never know if I’d be in the “Why Now Camp.” I do know that every time I hear someone whine about women who tell their stories, I feel like I’m being violated all over again. And so, while telling my story might “set me free” I can never escape the people who will respond, “Why Now?” The person who did this to me died long ago. All his siblings are dead. I have a reputation as a truth teller so why am I still a chicken about this truth when it comes to the handful of people who may have had the same experience I had? I don’t know that answer. Maybe they’d be relieved to know they were not alone. I guess I just don’t want to risk hearing them say “Why now?”

Really, all I know is that my experiences as a young girl inform my life even today. My experiences are why I believe the stories about “Why I didn’t tell” and “Why I didn’t report.” I understand their “Why” because I live it. I appreciate the people who believe our stories even though they don’t have a Me Too story. I know all of us are formed by early experiences. And I guess that explains why some people don’t believe Me Too stories. Somehow they made it through their lives untouched. 

Lucky them.