Less than a week after her assault, Andrea ran a half-marathon; in the days after the marathon, she couldn’t get out of bed to go to class. She had graduated as valedictorian from her high school, yet she dropped numerous classes and struggled to focus on classwork in college after developing PTSD.
Annie, meanwhile, obsessed over her schoolwork, using academics as one way of regaining control, and graduated Phi Beta Kappa.
Some survivors use having immediate consensual sex as a way to gain control, while others do not want to be touched at all. Others might develop or revisit an eating disorder, while still others might immediately want to process their assault in therapy. Some may want to confide in a close friend and not in their family, and others may tell no one at all. Substance abuse, cutting, and other behaviors that do harm to oneself are also common among survivors.
Trauma isn’t something you “get over,” but you can get through it.
If someone comes to you and tells you they have been assaulted, it is of utmost importance that you say that you believe them, and that whatever happened, it’s never their fault. You, as a friend, have neither an obligation nor the right to ask what happened. Some survivors find power in sharing details, in naming their experience, while others might not be ready yet, or may never choose to name what happened. It’s critical that you offer a survivor options and let that person remain in control. They might make a different decision than you would make, but it is their choice all the same.
* * *
Trauma isn’t something you “get over,” but you can get through it.
* * *
There is no timeline by which people heal from violence, even though the media have taught us otherwise.
There is no blueprint to “moving on” from trauma, and there definitely isn’t a wrong way to heal.
Even if the narratives in this book are the only survivor stories you’ve heard, we guarantee that we aren’t the only survivors you have met.
When we chose to share our stories, we didn’t anticipate that we would become activists. Annie was fresh out of undergrad, working with students at the University of Oregon, while Andrea was still studying at UNC.
However, what we didn’t understand at first is that thanks to the everyday conversations we were having, we were already activists. And since this realization, our lives have been changed.
Challenging our culture is not what we were taught to do, but every person has a role to play in changing our culture of violence. This is what we call everyday activism.
Our Stories, continued
ELISE SIEMERING
My sorority, Alpha Chi Omega—along with my friend Marie—saved me. I joined in my junior year—went through the interview process, got accepted, and it was amazing. Every sorority on our campus chooses a different philanthropy to support. Our philanthropy was domestic violence. I felt like the work was my way of giving back and helping people who had been through situations similar to mine.
In the summer of my junior year, the rape kit results came back, and there was not enough evidence. There were photos of the bruises, along with other medical evidence, but there was not enough evidence overall so the rape kit was deemed inconclusive. As a result, the DA would not be pursuing rape changes. There was not much the police could do.
I had to take an extra year to finish school. I had always been a good student and it was hard to accept that I would have to take a fifth year of college—hard financially, and also at school. That’s when I decided that I wanted to do something, to have a voice. Alpha Chi Omega gave me that voice. I was on the philanthropy committee, and I got my rhythm back.
My senior year, I was still running into the assailant. We both worked at the athletic department. I had to tell my boss about the situation and he went to Student Life and the head of the athletic department and said, “I don’t want him there.” And basically Student Life said they couldn’t let him go.
At one alumni event I had to work in the same room with him. I was so uncomfortable. Even after that, Student Life just said, “Oh, well, stay away from him.”
So my senior year, I focused on the sorority.
In my women and gender studies classes, we had to do an activism project. I was put in a group with the other guy who had been at the library with me the night the assault happened. I said, “The Clothesline Project would be really cool, and Alpha Chi could sponsor it.” He agreed, and we got it approved. One day after class, this other guy said, “Elise, can I talk to you? I want to apologize.” He said, “I should have been more supportive of you. I shouldn’t have taken his side. I should have talked to the police, but my dad didn’t want me to. The Clothesline Project is what I can do to make it up to you.”
All these guys—even the guy who took me to see the RA and then wouldn’t speak to the police—it seemed to me they all felt “Brotherhood is more important.” The assailant had made them think it was my fault.
I had girls come up to me and say he had physically harmed them. I would say, “You should report it,” but they all said, “What’s the point?”
A Clothesline Project is for women and men who were affected by violence or knew someone who was. They decorate a shirt to express themselves, and the shirts are hung on a clothesline in a public place so that everyone can see them. It helps bring awareness to the issue of violence against women and men.
High Point wasn’t supportive of the project. The adult we went to for permission gave us the back of the student section of the Student Life building. Inside, not outside. The adult said it was because they didn’t want us to put stakes in the lawn and make holes.
We actually had a lot of people show up for the exhibit. It made me feel like I’m not alone, and I gave someone else a way to speak out. I still have all the shirts. I’m thinking of making them into a quilt.
I then completed my fifth year. We actually ended up graduating the same year, me and the guy. Senior year, he got one of the highest honors that High Point gives. I was in the auditorium when he got it. How the hell can you honor somebody like that?
The professor who had helped us put together the Clothesline Project had brought me into her office and said a guy in that same frat had sexually assaulted a girl, and the school had swept that case under the rug, too. Apparently we all graduated together.
I’ve had thoughts of “Should I have transferred?”—but then again, I would never have found Alpha Chi, never done the project.
After two years, I talked to one of the detectives. She said she was there the day I graduated, that she had to hold herself back from running up to me and hugging me. She told me, “I was so proud of you for sticking to your guns and graduating.” Which made a huge impact on me.
And then I got involved with Annie and Andrea. I read an article about their work and I thought, “This is really cool. Once again, I’m not alone.” I had Alpha Chi, but those girls didn’t really get what it was like. I remember reading what Annie and Andrea had written and thinking, “Wow, it’s not just High Point University.” I emailed Andrea and talked to her and Annie and honestly, it was one of the best conversations I had had with somebody. Finally, someone who got me. I had therapy, and support from my wonderful family, but it was wonderful to have someone understand what I was feeling. I’ve been involved with Annie and Andrea on different projects for about two years, and I got to meet them in Boston a couple of months ago. They are two amazing women who I am eternally grateful to because they helped me so much.
* * *
And I want to give that guy or girl who reads this that same feeling, of “Oh, my gosh, there’s some girl who knows what I’m feeling.”
* * *
I am starting out in communications and sports marketing, but I would love to do what Annie and Andrea are doing: help men and women get the help they need. I have thought about going back to school and getting a degree in counseling. No matter what, I will do social justice work. I have a sister who’s in college now. And I want to give
that guy or girl who reads this that same feeling, of “Oh, my gosh, there’s some girl who knows what I’m feeling.” I want to be that person in someone’s life. I want to do something to give back.
LAUREN
After my assault, I wanted to make a difference. For the first year and a half, I would go to therapy, then call my mom and tell her how it was. I would be open with friends as well, since talking helps me get through just about anything. When I was a sophomore, I became very involved in an event called “Consent Day.” We would teach students about consent—what it is and how to obtain it. Of course, the event had free condoms, so that was the incentive for pretty much everyone (especially the guys) to show up.
Regarding consent, it is very important to know yourself before starting a conversation with anyone else about what you want. If you like to be kissed, but maybe not touched certain places, that is more than okay! It is always okay to stop. You are 100 percent allowed to stop or take a break at any point in any physical interaction with a partner. When I said that to the students I was working with, they really opened their eyes, like, “Wow, yeah, you’re right!” It may sound simple, but it’s true. You only have to do what you want to do—nothing more.
As I was approaching my junior year, I stopped therapy and began to self-soothe when I faced flashbacks caused by post-traumatic stress disorder. I learned how to handle every flashback, even the moments of remembering. When I realized that I could control how the flashback makes me feel and how I choose to feel afterward, it completely changed my outlook.
In the summer, I had gotten into a new relationship with a guy I had known for five years. I was very open with him about what I had gone through, but he asked me not to tell him the specifics. He helped me through my flashbacks; he knew how to squeeze my hand and say my name to bring me back. At first, when I came out of the flashbacks, I would bawl my eyes out. When I saw how much that affected him negatively, that was my “aha” moment, that I could change how I feel and how he feels. Rather than be sad that the flashback happened, I could be happy that I got out of it and that I’m not actually there.
My senior year, I really thrived as a survivor. I was involved in a “Blue Lights” walk on campus to see the glowing telephones that call Public Safety at any time, day or night, and to identify places on campus where new phones should go. During this event we showed a public service announcement from “It’s On Us,” the White House’s initiative to raise awareness about sexual assault on campus. After seeing it, I told my friend Caroline, and one of the therapists I was working with for the event, that we should make a Curry “It’s On Us” video. I talked to the associate dean of Curry and she loved the idea. So Caroline and I produced this video with the help of only students, no faculty involved. After seeing our video, the dean of the college decided that the college should make its own video, so I also helped make that happen.
My moment of healing started when I could understand the point of view of my assailant. I know this sounds crazy, but that’s what it was. Since I didn’t know my assailant—only his name—I thought this was a supermalicious act (which sexual assault is). I thought I was targeted and that he was a monster. When I talked to my mom more in depth, she said the arresting officer told her that when A was arrested, he honestly had no idea he had done anything wrong, let alone sexually assault a female. He was a stupid kid starting college with no idea of the concept of consent. He had no clue that continuing to pursue me the way he did was wrong.
* * *
He was a stupid kid starting college with no idea of the concept of consent.
* * *
When I processed that information, it helped me heal a lot faster. I am not yet completely done, but I am so much closer to that point than I was two or three years ago.
I graduated from Curry in May 2015 with a liberal arts degree and an education minor (I was originally a special education major). I work at a school in Providence, Rhode Island, for children and adults up to twenty-one with severe and profound disabilities. I was in therapy for two years and then thought I didn’t need to continue, so I haven’t been back.
My parents and I moved to our new house in North Attleboro, Massachusetts, two years ago. I wanted more decorations, since my old room didn’t have much, and my mom said it would have to match my color scheme (purple and turquoise) or just be a very special message. On Etsy, I saw decals that read, “Stay Strong,” but they were tiny! My mom messaged one woman selling them and she said she could blow it up big enough to go on my wall!
Demi Lovato has “Stay Strong” tattooed on her wrists, since she used to deal with depression and bipolar disorder. I love this message. It’s universal; it could mean anything for anyone. I made rubber bracelets that say, “Stay Strong,” as a reminder of how far I’ve come, and I gave them to all my friends, since they all had something they needed to stay strong for.
I strongly believe everything happens for a reason, the good and the bad. I did go through something terrible, but I came out a better person than before. If I hadn’t learned that horrible lesson, or gone through something so hard, I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now.
ANDREW BROWN
I’ve taken my experience and passed it down so that others may begin in a place of learning, even though we weren’t able to. The protests, the talks, the conversations in hallways, it was all part of leaving a legacy. And this was something a speaker mentioned at our commencement—that our 2015 class was defined by a lot of resistance and a lot of protests. The university wasn’t listening to us and was mistreating us. The protests happened because our class wanted to make our community better. We were willing to put ourselves on the line to do it. And as lonely and isolated as we felt in the moment, we were never alone, because we were continuing the long line of people at Brown who have cared enough to fix things.
* * *
The protests happened because our class wanted to make our community better. We were willing to put ourselves on the line to do it.
* * *
The speaker’s words were really cathartic to hear. So that’s what our class’s legacy will be: that we fought to make Brown a better place. And as for what I did—through being open about my story, the sexual assault peer education, the work with my fraternity—hopefully, my legacy will be that I helped enact real change.
Now I’m moving forward. Being a peer educator taught me how people heal. For me, that’s come to be about forgiveness.
I wrote a piece—a letter—for myself and ended up sharing it at an event. The reaction was overwhelmingly positive, which I’m thankful for. In that first version of the letter, the feelings I expressed were pain and anger. I was writing in an attempt to feel I could let go of that anger. Since then, I’ve kept coming back to the letter and rewriting as my feelings change.
Two weeks ago I reread the letter. It asked a lot of questions, because I wanted to know why he did all these things. But this time around, I changed it to read, “I used to ask a lot of questions.” Writing that helped me let go of the way my attacker was continuing to control me.
In that first letter, I’d managed to write, “I forgive you.” I don’t know if I meant it then. I mean it more now. Writing about forgiveness helped me reframe my thinking and get around to forgiving.
A Letter to My Rapist
I used to ask a lot of questions: Why did you do it? Were you even listening to me when I said no? Why did you keep going as I turned away and as you tried to take something away from me I could never get back? It’s only now, three years later, that I understand the irrelevance of those questions. I’m not going to waste any more energy trying to imagine a different world for myself.
In your effort to use your power to oppress me, to humiliate me, to destroy me, you’ve created a monster. Do you know what this monster does? This monster loves. This monster has more power than you ever will. This monster has compassion and caring and sensitivity he never thought he could have.
I forgive you. It’s
taken me a long time to be able to say those words, and I’ve thought and dreamed and prayed to get there. But I forgive you. You helped me see who I really am. I’m not broken. I’m not dirty. I have more love and beauty than I ever thought myself capable of. And all because you seemed to think you could take those things away from me. So I hope you see what you did was wrong, and I pray to God that no one else has to go through what I did, especially at your hands. But that’s not my battle right now. My battle is in my heart. And you can’t fill my life with hate, no matter how hard you try. So think about what you did, but know that you can’t take my heart away.
Signed,
Andrew Bearden Brown
ANONYMOUS S
For three long years, I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I told as few people as possible because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I didn’t want to be punished any more than I already had been. Yes, I would see my attacker more than I ever thought possible, but I just had to get my degree. I wouldn’t let him ruin my ability to get an education.
Every single day I walked onto that campus, I had to give myself a pep talk: It’s gonna be okay. I’m one day closer to getting my diploma, and after that I don’t ever have to return.
I would get so anxious before I went onto campus, and I would spray my wrist with a perfume from Paris, France, that my grandmother wore. It smelled just like her. It was something sensory to remind me that I was safe and okay.
I graduated in May 2015. When I walked across the stage to receive my diploma, I realized I would never have to set foot on campus again. It was the most exhilarating feeling. I have learned that a lot of people don’t graduate after being raped in college. Somehow I did.
We Believe You: Survivors of Campus Sexual Assault Speak Out Page 13