Walk Home Together

(warning: contains description of sexual assault)

I wasn’t raped. Thankfully. Just to clarify. What happened to me was not as violent, but it was an insidious invasion of my body just the same. 

There are so many reasons why women don’t tell anyone about their sexual assault. It’s traumatizing, it’s humiliating, it’s rage-inducing. You would think we’d want to scream it from the tallest building and immediately out these predators to the world. But sometimes, we don’t. 

It could be that we simply can’t rock whatever complicated boat we are currently in. It could be because we absolutely hate the thought of being pitied as a victim of any kind. It could be because of a real or imagined threat. It could be that we don’t think we’ll be believed, so what’s the point? In my case, it was a little bit of all of those, but mainly it was because I wanted to protect some people I dearly love from the knowledge that someone close to them was capable of something so disgusting. But I was really just protecting the abuser. 

I have some theories about why he did this to me, but that’s not really relevant. We pretty much know by now that assaults like this are usually about asserting dominance to someone who can’t fight back. Also I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of too much ammunition, because unlike me, he loves to play the victim. 

This is exactly what happened: 

The first time, we were at the funeral of an elderly relative, oddly enough. It was more of a celebration of life, not really a somber occasion. The whole family was there and all dressed up. Let’s take a picture, someone said. I was standing next to him or in front of him I can’t remember. But as the camera clicked, he did it. 

He groped my backside, gently, slowly. His fingertips brushed my vagina through my navy blue dress. It was intentional, unhurried. I froze, the smile on my face stuck there like a bug smashed on a windshield. I said nothing. My heart was pounding so loud I could hear it. Almost vomited in my mouth. Still fake smiling. Shaking. Hugged some people goodbye. Got in the car and drove back home with my husband and kids. Never said a word. I was in shock, didn’t trust myself that it actually happened. Never said a word. To anyone.

A year or two later, I found myself alone in the kitchen at Thanksgiving, cutting vegetables I think. The rest of the family was milling around, some watching TV, some outside around the fire pit. In and out of where I was. I tried to never be alone with him, which was easy. It’s a huge family, everybody is everywhere.  But at that moment, I was alone, and he walked in, chatting with me amicably, talking about the kids or football or food or who knows. He didn’t even stop talking as he walked behind me, ostensibly on his way to the refrigerator. He did it again. Deliberate, bold, right at the point between my legs. Like you would touch your actual lover. It was over in less than three seconds. A drive by. He kept walking, talking, and left the room. I was frozen solid. The moment passed, I was outside of my body, like it had happened to someone else. And I just kept cutting the fucking vegetables, with mortified tears in my eyes. 

On the way home or maybe at home, I told my husband. About both times. Why I waited, I don’t know. I should have slapped him, I said. I should have screamed. I should have done all kinds of things but I didn’t. I didn’t. My husband was furious. Livid. Of course he was. But he understood my reaction and didn’t fault me for it. We discussed what to do. 

For all the reasons I said above, we decided not to say anything and just distance ourselves from that part of the family. So we did. For years. Was it cowardly? Maybe. But we saw no other choice.

Our oldest son got engaged recently. We were thrilled. We started planning the wedding, the rehearsal dinner. Making the guest lists.

 I hit a brick wall. 

I could not, COULD NOT have that man be a part of that day. I could not make nice and pretend he had not violated me. I had found my limit on keeping the peace. I told my son what had happened those years ago. He was outraged of course. And clearly that man would not be at his wedding, he said. No matter what.

My husband and I went to counseling to steel ourselves for the inevitable fallout. We decided to offer this “man” one final chance to save face. Not for him, but for his wife and children. My husband talked to him alone. I know what you did, my husband said. You will stay away from this wedding. Make up any excuse you want, but you will not be there. 

Instead of taking the out, he decided to blow it up. He told everyone in the family including his wife and children. He played the victim because of course he did. I was a liar, I was crazy, I was a bitch who had never liked him. Exactly what we wanted to avoid. He sent an extremely nasty message to my husband about me filled with the kind of vitriol you never imagine would be directed your way. He sent similar messages to the extended family, smearing me with the excrement of his unhinged imagination. He threatened to sue us for slander. 

The thing about that is: it’s not slander when it’s the truth. 

 The people who matter most, who know my character, believe me without reservation. But some have dismissed it, and me, as “#MeToo bullshit.” That’s fine. I can only hope that their daughters and wives never have to deal with any type of sexual assault or if, God forbid, they do, I hope these same fathers and husbands decide to actually believe them. Because I’m healed. I’ve got support. But there are so many who are not and do not. 

I wrote this as part of that healing. I know it was a hard read and I thank you for sticking with me. It was a relief to get it out and I am happily dropping off this heavy pile of baggage here, for good. We can’t heal what we don’t fully acknowledge, and this was me doing that. 

I’m going forward, only. I have so many things ahead. Trips to take and people to meet. Yoga postures to master. Babies to hold and concerts to go to. New adventures we haven’t even thought of yet. We have our son’s wedding in the spring, where we will celebrate our new daughter with music and dancing under an Alabama sunset. There will be no darkness, only light, because we will be surrounded by the people we love.