Megan C.
Photography by Reese Niccolls
Before reading further, Megan’s letter contains content discussing sexual assault. If you think reading about this may be triggering for you, take a moment to prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you would rather not read this letter, we encourage you to exit this screen and read alternative letters on different topics.
If you’re reading this, you’re not just another statistic.
In light of the current discourse around women’s safety and the normalization of traumatic practices, I want to share my story. In my very first relationship in high school, I was sexually assaulted for months. I didn’t know any better. He convinced me to give in. Convinced me that dating meant giving up my autonomy and self-worth. I began to understand that “no” is not as powerful as I thought it was. That barrier had been broken, and I was left defenseless. “He didn’t know any better" rang through my ears. And for years I carried that lie with me like a weight. It took me six years of pent-up blame, guilt, and anger to realize that it was never my fault. I reclaimed my confidence and vulnerability by re-learning who I was as a person. I learned that I am more than what happened to me, even in my most formative years. And I thought if I followed all the rules and took all the necessary precautions, I could make it through college unscathed. Until it happened again. And again. I thought I was safe. I did everything in my power to try and prevent it. Yet still I woke up confused, in pain, and frozen with fear, with a strange man in an even stranger place. I brushed it off. “It was just a drunken hookup,” I told myself, “this happens to everyone.” It took me two weeks to understand what had happened to me. All the feelings from seven years prior came flooding back. But no words of justification, optimism, or pity could make me forget.
Rape is a strong word. Its forceful nature burns your throat when you try to speak it. To admit it. This one experience engulfs your entire being. And if you report it, you’re terrorized by his friends and “brothers.” If you wait, you’re shamed for bringing up the past. If you don’t, you become another statistic. I never reported him in high school. And I was too afraid of the community backlash to report it in college. But it doesn’t make the situation any less dire. Too many women and men have experienced, will experience, or are actively experiencing situations like this. I can think of over ten individuals I personally know that have been victims of rape culture. And as it has been trending, the consequences of reporting don’t do the victim justice. Essays are written to subdue mental torment. They administer a mere slap on the wrist in exchange for years of shame. This normalization has been permeating our society for decades. It is not taboo, and it is not going away. But once you realize you can breathe again, you’ve survived. The hardest part is over.
You’re not just another statistic. You are living proof that pain is finite, that tenacity is triumphant, and that you are so much more than what happened to you.
Megan C., Syracuse University
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