We all have different strategies for coping. Here is one survivor’s.
One of my dearest friends and I struggle with the same thing.
But for different reasons.
For years and years, we’ve been telling girls and women to make sure they don’t get raped.
When M was just a few weeks old, a strawberry birthmark made itself visible on her right cheek near her eye. My only concern about the birthmark was that, under the skin, they can occasionally interfere with the eye. I took M to the doctor, asked the necessary questions, learned that there was nothing to be concerned about and we went on our way.
Some rapes are not as bad as others. Some rapes are less traumatizing than others, or should I say more acceptable than others, given that the people who write this kind of garbage are making excuses for rapists.
I know I’m preaching to the choir here, but….
I was fourteen years old the night my friend G took me to my first kegger. We told my mom we were going to “a little get together.” I remember almost nothing about the evening—flashes, mostly. I remember absolutely nothing about being raped that night.
I might never have known about it, except that N--a woman I’d met the night before--mentioned it casually the next morning when I woke in a strange house with what might have been my first hangover.
missjosephinemarch guest blogs….
So, I’ve been toying with the idea of commenting on the globally notorious Steubenville rape trial, and the subject of rape in general. And I almost decided against it – because it’s a little controversial, isn’t it? It’s not something we talk about. That’s what we do with rape. We keep it quiet. We stay silent. And that’s how we help to ‘feed’ a rape culture. So, silence be damned. And, while I’m aware that rape is not limited to women and girls, this piece is about society’s attitudes towards rape and women, so I’ll be using the female pronoun.
I’ve reached the breaking point and it’s time.