Baggage: part one

Warning: sensitive topic ahead.

I have a real problem with the fact that Ben Roethlisberger wasn’t charged with sexual assault in the case a college-aged woman in Georgia brought against the football superstar.

The attorneys for the woman said the intense media spotlight aimed at her during a high-profile criminal trial “would be a very intrusive experience” for her. It’s likely she’s right.

It’s an unfortunate situation, but not all that uncommon. It’s estimated that 60 percent of sexual crimes go unreported every year. SIXTY PERCENT.

Why?

Rape and sexual assault are intensely personal, private crimes. They are embarrassing. They are shameful. At least, that’s what victims of sexual crimes believe.

I know this, because I’m one of the statistics.

When I was 17, a friend and I went out with a guy she’d met and his older cousin. We had a few beers. We each started kissing our respective partner. And then…. He tried to have sex with me. I said, “no.” He tried again… there was a little penetration. Panic.  I said, “no” again, this time more forcefully. I pushed against him… he was so much heavier than me! More panic, a flurry of activity. He moved away. Relief.

I’ll never forget his next words to me. They were, “ You’re such a fucking tease.”

I didn’t consider myself a tease for being 17, a virgin and than a little freaked out that a simple make out session was becoming something I was less than comfortable with. I mean, it was my right to say, “no,” right? That’s what they had always told us in school, in sex ed. It’s what my parents had always said.

And yet, I felt like it was my fault. I replayed the evening over and over in my mind. Had I been too flirtatious? Had I given him the wrong impression about where the evening would lead?

Even though we didn’t *technically* have sex I felt violated. I felt ashamed. I was brought up Catholic, was taught that my virginity was a gift and that sex was best saved for marriage. That was something I believed in and had wanted to maintain. Now, I was left with the overwhelming thought, “I am damaged goods. Who will ever want me?”

I didn’t feel that I could go to my parents, because the depth of their disappointment in me would have been too much to bear. And I didn’t feel I could go to the police, because they would involve my parents. Instead, I told my friend, who agreed we’d never see those boys again.

And that was it.

Like any number of women who have felt they were the victim of a sexual assault, I understand the fear and the panic that accompany the scrutiny. I was too frightened to do anything about it.

I also know the long-term effects of a sexual crime. I felt that I was damaged goods. I didn’t think a “good” man would ever want me. So I acted out… big time. I was extremely promiscuous in college. I never wanted to hear, “you’re a tease,” ever again… it was just so much easier to numb myself from the waist down, disconnect from my body and “Just Do It.”

I can’t help but wonder how my life would have been different had I just come clean to my parents. Looking back, they would have been disappointed that I’d gotten myself into the situation, yes, but they wouldn’t have stopped loving me. They would have done everything in their power to make me feel safe and whole. They would have gotten me the therapy that I sought myself many years later. Perhaps I would have regained that sense of self-worth, dignity and respect that I felt I’d lost. Perhaps I wouldn’t have slutted it up in college, which led to even more self-disappointment and regret.

It’s silly to look back at what could or should have been. I can’t change the past.

But I can (hopefully) change the way people think about the victims of sexual crimes. My experience wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, didn’t nearly reach the same levels that many women have experienced. No two situations are the same. No two women are the same.

However, there is one commonality between me every victim of a sexual crime, one that’s worth keeping in mind: no matter what we've done, we’re someone’s daughter.