revtlmack

This Is My Truth

I am a survivor of sexual assault.  Never did I think that I would ever say these words aloud much less write these words or share this story so publically.  For those who know me well, they will tell you that I am one of the most private public persons that they know.  Even my closest friends and family have not heard this story until this moment.

The time and place was forty years ago at a weekend get away with some friends. There were only two of us there who were under 20.  It had been a long drive to get there, an evening of great food and fun, some drinking, more for some than for others…all in all, perfect…until it wasn’t.

I found myself left, as others had gone to bed, in the gathering room with one of the older, married men (whose wife was not there), who had done much more drinking than I.   I will not speak of the details except to say this: before I knew it, things got ugly, quickly…forced kissing, ripping my blouse off, and his positioning himself in a position that made me feel completely powerless.   The idea of being raped was simply not going to happen to me.  Somewhere, from deep within, a power that I can’t explain, embodied me and just as forcibly he had put himself on me, I forcibly pushed him off of me and ran the hell out of that room.

I ended up in the bedroom where I was to sleep…there was no sleep that night…I sobbed endlessly into the pillow of the bed to muffle the sound.

The next morning, I got myself together, dressed and went in to breakfast where he was already seated at the table.

I knew in that moment that nothing had happened, as far as he was concerned.  NOTHING. NOT. ONE. THING.

My world was shattered. His world? Not so much… there was light-hearted conversation, plans for the day were forged.  I, the good southern girl, rose to the occasion of “putting on a good face.”

Intermittently, throughout the weekend… and for a long time to come…random, horrible thoughts swirled around my being…What had I done to encourage this kind of behavior?  How could I be so traumatized and he so nonchalant?   What a jerk he is!  What a dopey little girl I was being…after all, nothing had actually happened, right? I mean it is not like I was ACTUALLY raped…

This continued throughout the weekend (the second night was as sleepless as the first…this time not of horror or shame but, of fear…would he try something again?) Some of my friends noticed the change in my demeanor/behavior but I shrugged it off to having not slept well.

I was happy to finally get home.  But, I would still have to see him.  He was a part of my immediate social circle.  It wouldn’t be too long before my social circle would change but it was awkward, unnerving, to say the least.

But, this one thing I knew: My life was forever changed…and, what had happened HAD really happened.

And, this second thing I also knew: He was unaffected.  Whether he had blacked out or blocked out, it was never spoken of, apologized for or acknowledged.

And, so, my silence began.

For more than forty years, this has been buried deeply in the depths of my soul.  It has only come out in light of recent conversations that this country is having.

The dam broke for me on Monday morning.  I had engaged in a too many conversations about the current situation surrounding the Supreme Court nominee and the accusations swirling about the woman who has accused him of a violent sexual act.

And, somehow, I was jetted back to that place, more than forty years ago.  FORTY. YEARS. AGO. I was sent back to a place to which I NEVER wanted to return.  Everything that I heard about “her,” I heard as people saying the same about me… Everything I heard about “him,” I heard people say the same thing about the man who sexually attacked me.

This is my truth. This is my further truth. I don’t care (I am being explicitly grace-filled in my language choice here) about what you think about me.  I don’t want your comfort, your sympathy, your empathy, your pity, your judgment, your hate, your anger, your indignation, your rationalization, your justification…I don’t want anything from you.  Laugh and make fun of me, if you must.  I. REALLY. DON’T. CARE.

This is my truth. It is a truth that I had to speak.

Rest assured, I am just fine.  I am more than fine. I am blessed beyond measure.  I have family and friends who love me unconditionally and without judgment.

God has given me two grandchildren: a girl and a boy. For her, I hope to help shape her life, value and esteem so that she never feels powerless in this world.  For him, I hope to shape his life, value and esteem so that he may treat all with respect.

While that incident forty years ago, did not define me, it did affect much of my life and many of my choices and decisions.   It did not stop me from becoming who I am.

But, further be assured, that had that man, who was an attorney and a political figure, risen to become a nominee for the highest court in the United States of America, this sixty year old woman hopes that she would have the courage to tell her story.

This is my truth.