#MeToo.

“If you put shame in a Petri dish, it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgement.” — Brené Brown

Recently, I learned that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I never thought I’d end up writing a blog post on this topic, but I was reminded of something that happened when I was 18.

About two weeks into my freshman year of college, a friend and I went to a toga party at a fraternity house. Friday night rolled around and there was a buzz in the air as we eagerly got ready in the bathroom mirror. We curled our hair, wrapped gold bands around our wrists and arms, sprayed shimmery mist on our legs, strapped on our heels, and headed out the door feeling like a pair of real Greek Goddesses. I was so excited. I’d never been to a frat house before or even a real college party and I’d only drank alcohol once in my life at senior prom.

We got there a bit later than everyone else (it took a lot of time to get ready!) but we walked in, were handed a pair of red solo cups, and invited to play endless games of beer pong. It was fun, festive, and I was having a blast embracing the newly found freedom that comes with college. A few drinks in, I get into conversation with this guy I had known since middle school. We start chatting and catching up. We were having a good time, so we kept talking, laughing, and drinking. 

At some point, he leans in to kiss me and abruptly pulls me towards him. It completely catches me off guard. Before I even have time to process what is happening, he reaches his hand up my dress and starts trying to forcefully pull my underwear down. 

I was mortified. 

I tried to back away but he resisted my efforts. My heart began pounding out of my chest. I knew if it came to a physical competition I wasn’t going to win, and terror started to set in. My throat tightened and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, let alone shout for help. I asked him to stop again, louder this time, in hopes that someone near us would see what was going on and step in. I continued trying to break free from his grip, but the music was pounding, the lights were flashing, and no one noticed us there in the dark corner of the room. I felt trapped and scared. I searched frantically around the room. A million questions raced through my mind in an instant. Where were my friends? Where was my phone? Where was anyone I knew? Had they left? How long had we been standing here? Why were his eyes so glassy and red? Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Was he on drugs? Where did I last see my drink? Did he try to drug me, too? Is anyone watching us? How is this happening?!

I was frozen. I couldn’t speak or scream or do anything other than feel paralyzed. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there as fast as I could but I couldn’t move. He finally relented after a few moments of struggle, let me go, and stumbled into the sea of the party, but I stood there shocked and shaken at what had just occurred. This all took place within a matter of a few seconds, in a room full of people, with someone I knew, and I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know whether I wanted to cry, scream, or punch someone, but I knew I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.

I don’t even remember how I got home that night, all I know is I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I never told anyone about what happened and I tried my best for the next several years to block it out of my memory. But two years ago — more than 10+ years after this incident — a friend of mine came into town and I met her for lunch. As we were leaving her hotel, she mentioned his name telling me we might see him because he was also in town on the same work trip as she was.

My stomach did a flip flop.

Just hearing his name made me feel violated, tainted, and humiliated all over again. I felt sick at the thought of seeing him even after all these years and it immediately brought me back to that gross memory. I honestly don’t think he’d even remember that night at all, but it’s one I’ll never forget. Luckily, I never had to see him, so I never had to think about what I would say if I had.

While I never had to think about what I would say to him, I have spent a lot of time saying things to myself after that experience, and thought for a long time that it must’ve been my fault and I was somehow to blame. I know now that the circumstances that surrounded my experience are textbook to the hundreds of thousands of sexual assault incidents every year, especially on a college campus, but for 13 years — from 2007 until 2020 — I carried that burden of believing that I was a stupid girl for putting myself in a sketchy situation and that scenario happened because of my dumb choices.

I was binge watching 13 Reasons Why during quarantine lock-down last year and a part of the show triggered my memory again of it. In the show, two girls are raped by the same guy at their school. One girl comes forward to the school counselor and he implies that because she didn’t say “no” that she had actually given consent, which of course, wasn’t true. The counselor replays this conversation later in his mind out of guilt and the show gives the audience an alternate version of what he wishes he would’ve said. In this version, he says a line that has stuck with me. He says: “If my daughter were older, I would tell her the same thing. Men can control themselves. Everybody can. Everybody acts like consent is this complicated thing, but it’s not. Everybody knows whether they have it or not. And it was that boy’s job to know. Listen to me, it wasn’t your fault.”

Even though the circumstances were much different in the show than what happened in my life, I don’t think I realized how much I had internalized and shamed myself for that incident until I was watching that scene with tears streaming down my face.

I think the hardest part for me was that I felt blindsided when it occurred. I rationalized that since I felt that way, I must’ve been giving off mixed signals. I created an entire narrative in my mind afterwards that went something like this: I knew I shouldn’t have worn that short dress. That was probably slutty. He must think I’m a slut. Maybe I am a slut. I shouldn’t have been drinking. That was stupid. I shouldn’t have been talking to him. I walked myself into that. That was your own fault, Meagan. I should’ve seen that coming. I should’ve known…

I never expected something like that to happen with someone I thought I knew so well so I blamed and shamed myself for it. But in fact, the data shows that female victims are much more likely to be assaulted by an acquaintance, such as a friend or co-worker, a dating partner, an ex-boyfriend or a husband or other intimate partner than by a complete stranger. [1] Research shows that up to 3 out of 4 attackers had been drinking alcohol when they sexually assaulted someone. [2] Research also shows that about half of sexual assault victims had been drinking. However, this does not mean that drinking causes sexual assault or that the violence is the victim’s fault. Many attackers use alcohol as a way to make you drunk and unable to consent, understand what is happening, or remember the assault. They may take advantage of a victim who has already been drinking or encourage her to drink more than she might normally drink. [2] Sexual assault is never the victim’s fault, no matter what she was wearing, drinking, or doing at the time of the assault. You can’t prevent sexual assault, but you can take steps to be safer around others. [3,4]

For a long time, like so many others, I never talked about this because I was afraid.  I was afraid of what people would think, I was afraid of looking weak, dumb, vulnerable, stupid, sensitive…and I was afraid that if I brought it up with anyone that it would get brushed off as no big deal, since much worse things happen and I ended up being fine, so I downplayed it all in my head.

But I still should’ve said something to someone for my own sake. Possibly for other girls’ sakes too. Who knows if this happened more than once or to someone else I knew, maybe even someone else at that very party. Instead, I internalized it for years out of fear, shame, and embarrassment.

But now that I have a daughter, I want her to not only have awareness of these kinds of things, but I also want to show her that there is power and courage in being vulnerable and letting go of shame. Staying silent only keeps us in the struggle and the darkness longer, even if we aren’t aware of it. “If you put shame in a petri dish it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgement. But if you put that same amount of shame in a petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive. Empathy is the antidote to shame. The two most powerful words when we’re in struggle are ‘me too’.” [5]

*If you or someone you know has been assaulted or abused and needs help, please call The National Sexual Assault Hotline 800.656.HOPE*

References:

[1] Wikipedia: Sexual Assault. Abbey, Antonia; Beshears, Renee; Clinton-Sherrod, A. Monique; McAuslan, Pam. (2004)

[2] Wikipedia: Sexual Assault. Martin, Judy; Anderson, Jessie; Romans, Sarah; Mullen, Paul; O’Shea, Martine. (1993)

[3,4] Wikipedia: Sexual Assault. NCVC.org (2012)

[5] Brené Brown. Listening to shame. TED