For years, I believed that even if no woman was ‘asking to be raped’ based on what she wore, dangerous behaviors such as going out and drinking loads were really stupid things to do. I thought women who did that bore some responsibility for what happened to them.
I don’t know, blame it on a mother who used to give me mixed messages like ‘ you should show more leg’ and ‘ well of course she’s asking for it”. But in truth, I think it was more about my perception that society was losing all sense of personal responsibility.
Blaming others for our misfortunes seems especially true in the United States where litigation nation meets psychotherapy. With the famous McD hot coffee cup case leading us to the onslaught of superfluous signage like stairs may be slippery if wet with rain –(and yes I ACTUALLY saw this sign on a bus to Long Island)– urging caution in nearly any situation, where previously common sense was a given. Now take hordes of people of all ages, insisting they are messed up because `so and so ruined me by letting me have all the toys, by denying me all the toys, by giving me just the right amount of toys’. The ‘it’s not my fault’ whine is pervasive in coffee shops and wine bars around the nation. Combine the two and you have a near pathological situation, which, at the time, left a terrible taste in my mouth. I believed in personal responsibility. I thought if you get wasted when you are out and you are raped – it may not excuse the perpetrator but it’s most definitely your own fault.
And then came the day I was raped.
I was raped by somebody I knew. He was probably one the nicest people I knew at the time. A family man, with two kids. A friend. A colleague. Someone I trusted. I was out with colleagues after a big work event. I’d had a great work opportunity come my way putting me on track for my dream job. I was celebrating.
I was wearing a suit – not that it’s relevant. We were in a country where drinking on an empty stomach was de-rigueur. I was tired that night and I didn’t actually drink that much. Many people have days where one glass goes to their head and others where a bottle goes down just fine. On this day, I misjudged my tolerance and it went to my head. But hey, I was surrounded by friends, a safe place. Or so I thought.
One of my closest work friends offered to help get me home. I even remember another colleague saying she was a bit worried that I was a too tipsy and he assured her he would get me home safe. I felt grateful, relaxed. And presumably I fell asleep in the cab.
The next thing I remember is waking in my bedroom, with this person raping me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight. I was in shock. As the reality sunk in, I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to cry. I wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening. I wanted to get this person off of me but was too scared to say anything. After all, I believed in personal responsibility so surely I had created this situation myself.
I am still angry even though I don’t think he was malicious. I don’t think he intended to take advantage. Actually I really don’t know what he was thinking. I once even considered contacting him to talk about it but I chickened out.
What I do know is this. I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t trust anyone. Where I have to watch and analyze my every move. I want to believe that I can make a mistake, like misjudging my ability to drink and celebrate without having to worry that those around may violate me. That world sucks.
Listen, I still believe that if you are late for work 4 mornings out of 5, traffic isn’t the problem, your decision making is the issue. You are responsible for yourself.
But when it comes to rape, perhaps this is the exception that makes the rule. I didn’t ask for it.