This is about a topic at the forefront of the news and innumerable conversations: sexual assault. And men in positions of power. Men who feel entitled. An employer, a relative, sometimes a parent, a doctor or a coach, a wealthy real estate developer, senators. In my case it was a cop.
In my case, in spite of a 48-year span, I remember it clearly, as if it happened yesterday. All the shame, the guilt, the anger, the usual residual effects. In my case, I never told my parents or sibling. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my best friends.
I had dated him a few times. And while he suffered from roaming hands, he took “no†for an answer and I never felt threatened. Not until the night he raped me, and then did threaten me.
He knew in his heart what he had done because even as I cleaned up the spilled virginal fluid, he continued his intimidation amidst his denying what had just happened, what he had done against my will, thwarting my escape via sheer superior physical strength.
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So who did I eventually tell? I told my future husband, minus the dirty little details. I told my daughter so she would be safer and know that she could always come to me. I told my son so he would always know beyond a shadow of a doubt that NO meant no, and he, too, could always count on me. I ingrained in both my children the importance of treating every individual with dignity, with deference, irrespective of gender, color, nationality or sexual preference.
With age and maturity, I’ve gained strength, a healthy modicum of self esteem, and control over my life — as much as the universe permits any of us — but I remain permanently scarred.
Nevertheless when politicians, and others, negate the claims of an assault survivor, belittle their event memory, impugn the resulting hashtag movements that have arisen, the wounds open, surfacing again, fresh and raw.
Rape, molestation, physical violence burrows into your memory. No matter how long ago it was perpetrated. You are forever changed. Your headset altered. My personal changes were significant, and lasting. They remain personal. Nevertheless, these transfigurations sent me on an extensive journey to regain my power. Power over my own choices, decisions.
If you know a survivor the greatest assistance you can extend to them is to simply listen. It is the first step to that individual recapturing their stability, their force.
Bette Rose Immel is a retired journalist who lives in Sahuarita.
