Lately, I’ve felt a surge of emotions stemming from the backlash against the Women’s March. The comments like “What’s the big deal about inequality?” or “How can you say you don’t have equal rights?” aren’t genuinely seeking answers. Instead, they reflect a dismissal of the very real issues that women face today. Many seem to believe that since we’re not in a third-world country, our struggles are trivial. They argue that enough progress has been made, and we should just be grateful. I’ve come across harsh remarks urging women to stop complaining and move on. However, the truth is that inequality persists, even if some haven’t experienced it firsthand. Yes, strides have been made, but we still have a long way to go.
Let’s delve into a topic that’s often swept under the rug: sexual violence. This is my personal narrative, one I’ve only shared with my partner until now. It’s just one of countless stories that highlight the injustices women face, not just in the U.S. but around the globe. I’m not ashamed to recount it; recent events surrounding the march have prompted me to reflect on my journey as a survivor. I am not a victim; I have overcome, and I take pride in that.
I anticipate that my story may make some uncomfortable, and that’s perfectly fine. Even my husband felt uneasy when I read this to him. He suggested I whisper, so our son wouldn’t overhear, as this experience is a dark chapter in my life.
My Experience
At 14, I moved from Michigan to Pennsylvania, a transition that was challenging. As a teenager, I longed for the comfort of friends amidst the chaos of adolescence. My need for companionship made me vulnerable. When a boy, Jake, expressed interest in me, I clung to that attention like it was my lifeline. We hadn’t spent time together outside of school, but he pressured me to change that.
One evening, my parents were out, and Jake came over. What was meant to be a brief visit turned into a nightmare when he offered me a bottle of cheap wine. I was inexperienced with drinking, but I thought, “What harm could one drink do?” That one drink escalated quickly, and soon I felt nauseous and needed to lie down. He followed me to the couch, making unwanted advances despite my pleas for him to stop. As I vomited, he forced himself on me, dragging me to my bedroom where he raped me.
I felt utterly powerless and, strangely, guilty for letting him into my home. Society teaches us to bear responsibility for such acts, and I internalized that shame. After the assault, I passed out, only to awaken to him fleeing through my bedroom window as my parents arrived home.
My mother stormed into my room, furious at Jake’s audacity. Her anger turned to concern when I revealed that I had repeatedly said no. We went to the hospital, where a rape kit was performed, a horrifying experience that left me feeling exposed and alone. I received some minimal counseling, was told it wasn’t my fault, and given the morning-after pill because he hadn’t used a condom. My consent was irrelevant to him.
A week later, the police arrived. I expected guidance on what steps to take, but they stood awkwardly in my living room, treating me as if I were contagious. They asked if I wanted to press charges, and I hesitated, feeling immense weight on my shoulders at such a young age. Their questions implied I would ruin Jake’s life. Would I want to give him a record that could destroy his future? Didn’t I invite him in, and hadn’t we been drinking? It was as if my actions negated the assault.
They suggested I obtain a restraining order—a mere joke in my eyes. Not wanting to “ruin” anyone’s life, I accepted their advice and the accompanying shame. At school, I endured relentless bullying, labeled a “slut” and a “whore,” while Jake basked in his perceived innocence among friends. I sat alone in the cafeteria, ostracized and ridiculed, while he thrived, victorious in his crime.
I was left feeling isolated. I had been raped and blamed for it, and that burden was heavier than the assault itself. In the eyes of law enforcement and my peers, he was the true victim. This is not equality; it’s a profound injustice. While my story dates back years, the reality is that little has changed.
The Statistics
Statistics reveal that one in six American women has experienced attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. Annually, approximately 321,500 individuals aged 12 and older report sexual assault in the United States, yet only 344 out of every 1,000 assaults are reported. This means a staggering two-thirds remain unreported. Why? Because perpetrators of sexual violence often evade punishment. Of every 1,000 reported rapes, 994 offenders go free.
High-profile cases like those of David Becker, Brock Turner, and others exemplify a disturbing trend where rapists receive minimal consequences. This lack of accountability sends a clear message about how seriously society regards sexual violence, and women are acutely aware of this reality. Many choose not to report assaults due to fear of retaliation or the belief that their experiences aren’t significant enough to warrant police involvement. This should not be the case, and it signifies a failure of our justice system.
Conclusion
This is why the critics of the Women’s March are misguided. Women have legitimate grievances, and dismissing them only serves to belittle the experiences of countless others. The fight for equality is far from over.
Let us continue to raise our voices and advocate for our rights and the rights of others who face discrimination, both in the U.S. and worldwide.
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Summary
: This article recounts a personal story of sexual assault to highlight ongoing inequalities faced by women. It challenges misconceptions about women’s rights movements and emphasizes the necessity of acknowledging and addressing sexual violence and the societal attitudes surrounding it.