I parked next to the blue Subaru Outback with its distinctive Vermont green license plates. Living with post-traumatic stress disorder means I am always hyper-aware of my surroundings.
After retrieving my yoga mat from the trunk, I entered my beloved yoga studio. I unrolled my mat in my usual spot, at the back with my back against the wall. As I sat in meditation, focusing on my breath and clearing my mind, preparing for 75 minutes of tranquility, a woman beside me interrupted to ask about the props needed for class. Clearly a newcomer, I got up to assist her.
We exchanged pleasantries, and she mentioned she was visiting from Vermont. I casually shared that I had served in the Coast Guard in Burlington back in 2006. That brief exchange was all we had before class began.
After the session, I returned to my car, and the Vermont woman headed to her Subaru next to mine. She thanked me again for my help in class. “So you were stationed in the Coast Guard by the lake?” she asked. I nodded. “Were you there during the rape?” I nodded once more. “Do you know the Coast Guard rape victim?”
I’ve become accustomed to this line of questioning; it no longer surprises me. Some say it’s a Vermont thing. A friend from the area once remarked, “Not much happens here, and your case gets talked about a lot.” Many Vermonters protested the Coast Guard’s lack of action regarding my horrific assault, demanding justice that I never received. However, I have been fortunate to receive immense support from the community, which continues to advocate for an end to sexual violence in the military.
This woman didn’t even know my name, yet she was familiar with the most traumatic event of my life. I replied firmly, “I was raped while serving at the Coast Guard Burlington. Please do not refer to me as the Coast Guard Burlington rape victim. I have an identity. My name is Anna Smith.
“Anna” is my first name. I was named after my grandmother, who was one of the strongest feminists I’ve ever known. Grandma Anna raised six children in Greece despite the overwhelming challenges after World War II. She worked tirelessly to provide a good life for her family, and all her children went on to achieve great success.
“Smith” is my family name, a name that carries its own history. It symbolizes resilience and strength, much like my father, who emigrated to the United States with little more than a dream and a few coins. Through hard work, he built a successful business that brought security to our family. I grew up in New York City without any lack, living a privileged life. My parents instilled in me the importance of using our advantages for good, encouraging community service and working towards dismantling societal inequalities.
As a child, I was taught to take pride in my name. I remember discussing with my parents the challenges I faced in middle school when my friends wanted me to stop being friends with someone they deemed “uncool.” My dad asked, “What does a Smith do?” That moment clarified my moral obligation; I stood up for my friend. In good times and bad, even after my assault, I knew my family stood by me, and I am incredibly grateful for that.
Now that you know my name, let me share who Anna Smith is: I am a loving wife to a wonderful husband (shout out to you, Mark) and a proud mother to a brilliant little boy (I might be biased, but he’s amazing). I am surrounded by caring friends I’ve met throughout my journey. I enjoy yoga, reading, savoring ice cream, and exploring new places. Yes, I still have nightmares about my assault, and I remain vigilant, fearing the day I might encounter the man who tried to redefine me as just a “rape victim.”
I am a person who experienced rape, but I refuse to let it define me. Don’t call me a victim or even a survivor. Call me by my name.
I am strong, ambitious, and empowered. I overcame a violent crime, shared my story, and founded the Military Rape Crisis Center to help others find their voices. I’ve advocated for legislation to protect others from similar fates. While I’ve faced setbacks, I’ve also celebrated many triumphs.
Rape was an event in my life; it does not encapsulate my identity. That label was assigned to me by my attacker, but who I am—Anna Smith, the mother, wife, activist, yogi, traveler, and friend—is defined by my choices and actions.
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In summary, it is vital to recognize individuals by their names and stories, rather than reducing them to a single moment of trauma. I am Anna Smith, and my life is so much more than my past.