Rape isn’t always as we imagine it. It often doesn’t unfold in shadowy alleys where a predator brutally assaults another person, turning them into an object of abuse without consent. It isn’t always marked by violence or fueled by alcohol or the presence of twisted individuals. Sometimes, the assault comes from those we trust the most—those who have stood by us in tough times. It can happen at the hands of your closest friend.
How do I know this? I experienced it firsthand.
Not long ago, I was a new mom, trapped in my home for months, longing for the taste of a cocktail and the joy of laughing and dancing with friends. My partner encouraged me to take a night off, assuring me he would handle our baby’s routine. So, I went out with some dear friends, trying to relive the carefree days of our youth.
We drank, danced, and shared stories of how much we missed each other. At the end of the evening, since I couldn’t drive, my best guy friend offered to take my car to a girlfriend’s house. He was someone I had known since my teenage years—someone I had shared countless memories with and who had always been there for me. I thought he was a dependable friend.
When I married my longtime partner, my guy friend was there, but he seemed emotionally detached. I assumed his distant behavior was due to personal issues. Fast forward to several years later, I woke up in an unfamiliar room, naked and confused, next to someone I had trusted deeply. In that moment, I realized his previous emotional absence had been a sign of something darker.
He didn’t view me as a friend; he saw me as his possession. When he had the chance to assert control over “the one who got away,” he seized it, leaving me with scars that would last a lifetime.
I remember the nausea, the taste of whiskey on my lips, the pain coursing through my body. As I searched for my clothes and keys, the horrifying truth began to sink in—I had been violated by someone I considered a friend. I felt utterly humiliated, ashamed, and terrified. How could I go home and face my partner, pretending everything was fine? The thought of sharing my experience with anyone else was unbearable. I didn’t want to be the girl whom people blamed, the one painted as irresponsible or promiscuous.
I was afraid of being labeled as weak or of being accused of somehow inviting the assault. It took me a long time to admit it, but now I know: my best friend raped me. That’s what it is when someone takes control of your body without your knowledge or consent. It’s not something I concocted; it’s the reality of what happened.
I didn’t ask for it, nor did I put myself in a dangerous position by trusting a friend. Rape is not an accident or a mistake—it is an act of malice, driven by a complete disregard for another person’s autonomy.
Let’s be clear: Rape is horrific, degrading, and life-altering. It’s a cowardly excuse for a person who couldn’t be bothered to respect boundaries. The next time you think about blaming someone for being in the wrong place or for having too much to drink, consider the people you know who have been in similar situations. Does anyone deserve to have their dignity stripped away?
Our justice system often fails victims, but we can choose to support one another. Let’s call rape what it truly is: unforgivable and malicious. We need to stop blaming the victims and allow them the space to share their experiences without fear of judgment.
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In summary, the experience of being assaulted by someone you trust is deeply traumatic and can leave lasting scars. It’s crucial to recognize and validate these experiences rather than shame the victims. Together, we can create a space for open discussions and support.