A Letter to Friends of Sexual Assault Victims- What to do When You Don’t Know What to Do

Dear Friend,

I had just moved to Michigan. I went for a walk with my best friend, savoring every drop of sunshine and the fact that after years of being apart, we were finally living in the same city. It was on that walk that we finally had a chance to catch up on all the things that hadn’t made it into our weekly phone calls. She began to tell me about her job at a nonprofit dedicated to helping women and children find freedom from domestic violence. Through this work, she has heard and seen countless stories of abuse, of pain, of trauma. She began to tell me a story she’d heard recently of a woman who came through their doors, and I found myself struck by her words.

Before I even knew what I was saying, I blurted out, “those exact things happened to me…” The conversation shifted gears quickly as I began to recount a night just a few days before.

“He stood up as I laid there, not fully clothed, and he said, ‘you aren’t going to tell anyone, are you? You have to think about my reputation.’ When he kissed me, I froze. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. He took my clothing off and I was incapable of responding. When he left, I laid there, numb. I didn’t feel anything.”

Voicing this began a year-long process of learning to name that I was sexually assaulted.

Our Facebook newsfeeds are flooded with stories of rape cases, of women who were assaulted, of organizations working to change the conversation and to eliminate victim-blaming. We find ourselves overwhelmed by the prevalence of rape and sexual assault, as though that is simply the price we pay for being women.

One in five women surveyed and one in 71 men said they had been raped or had experienced an attempted rape at some point, according to National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey. The New York Times reports that of those, a vast majority of women and roughly one-third of men reported symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

My story is not unique. This happens all the time.

As I’ve reflected on the last year of my life, I cannot emphasize enough the role that my community played in walking with me through the darkest days.

It’s with that in mind that I say to every friend of an assault survivor: We need you. We are desperate for community, and you are vital to our healing process. I know that figuring out how to respond well is challenging: We can express rightful outrage on behalf of a stranger, but feel paralyzed when the victim — or the perpetrator — is a friend. Here’s what we’re going to need from you as we continue to heal, process, and move forward.

1. I need you to believe me.

Trust me, I grew up in this culture, too. The victim-blaming is about all I can hear, it plays on repeat in my head. It’s difficult to speak about this — not only because I can’t make sense of it, but also because I am so afraid that when I finally feel like I can share, you won’t believe me. That unbearable thought drives me to silence. If I share with you, know that it has taken me a lot of time and courage to put to words unspeakable experiences. I need you to honor that, and I need you to know I am telling the truth. I need you to believe me.

2. I need you to not ask the terrible questions.

Sometimes it feels like it would be easier if this was my fault: It would be easier to feel like I had some sort of control and could prevent this from ever happening again. I am also desperate for it not to be my fault. I replay that night over and over and over again. All I can see is where I went wrong, where I misled, where I was to blame. It took a lot for me to be able to stand firmly and speak that this wasn’t my fault, and it’s still something I don’t quite believe yet. I need you to not ask the terrible questions. Do not ask me what I was wearing. Do not ask me if I was drinking. Do not ask me if I think I might have warranted this in any way.

3. I need you to not be freaked out.

Please know that I am terrified. I am afraid of so many things. I am afraid of losing my friends and family. I am afraid of being too much. I am afraid that this will be too much to handle. I am afraid that I won’t ever be okay. I am afraid that you will be overwhelmed by me. I am afraid this experience, if I speak honestly about it, will scare you off. I need you to not be freaked out. Being a non-anxious presence makes all of the difference. Show up, grieve with me, lament with me, feel with me. For you to sit with me and to let me be anxious while you can be a steady, constant friend, will help me feel like I will be okay one day. I feel like my world is crashing down all around me, and there is nothing I can do about it. You help me feel like being okay and at peace are possible for me.

4. I need you to name that this is wrong.

Over and over and over again, tell me that this should not have happened. Tell me that this should not have been my story. Tell me that I did not deserve this. Tell me that this was wrong. I need you to name it. Your willingness to speak this truth may seem insufficient, but it matters. Oh, it really matters.

5. I need you to hold hope for me.

I feel like I am never going to be okay again. I don’t know how to be at peace with my body, with myself, with others, with the world. I don’t know how to heal, or if healing is even possible. The idea I have of what my new normal could be does not seem promising. I want to be hopeful but that feels impossible. I need you to hold hope for me. I need you to stand in the gap for me. When I can’t reach hope, I need you to hold my hand and I need you to hold hope’s hand. I need you to believe for me when I can’t.

6. I need you to be okay with not knowing. I need you to be willing to be honest. I need you to be okay with not having anything to say.

You are a dear friend who cares for me, which is why I have welcomed you into this part of my story. I have no idea what to do half the time, and I know that you don’t have the answers either. I don’t need you to have answers, I need you to be my friend. Offering words for the sake of offering words is not necessary. You don’t have to know, you don’t have to feel equipped, just be with me. Keep me company in having no idea what moving forward looks like — do not cheapen the depth and reality of my pain by offering insufficient answers. It’s okay for you to tell me that you have no idea how to help or what to say, because I don’t expect you to. Just be in it with me.

7. I need you to let me hold multiple realities in tension.

· My favorite moments happened in our relationship. The relationship was abusive.

· He is an incredible guy. He abused me.

· She is an incredible girl. She abused me.

· I know it isn’t my fault. I feel like I am the one to blame.

· I know my abuser has a story and a life beyond their actions. My abuser’s decisions and actions drastically changed my life.

This list could go on forever. I don’t know how to make sense of it all. These things are all true, are all real, but they seem to contradict one another. Help me see that these conflicting realities can co-exist, that one doesn’t negate the other. Help me as I try to understand the full truth, the full picture. Let me take time to get here, do not force me to see another perspective. I will arrive here as I continue to heal, and I will need your help learning to let all of these things be true and part of my experience.

8. I need you to let me talk about it. I need you to let me talk about everything else.

This is a huge part of my story. This is not my entire story. I will need to talk about it — sometimes more than others. It will be helpful for you to name that you are committed to being my friend through this process. Tell me that you want me to feel freedom to discuss it as I need to. Feel free to ask me if I want you to bring it up in our conversations. Or, feel free to just ask me about it. Follow-up with me about specific difficulties I have mentioned in our earlier conversations. Let me tell you if I’d rather talk about something else, and do not feel bad about that. Trust in how I am learning what I need as I navigate moving forward. Trust that our friendship is safe enough for me to be honest. Ask about it, because it is real. In not asking occasionally, it will feel like you have forgotten or you don’t realize the weight of this in my life. Don’t ask about it all the time. I will need to talk about work, family, my apartment, my dog, the latest gossip from college friends, and the weather. I want to be your friend, too. Tell me about what is going on in your life. Let me care for difficult things you’re experiencing. Let me talk about being sexually assaulted, but let me also talk about everything else.

9. I need you to let my story be different while also being the same.

We have heard countless stories of sexual assault, of trauma, of rape. We’ve heard them from other friends, from family, from the media. Let me resonate with those experiences. Feel free to offer them. They help me feel not so alone, and they often give me language for things I am not sure how to articulate. Don’t bind me to them. While there will be parallels, my story will look different in so many ways. Let me glean from these stories and experiences what is consistent while also learning to voice how and why my story and my healing look different.

10. I need you to remind me that hope comes. I need you to remind me that healing comes.

Healing takes time, healing comes quickly. Healing isn’t linear, nor what I expect. It comes. Being sexually assaulted will affect me for a long time — but it will not always look like I predict it to. After a while, who knows how long, I won’t think about it all the time, but then days will come that I can’t think about anything else. I need you to continue to remind me that healing comes, that hope comes. As time goes on, I will believe it more and more, but will need reminding every once in a while.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your willingness to walk through this with us. We won’t always have the words for how much we appreciate you. These things may be simple, but do not underestimate them. Your faithfulness and consistency as dear friends makes a profound difference, and is integral in our healing. Thank you for helping us know that we are not alone.