The Invisible Impact of Me Too

April is Child Abuse Prevention Month, and the increase in news reports about allegations of sexual improprieties in Hollywood, the Hill, and beyond has angered and saddened me sometimes. But the victim blaming, shaming, and questioning by my family and friends triggered several revelations about my experience of being sexually assaulted as a child.

Me Too

1105 Georgia Road*. An apartment building much like the one depicted in the tv show “227”. My grandparents had lived there for years. My mom grew up in that same apartment. We lived in the same apartment with my grandparents on the 2nd floor during my younger years. Later, we would rent an apartment on the 4th floor.

It was nothing like modern-day communities. Everyone was like family, and we knew each other in the building. My older sister was still living at home, so I couldn’t have been more than 10. On this particular day, I begged to tag along with her to a friend’s apartment on the 1st floor. But after a few games of Uno, Battleship, and whatever else they were doing, I was bored and wanted to go back upstairs. My sister asked me to be patient; she would be ready to leave shortly. To assert my independence, I told her I didn’t need to wait for her because I could find my way upstairs. In hindsight, I remember our neighbor’s door not closing behind me as I stepped out of their apartment, thinking I probably should have taken the time to close it.

Someone grabbed my leg from underneath the stairs as I made my way up the main staircase (just outside my grandparents’ door). It was David, the twin brother of the friend we had been visiting. I laughed and said, “boy, you better leave me alone.” I wasn’t ready for what happened next.

He grabbed my crotch and told me to return to the apartment. And before I could reply, he had come around the stairwell and was right behind me. He tried to unbutton my pants with one hand while stroking my crotch with the other, all while pulling me down the stairs. I remember wishing I had on thicker pants. At that moment, my voice had left my body. I was scared. Terrified. That’s when I saw him.

Bobby, another neighbor and family friend, was in the corner watching us. He was older, an adult. And a close family friend, unlike my attacker. Surely, he would put a stop to this. But I knew immediately that he wasn’t there to help. To this day, I can’t quite place the look in his eyes. Pleasure? Curiosity? Satisfaction? He was WAY more terrifying than David. Had he been there all along? Was he somehow in cahoots with my attacker?

I heard the door from one of the upper-level stairwells fling open. Giving David enough time to pull away from me before Richard, another teenage male neighbor, appeared at the top of the stairwell. I’m not sure what he saw or sensed, but the look he gave me and the way he chatted up the other two felt like a warm hug on my cold, stiff body. I immediately darted up all four flights of stairs home, not stopping at the closest haven, my grandparents’ place. And I never told a soul.

Invisible Impact

The irony is that before this incident, I viewed David and Bobby as family and not a threat to my safety. But if I’m being honest, had someone told me that Richard (the one whose actions saved me from further assault) did this, I wouldn’t have batted an eye. He was the stranger. The annoying older boy whom I had been wary of. Yet, who knows how different my story might be if it wasn’t for him?

For me, this highlights many misconceptions that many of us carry about sexual assault and abuse.

MISCONCEPTION#1: Stranger danger.

Most child sexual abuse occurs at the hands of people that know the victim. Often family or close friends.

On the surface, it would appear that this incident didn’t impact me much in the days, months, or years to follow. Life went on. We moved from the building later that year, although my grandparents remained until I went to college. My sister remained friends with David’s sister through high school until they eventually lost touch. I, however, never stepped foot in their apartment again. I avoided David and rarely saw him. He died quite a few years back. I remember my shock at the audible sigh of relief that escaped my mouth upon learning of his death.

My interactions with Bobby were never the same. Unlike David, Bobby was a close family friend, the cousin of my mom’s best friend, whom I call my aunt. He lived with his mother, whom I affectionately called Aunt Charlene. Bobby and I never got along. Somehow that seemed to spill over into my relationship with his daughter. His daughter and my younger sister were close. I remember one incident when I visited Aunt Charlene with my younger sister and Bobby’s daughter. They both often teased me about being overweight. Such jokes never bothered me, as this was common throughout my childhood. Something about this particular time upset me, and I ran down the hallway to my grandparents’ apartment sobbing. Bobby and his daughter followed me, with my sister in tow. When my grandparents asked what was wrong, for a split second, I almost blurted out the story of my assault until I heard my grandfather apologize and saw the look in Bobby’s eyes. That same look. He told my grandparents I was not welcome at his mother’s house anymore because he was tired of me mistreating his daughter. I was older, so everyone assumed that I was the one doing the mistreatment. I didn’t want anything to do with him or his daughter. Years passed, and I did my best to avoid Bobby. It wasn’t too hard because he became involved in drugs and stopped coming around as much. When Bobby died, that was the first time I told my family what had happened. My mom had been disappointed in my ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude and disinterest in attending his funeral. So I told my mom and sisters, downplaying it the way I had in my head for years.

I also told bits and pieces to my husband while we were engaged.

For so long, I didn’t deem my story worthy enough to share. After all, I wasn’t repeatedly abused, molested, or even raped. I’m sharing now because we need to act, but we can’t act without sharing our stories.

MISCONCEPTION #2: Trauma has a hierarchy.

The only distinction between traumas is how it impacts the victim, not the trauma itself. All instances of sexual assault, abuse, and harassment should be validated equally.

It’s interesting how our bodies react amid trauma. Recently, a friend and I were discussing the litany of new stories, and he wondered aloud, “why didn’t some of these women fight back? I mean, throw something, scream.” Feeling triggered, I calmly whispered, “you never know what you will do until you’re in the situation.” He replied, “well, maybe you don’t, but I know me. I’m a fighter.” In my head, I said, “me too.”

Me too. I was always the loudest, most outgoing, and boisterous Carter girl on the block. Yet during my attack, my fight was nowhere to be found. At that moment, I was paralyzed by shock and terror.

MISCONCEPTION #3: If a victim doesn’t fight back, either verbally or physically, the assault is invalidated.

A year or two after the assault, in 8th grade, a classmate touched my butt as I walked past his desk in History class. That was a big mistake on his part. The fight that was a previous no-show came pouring out in what would become the epic beatdown of Mr. Hall’s 7th-period class. We both received a week of in-house suspension.

That fight would repeatedly show up throughout my late adolescence and early adulthood, always on behalf of a friend or family member being mistreated or assaulted. There was a time a friend’s abusive boyfriend showed up at school looking for her with a gun in his waistband. A friend and I devised a plan where she would jump on his back while I went for the gun. Not the brightest idea. Luckily, no one got hurt. I eventually checked myself when I found myself seeking a way to seriously harm my mother’s husband, who had been abusive. I knew then that I needed help. I began to see a therapist. And while she helped me learn to redirect my rage, make amends with my mom and even forgive her husband, we did not discuss my childhood assault. Honestly, I never even made the connection until now.

MISCONCEPTION #4: Some victims of sexual assault are not impacted.

People are affected in different ways. The subconscious mind can step in when the conscious mind can’t or won’t. For years, I thought I wasn’t affected “enough” and punished myself. Here I am, over 30 years later, and my entire professional life has been dedicated to advocating for abused and neglected children. Mind blown.

It took me 32 years to tell this story and connect the dots of impact.

If you question why sexual assault victims “wait to tell someone or wait to get help,” the answer is: because of people like you. The question you SHOULD be asking is why so many in our society feel entitled to commit such violations. Sadly, the answer is the same.

What you can do:

1. If you have been a victim of sexual assault, tell someone you trust.
2. Believe victims when they do find the courage to come forward.

So, why did I wait? I didn’t think my story mattered. Now I know it does. I do. And so do you.

For more tips on preventing and responding to child sexual abuse, download my free e-book here.

*All personally identifiable information has been fictionalized to protect the innocent.