Surviving Rape Culture: Conversations with Survivors
An Interview with Amanda Lorei and an Anonymous Survivor
Today, as I write this, the Cosby trial has ended with a hung jury, a mistrial. To be honest I’ve been trying to avoid the coverage. After all, is it anything I haven’t heard before? A woman — in fact many dozens of women — experienced something horrible at the hands of a man. That man and his surrogates are compounding that violation by attempting to publicly humiliate and smear her. This particular woman is unique in that she may eventually get some approximation of justice.
It’s been impossible to totally avoid the details, of course. The creepy groping, the pills, the groveling apology and offers of money. It’s not my story, but it’s close enough to hurt. There’s been a ball of sickness in my stomach for days. I’ve been struggling to focus.
As sexual violence takes root as a topic of national conversation, one component is missing. It’s easy enough to talk about the moment of trauma. It’s shocking, even titillating. Survivors’ post-traumatic reality, however, is gray and quotidian. It’s not thrilling reading.
Life goes on, in a reality that’s deeply hostile to us. A New Hampshire state senator advocates rape under the guise of internet pseudonymity. Our president does the same, out in the open. It’s in the news, discussed breathlessly, shared endlessly. We’re told that rape is the worst possible thing that can happen to a woman, that we’re marked forever, that putting our own names to our experiences is an act of bravery bordering on recklessness. We’re told to shut up, that we’re lying, that we’re ruining men’s lives. And we’re told we still need to perform at the level of our peers, academically and in the workplace.
This is rape culture: waking up each morning knowing that 26% of Americans voted for someone they knew was a rapist. Waking up knowing that men are dangerous and cowardly. Going about your day in the face of a horror too large to fully comprehend.
There’s no roadmap for navigating trauma. Online resources are few and focused on the immediate aftermath. In the positive column, numbers are on our side. So, so many women (and a few men and other folks) of my acquaintance have experienced some form of sexual violence. What if survivors pooled their wisdom? What if we treated the coping mechanisms of survivors as worthy of study?
I reached out to a survivor who I greatly admire to ask about her methods of survival. This piece owes as much (or more) to her strength and grace as it does to my writing.
How does trauma crop up in daily life for you?
After experiencing neglect as a child I came to expect to be forgotten by anyone I’d encounter. It’s strange to have to realize that people remember my face. My whole childhood was spent pretty much being forgotten so I got used to that, and I still feel like I’m forgettable sometimes.
What does being forgettable mean to you? Is there something comforting about it, or is it inherently traumatic to be forgotten?
Well, it can be comforting for someone like me with social anxiety. The fewer people that remember me the less I have to maintain a rapport. But it hurts when I think people forget me because I feel like that little girl in me hasn’t grown.
I can relate to that feeling of arrested growth — like there’s a teenager inside me who’s hurting and who I need to protect. Do you feel like there’s anything you can do, as an adult, to help the little girl inside?
I can try harder to like myself. I’m really good at letting a lot of external factors affect my Self concept, and that behavior doesn’t help the girl in me who needs validation from my present self.
I feel like you’re touching on the ways that self-care is so challenging — it’s work to keep yourself going, it’s not bubble baths and face masks. And if you don’t do it, no one will.
Right, it’s the mind. If your mind isn’t right it doesn’t matter how your skin looks or how good you smell. I have weeks where my appearance was haphazard and I felt really good about myself and my survival through adversity. But my mind was clear and I was much more compassionate to myself.
It’s especially hard if you’re receiving negative messages about yourself and your worth from the culture around us.
Yeah, just in my existence [as a black woman] I’m believed to be unintelligent, incapable, unattractive, and criminal in this world. And so I have to create my own world where those beliefs don’t apply to my reality. But that’s difficult when your reality is embedded in one that is violent toward you.
It takes a lot to stay soft in your demeanor and positive in your outlook when you look like I do. I’m learning that every single day.
Tell me more about staying soft. Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m so angry, like I can never let my guard down. Choosing softness feels like a pretty radical and scary thing.
It’s hard for me too because I just remember all the valid reasons to be rigid. But I think it’s primarily being able to stay gentle toward yourself so that your own internal harshness doesn’t begin to spill outwardly.
This week is harder than others to remember that I need compassion and understanding. I just want things to be a certain way so badly and the fact that they aren’t keeps my mind locked on the perspective that I’ve failed in some way.
One feeling that I’ve had lately is that staying resilient is really hard — bouncing back from setbacks and disappointments, staying soft, taking care of yourself are all tasks that never really end. You just have to keep going. And that gets so exhausting.
So it’s okay to fail at those for a bit. Like it’s okay to be exhausted. In it you feel sort of helpless, but I’ve been trying to remember the cyclical nature of emotions.
I don’t have the answer to how to keep living. If it’s a puzzle I have, like, three pieces. My friend has a different three. My hope is that if survivors can communicate with and support one another, we’ll be more able to survive, thrive, and agitate. The world is unkind, but we’re tough as hell.
I envision this as a longer project — potentially a recurring feature in Tart, or something more. If you’re interested in being part of it, please reach out! You can reach me at survivingsexualassault@gmail.com
Amanda Lorei is a Stanford grad and fledgling writer interested in trauma, justice, and unruly women.
