How Being Raped as a Preschooler Affected Me and What I’m Doing About It
It’s hard work, but I’m finding the inner strength to stand up for myself.
Today I’m flying home in the midst of the coronavirus scare. I’m grateful for the medical mask that covers most of my face. It’s doing more than protecting me from the spreading epidemic; it’s hiding my tears.
I’m shaken. Rattled to the core. It happened again. One more time a date didn’t listen to me. He then disrespected my boundaries and took advantage of the situation. No, we didn’t have sex, but he kissed me, invaded my space, and verbally coerced me so that I felt forced to choose between hurting his feelings or sacrificing mine.
I hate how weak I feel in these situations. A part of me stands outside of myself and watches my pathetic passivity. My behavior angers and shames me. I’ve been a fool, I think.
There’s a reason for the passivity, though. A very good one. It’s something I don’t usually share because it’s too awful.
But I’ve decided to divulge it here. Maybe telling my story will break the emotional inertia I feel when cornered by an emotionally aggressive person. Even better, maybe it will help someone who reads this piece.
