For so many reasons, I can’t tell my story publicly. #WhyIDidntReport
But after reading this missive that @MonicaHesse received, I told my story for the first time to her in an email (and in a rage. It was a lot coming from a stranger I’m sure-sorry).
And after reading this from @realDonaldTrump...oh my god. Nothing has changed per the old white men currently running this country—and the complicit women letting them get away with this.
Speaking of, I saw @SenatorCollins at an event last week. She was lovely and kind and beautiful in person (no really. Her skin is fabulous). I wanted to corner her and tell her my story. Yell my story at the top of my lungs, actually. But I didn’t. I regret it.
#whyididntreport
#whyididntreport
So anyway, here goes.
The first time I was sexually assaulted, I was 13.
Super handsy boy on the bus when I was 12 and stranger who grabbed my crotch really hard while I was folding jeans at my high school job and chased me down a hall until I hid and cried for an hour in a rack of Carhartt coats: congrats. You both get a pass. #whyididntreport
I was 13. It was summer break. My sister had friends over. I was in my room.
Two boys from the group came in. I don’t remember what I was wearing. They pushed me down on the bed, ripped off my shorts and my underwear. #whyididntreport
They each took one of my legs by the knee and pulled them apart. I remember my legs shaking because I was fighting it so much. But they were strong-both athletes at my school. #whyididntreport
That was the first time anyone besides my mother or sister had ever seen me naked. #whyididntreport
They didn’t touch me. At least I don’t remember that happening. They just held my legs apart as I tried to fight. And they leered at me. And they laughed. And just held me there. #whyididntreport
There was a girl in the room. She stood in the doorway. She was a bully.
She was tall and strong and probably could have taken them on. But she didn’t. #whyididntreport
Instead, she picked my underwear off of the floor. They were light green and polyester-the kind your mom would buy you in the 1980’s. The kind that she wore. #whyididntreport
They were ratty and stained (I was 13. Wasn’t really thinking much about my underwear choices). #whyididntreport
She turned them inside out to show the boys them my gross underwear. And she laughed with them. #whyididntreport
And then they left. But they never really did.
It’s been 34 years. And to this day, I have a fear of bros that is unparalleled. I call it my “Fear of Male MBAs.” #whyididntreport
If one walks into a meeting, I cower. Someone from my company jumps in and takes over. I just can’t really work with them in any capacity. As you can imagine, it can tend to get in the way a fair amount.
My life is good. But I wonder sometimes what my life would have been like had I not spent so much of it so paralyzed by fear.
Maybe I’d be at my SCOTUS hearing, waiting to be confirmed. Maybe I’d be a Senator making the call. Maybe my life would be exactly as it is now.
But I will never know. #whyididntreport
And PS if either of these two boys (or that girl) were running for public office, you damn well better believe I’d have instead sent my email to the most powerful female politician I could get to. And ask her to keep it anonymous. #whyididntreport
