I was just barely 15 years old, the first time that I was not raped. Our parents were all at a bible study or homeschool parents group. I’m sorry, your honor, I do not remember which. It was simply 25 years ago. He was the popular guy that even the adults thought was cool, and his sister was one of my best friends. They were painting their younger siblings’ bedroom and my parents let me “hang out” to help.
No, sir, I do not remember the location of their home. I was young, naive, and didn’t even have my driver’s permit yet. All I knew was that I was shy and completely shocked that the cute cool guy was flirting with ME?!?! Wow. I was all-kinds-of-awkward and didn’t have a clue what was going on, or why he kept giving his sister, my friend, things to go get or do outside of the room.
Did I fight back? Did I scream? I didn’t know I was supposed to. I remember trying to be nice or behave or something; anything so that he would not do more or do WORSE to me. I remember waiting for my friend, his sister, to come back to the room which took absolutely forever. I assumed that she would come back and yell at him and he would get in trouble. Instead
I had never been told how to tell a boy not to touch me. Honestly, I hadn’t been told that boys would WANT to touch me. I just knew that people had sex when they got married and purity meant waiting until then. I only knew about marital consummation. Nothing about flirting, foreplay, abuse, or rape.
What was I wearing? I have no idea.
No, your honor, I am not suggesting it is my parents’ fault. It was their responsibility to teach me and that wasn’t a generation that did that, but not their fault.
Do I remember telling my parents? No. Maybe,
No, I’m sorry that I don’t remember the exact number of bruises. That doesn’t mean they weren’t there. I definitely remember them.
No, I do not have photos. There were no cell phones in 1993.
What did mother say? She asked why I was playing so rough in the first place, especially with a boy. I decided at that moment not to give more details because, if the bruises were my fault, I already knew that the rest was.
I mean, it wasn’t like he had actually raped me.
The date? I know it was in the late winter, because I wore jeans for two weeks to cover the bruises, in California.
Witnesses? I told my brother in the parking lot of some sort of public event just past the public restrooms next to our family van. But then I had to downplay it because he was literally going to KILL the guy and end up in jail for it himself. I begged him to not tell. I promised it wasn’t that bad. I knew it could have been worse. He could have raped me.
Yes, I saw him a few times again. I was young and so confused and I let him touch me again because I couldn’t understand how I was supposed to NOT let him. He just did.
A few months later we moved I was safely halfway across the country. I moved on and forgot about it, grateful that it was behind me
Yes, I know. It has been 25 years…. And a few months, I think? Yeah, I don’t have all the details.No sir. Again, I do not remember the date. I didn’t keep a google calendar at 15 years old, in 1993.
Yes, I am now 40 years old.Why am I telling you now?
Because it took me twenty-five years to realize that it wasn’t my fault, or even that there WAS a fault. Nobody talked about these things 25 years ago.
Movies taught us everything our parents did not.
Animal House taught us that groping was a joke, a rite of passage and a right of boys in fraternities.
Sixteen Candles taught me that a girl who was stupid enough to be alone with a guy and/or drunk may as well be driven off in a convertible buy some other guy as if she were a lottery ticket.
I don’t even want to get into Weird Science. Not doing it.
They taught us it was normal, and it’s not. I
don’t know how our generation is supposed to grapple with that.
As women. As men.
I was a child.
We learned this all together, as children. All of us.
What happened to me was wrong, it was sexual assault. Even if I laughed because I didn’t know what to do. Even if I didn’t tell. Even if he didn’t rape me.
No sir, he’s not the only one.
He’s only the first of the ones who did not rape me.
END OF TESTIMONY.
As I was folding 15×2 loads of laundry this morning, I somehow found myself watching the live feed of the Supreme Court proceedings about whatever is up with this Kavanaugh allegation thing.
I was watching and listening with an open mind when, one after one, memes started popping up in the background of my facebook feed.
Memes about boys-being-boys
Memes about unborn babies needing the protection of this man, whether he did it or not.
Memes about women being:
Forgetful, Exaggerating, Lying, Gold or publicity diggers, Having Agendas, Faking it, Using a cute, young infantile voice because she was coached, An actor who spent 6 hours with a lawyer to prepare
Suddenly, mid fold of a 12-year-old’s camo overalls, the memories flooded back over me of twenty-five years ago and not being raped.
Now, I am a confident, well-adjusted and content women who has not lived in trauma by the pain #$$#(! !#$@% inflicted on me. Seriously, I was not raped. I was not stalked, and I have no idea what the last 25 years of that kid’s life have looked, and how he has matured into adulthood. I have no idea if he feels remorse.
But I do know what I felt like, the night of my 22nd birthday party, halfway across the country when I never, ever expected to see him again. I hadn’t considered him or that in years.
I was at Bahama Breeze, surrounded by friends to celebrate my birthday and the restaurant was packed. I had been to use the restroom and while walking back to the packed table of people who loved me, I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, at the back of the restaurant. A tall figure slowly stood up from a table.
Involuntarily, I glanced that way and staring back at me was a face that I had not considered since I was a freshman in homeschool. The air around me stood still and I somehow, thank God, found myself transported back to my seat on feet that worked without my brain being able to function.
I told myself I had lost my mind.
There was no way in a million years that person would be in Kennesaw, GA at Bahama Breeze on a Friday night in December 1999. His family had moved to Chicago right after my own left California for Georgia.
That could not be him.
It took about 15 minutes for me to get the guts to look that way, toward the back corner where he had stood. He was walking toward the door with a woman, child in her arms? I think?
I’m not really sure, because I was focused on his face, intentionally staring right back at me with a grin that I hope and pray to never see again. He did that thing guys do, a quick tip back of the head in acknowledgment, like saying, “What’s up.” His expression was not kind. It was knowing. It was sick.
That is the last time I saw him.
I somehow made it through the rest of the night without vomiting, mainly on rabid willpower and the knowledge that vomit would require another trip to the bathroom.
I was not going there.
That dinner was on Friday night and on Sunday after church I went to my parents’ house for lunch. It was December, and she had a few Holiday Cards she had received out on the counter for me to see, from people we knew. The second card was from Mrs. !#$@% with a photo of her big family, including adults. Included was a note explaining how her son and his family had moved down to Kennesaw and she hoped that maybe we lived close and would be a good contact for him. She shares some details about his life and such. He sounded so great on that little paper.
I sat down.
I took a deep breath.
And. I. Told. My. Mom.
That was 18 years ago. I am a 40 year old woman with 6 kids, a full and beautiful life, a farm, blessed beyond measure by a God who loves me. I am in the middle of starting a project that will specifically address how to speak to our children and empower them to have the confidence to stand up for their faith, their rights, their bodies, and their selves. I share pretty deep and vulnerable on a regular basis, but I have never shared this. In fact, I don’t know that my husband has heard as much detail about this as I have just thrown together to share with you, dear World.
It looks to me like there is absolutely no way to prove or disprove any of the testimony heard today or to gather much evidence to make the facts known conclusively. Unless the “other guy” comes forward to confirm, we may never actually know the truth on this. Ever.
Y’all, I kinda don’t care about politics here. Like, at all.
I don’t really know if this is something that should disqualify Kavanaugh from being sworn in or not, was a full investigation to happen and he
I’m pretty sure that is the bottom line truth for most of us. We just don’t know for sure, and it is way too early for the flaming and polarization on this. It’s crazy.
All I know is that mid-fold I looked up and I saw myself there, facing the-one-that-did-not-rape-me. I look back and see that even I defaulted at the time to
“was just being a boy”,
didn’t even count,
could have been worse,
too long ago to matter.
I have to admit, it makes sense to me that someone would come forward many years later and I care about women being encouraged to do that, as much as I care about men being innocent until proven guilty.
Note: I watched 5 minutes of her testimony and found it believable. I absolutely believe this woman was assaulted and has suffered like 1 out of 3 women you know. I watched none of his but have heard equal cries of extreme belief and disgust from people who did watch, both sides digging in with brutal villainization and also of blind support.
I have to tell you that I didn’t watch because I know my experience changes how I hear it. I knew I could not see him and listen, without thinking of my own assault. I don’t believe that I am capable of watching it objectively today. Maybe another day.
But I know this to my absolute core.
A nation of women and girls are reliving their trauma. Whether the case before us is proven to be valid or not, we are walking right back through it. Survivors are suffering and assault has touched just about every woman you know, on some level.
I imagine what it would do to me, if it were #$$#(! !#$@% up there and I really have to consider what I would do. What would be my responsibility if that guy was about to be given a say in the moral choices and rulings that would affect our entire nation? The power that would affect my choices and my body? And my daughter, who happens to be just 15 now herself?
And, just so no one is confused, I say this as a 100% pro-life advocate. He has admitted that he has no intention of overturning RvW, so what are the Christians in this for? Why is he a pro-life-or-bust hill to die on?
Today I considered what I was watching, the power that could be in this man’s hands and I have to say, if it were the popular teen guy with the great future who many years ago held me down and sexually assaulted me? If I saw his face all over the news, portrayed as a saving-grace for our nation, but never having faced a single consequence to learn from what he did to me and who knows what others?
I think I’d tell the world.
I think I would have to.
But then, I know this guy did this to me. I don’t know that Kavanaugh did, and I cannot assume that anger.
And then should I insist that he or my own assaulter couldn’t have changed? The amount of groping and drinking in 80s movies basically makes it seem like a horrific norm that we are finally eradicating from our culture. Like, movies were teaching our cousins and classmates to do it. But, is there a line of rehabilitation and purpose after someone has abused? This is way too complicated to answer with a generalized Yes or No.
I’m going to be honest, I would be open to proof that #$$#(! !#$@% had turned into an awesome father, husband, and man of God. I believe that even the guilty have value and hope, and the potential of rehabilitating hope and light in their demoralized souls. I’d absolutely accept a humble apology from a man who had changed and was redeemed, trying to live a holy life now, 25 years later. Heck, if he’s an atheist and told me he knew he had hurt me and was deeply remorseful…that would be helpful. I mean, I still wouldn’t trust him near my 15-year-old daughter.
Still, I never want to be the one to make the call on the state of someone’s soul, and whether it is past the point of no return. Ever. Never. I am too flawed.
I also have brothers, a husband, and a son, and I know how terrifying it can be to consider one of my own “family’s men” being accused falsely. What if this *is* completely fabricated to create an opportunity to discredit a candidate? What of the rare but real instances that are not true? What happens when a family is ripped apart brutally for a political purpose, for something that truly never happened? What if yours was, or mine?
Honestly, the guy who assaulted me shouldn’t get off easily after leaving bruises on my body but I did laugh and I didn’t know to scream or say no. So what does he remember?
He may be horrified to realize that our culture at the time taught him that it was ok, and maybe now he would be sick over it? Actually, maybe not in my case. Because, over 30 bruises…really.
Yeah, I know.. but I laughed a little. Some of you may take that as a “my bad.”
He does not get a pass on doing it but I haven’t, in my case, confronted him. I have no idea what God could have done in the last 25 years in his life, or not done. I honestly hope there was redemption there, I do, for the good of every woman he has or will encounter in his life. Maybe not as much for him. Forgiveness is a work in progress. I’m working it, gnashing of teeth and all.
There are so many potentials in each of these complicated situations. They are brutally messy and awkward. They are times to trust God and be silent until proof or judicial rulings give us some insight.
This current public instance is something that you and I around the country can’t really make a good
I want to tell you what is killing me now, the bottom line of this.
As someone who is watching the fallout and also as someone suddenly facing that I was sexually assaulted in 1993 and didn’t have the courage or frame of reference to call it that until 2018, I have to say…
The memes,
The sideways jokes on either side.
The absolute declarations either for or against, as if your faith in God and entire identity is based on this one situation. While it is still a
You have GOT to stop it.
To the Christ-bearers of truth who are snickering and posting lewd supports of Kavanaugh, just because he wears an (R.).?
Stop it. There are multiple other moral issues at stake and he’s already admitted he doesn’t have your back on “The One Issue”, people.
Your daughters and nieces are watching. They are learning how you respond. Why would they ever tell you a thing about who has touched them? Why are we mocking any woman who comes forward 25 years later? Do you know her personally? Do you have a stake in her past and future? Some people do take that long to come forward. I mean, I JUST DID IT MYSELF.
And our SONS!!! The men-of-god we are raising?
You are setting a course of terror.
People are villainizing this man who has NOT been proven
OUR CHILDREN HEAR YOU.
Are you actually trying to preach this on your social media? Is this your method of showing Christ? Is this the Way? The Truth? The light?
Who of your “Friends” on Facebook, those who will see what you are posting… WHO OF THEM ARE YOU YELLING AT? Who is that tweet dripping with spiteful rage aimed at? How are we, as the people of God respecting the dignity of each of these persons and their value as a human soul? Those in the case and those who we are speaking to?
Friends, this is brutal. This filthy spite and rage is not holy, and it is not ok.
Dear Christians,
Our people are being completely gutted and brutalized, and it has nothing to do with if
In the name of Jesus, our only hope in the messy humanity of things like these,
Please stop cannibalizing His body.
to drown out the hate and dirty that we are surrounded with
and share the raw that we all need to know,
THEN I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE.
Episodes are being prepared now. Sign up for my mailing list.
Wow. Thank you for being so open and vulnerable. You speak with great courage. And you speak the truth of so many survivors. Thank you for taking the time to put all the mixed up emotions and hurt in the light.
Brutal, yes, but well written and valuable too. I love you too. My children never cease to amaze me. ❤️
Oh my goodness! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you for being vulnerable and coming forward, thank you for this post!
Woah…. Everything I think and feel about this, everytime it is brought up in the media, is written in perfect detail here. I’m so grateful for your bravery, Talitha, and your willingness to share it, with the love of Messiah in your heart.