Lately, I’ve found myself deeply unsettled by the backlash surrounding the Women’s March, particularly the dismissive questions like, “What’s the big deal about inequality?” or “Can you explain how you lack equal rights?” It often feels like these inquiries are less about seeking understanding and more about asserting that inequality is a myth, or at least not significant enough to warrant concern. Critics seem to imply that women are simply overreacting—after all, this isn’t a developing country where women face extreme oppression! They argue that we’ve made enough progress to have no reason for complaint.
Comments urging women to stop their “whining” and to be quiet resonate painfully. The reality is that inequality persists, even if not everyone has personally encountered it. Yes, we have made strides, but there is still a long journey ahead. So, let’s delve into a topic that encapsulates this struggle: sexual violence.
This is my personal story, shared for the first time beyond my husband. It’s one of countless narratives reflecting the injustices women face, not just in America but worldwide. I have no shame in recounting it; in fact, recent events have prompted me to revisit this experience, reminding me that I am a survivor—not a victim, but an overcomer, and I take pride in that.
I recognize that my story may unsettle some, including my husband, who asked me to speak softly while I read it aloud to him, wanting to protect our son from hearing something so dark.
When I was around 14, my family relocated to Pennsylvania from Michigan—a challenging transition during my teenage years. I was searching for a sense of belonging amidst the upheaval of adolescence. One day, when a boy my age showed interest in me, I held onto that attention desperately, craving companionship. We hadn’t spent time together outside of school, but he pressured me to make that happen, making me feel his interest would fade if I didn’t comply.
One night, when my parents were out, he came over. What started as a short visit quickly escalated; he brought a bottle of cheap wine. Although I was inexperienced with alcohol, I thought, “What’s one drink?” That “one drink” turned into several, and soon I felt nauseous. I asked him to stop his advances, but he ignored my pleas and dragged me to my bedroom, where he assaulted me.
In that moment, I felt powerless and, bizarrely, guilty for allowing him into my home. Society teaches us that we are responsible for our own safety, leading me to believe it was my fault. After the assault, I passed out and awoke to find him escaping through my window as my parents returned home.
My mother was furious upon discovering a naked boy fleeing from our house. Yet, my turmoil only deepened when I revealed that I had said no repeatedly. We went to the hospital for a rape kit examination, a traumatic experience that marked the first time I felt completely vulnerable. I was alone, too embarrassed to have my mother in the room during such a harrowing examination. I received some counseling, where I was told it wasn’t my fault. Yet, the morning-after pill was prescribed, as if my well-being was an afterthought.
A week later, when the police arrived, I was unprepared for their response. They stood over me, jotting notes, and asked if I wanted to press charges. Their tone suggested I would be ruining his life, as if my trauma was secondary to his future. They suggested I obtain a restraining order instead, reinforcing the stigma I would carry. Consequently, I became a target for bullying at school, labeled a “slut” and “whore.” I lost the few friends I had, left to sit alone while he thrived socially, surrounded by peers who belittled me.
This experience left me isolated. The emotional scars of being blamed for my assault often overshadowed the physical pain. The reality was that he was seen as the victim, not just by law enforcement but by my classmates. This is not equality; it’s an injustice. While my story may not be recent, it echoes a continuous struggle that many women face today.
Statistics reveal a grim reality: one in six American women has faced an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime. Each year, around 321,500 victims aged 12 or older report rape or sexual assault in the United States, yet only a fraction of these cases—344 out of every 1,000—are reported to authorities. The vast majority of perpetrators remain unpunished; 994 out of 1,000 reported rapes result in freedom for the offender.
High-profile cases, such as David Becker, Brock Turner, and others, exemplify this troubling trend, where justice is often not served. The lack of serious consequences for rapists perpetuates a culture of silence among victims, who may fear not only retaliation but also the inadequacy of law enforcement’s response. This environment discourages reporting and reinforces the notion that these experiences are too personal to share.
Critics of the Women’s March overlook these critical issues. Women indeed have valid concerns, and dismissing them only perpetuates the cycle of inequality. We still have a long road ahead, and it’s essential that we continue to raise our voices and advocate not just for ourselves but for all who face injustice, both in the United States and globally.
Let’s keep the conversation going, and together, let’s amplify our voices for equal rights.
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Summary
This article shares the deeply personal account of a woman who faced sexual violence at a young age. It highlights the ongoing issues of inequality and the stigma surrounding rape victims, emphasizing the need for continued advocacy for women’s rights. The narrative underscores the grim statistics surrounding sexual assault and the cultural barriers that prevent victims from seeking justice. The author calls for solidarity and active participation in the fight for equality.