The Weight We Carry
The weight of surviving sexual assault is crushing. Guilt, shame, and fear become so heavy it becomes impossible to carry. Fear of not being believed. Fear of being ostracised. Fear of being put on trial ourselves, scrutinized and judged as the world asks, Are you the perfect victim? These emotions are all-consuming. They change us, reshape our lives, and alter the chemistry of our brains. For many survivors, the question remains: Why do we feel responsible for what was done to us?
As Sexual Assault Awareness Month approaches this April, I want to write about the weight of guilt, shame, and fear, and how we can begin to let go of it. I share my story because hearing other survivor’s stories eventually gave me the courage to reclaim my own. By speaking, I took my power back. I refused to carry this sick man’s secret any longer.
Sexual assault isn’t always at the hand of a scary man hiding in the bushes waiting for their next victim, or a violent attack in a dark alley. It is so often forced upon us by someone we know. Someone that we have crossed paths with many times, are familiar with, and maybe even trust.
One in three women globally has experienced physical and / or sexual violence in their lifetime, often perpetrated by someone they know. For men, the number is one in six. If you are one of these people and you are questioning whether to share your story, know this: whatever choice you make is valid. Whether you speak or stay silent, I believe you.
The Roots of Stigma: How Society Frames Sexual Assault
Only recently has society begun to align on the fact that consent is both legally and socially non-negotiable. As recently as the 2010’s, pop culture and mainstream media were littered with “jokes” that normalized coercion and blurred the lines of consent. That is a discussion for another article, but the point remains: the cultural lens through which we view sex and consent is still deeply flawed.
Survivors face a barrage of questions: What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Why didn’t you call the police? Why were you even there? Why didn’t you fight back?
Surviving sexual assault is life-altering enough. Adding the social and legal trials that follow often deters individuals from coming forward. If someone isn’t the perfect victim — blameless, likable, traumatised in a way that is palatable to the public — their experience is dismissed.
Shame is one of the heaviest burdens a survivor carries. It silences and isolates, leaving a constant feeling that we are somehow damaged beyond repair. It’s an invisible branding that lingers long after the assault, shaping the way we see ourselves and the world around us. For me, the guilt, shame, and emotional whiplash of the assault changed the way I saw and interacted with every element of my life.
How Shame is Weaponised Against Survivors
Shame is a powerful deterrent embedded in all cultures in different ways. While the source of shame may vary, the feelings it evokes are often similar. In social circles, survivors fear losing friendships if people side with the perpetrator, refusing to believe someone they know is capable of such violence. In professional environments, reporting sexual assault can lead to being labeled “difficult” or “dramatic,” and can often stunt career progression. In more conservative communities, survivors may be pressured to stay silent to “avoid bringing shame” to their families.The shame imposed by others is enough to keep many silent. But shame thrives in secrecy. It grows stronger in the dark. And yet, when survivors finally put their experiences into words, the shame starts to lose its grip.
The False Sense of Responsibility
Self-blame is a common response to trauma, and sexual assault is no exception. Feeling complicit in the assault is a highly reported experience among survivors. The self-blame thought loop is easy to fall into, but let us never forget to refocus our attention on the person who is truly responsible: the perpetrator.
It comes down to this: the assault happened because that person is a sexual predator. Not because of the clothes you wore or how much yous drank. A predator will always find their prey. Often, it is simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is a brutal and stark reality that I wish I could go back and tell myself. It would’ve saved years of self-loathing and agonizing over all the what-ifs of the night of the incident.
It is not our fault for trusting someone to do the decent, humane, and legal thing, which is to not sexually assault people. That isn’t much to ask. Expecting someone not to take advantage of you is a basic expectation, yet we live in a world where even that is too often violated. So let’s place the responsibility back where it belongs.
You wouldn’t blame a murder victim for getting murdered, or a carjacking victim for being robbed, so why is sexual assault treated differently?
My Story
I was assaulted by my supervisor. A man I considered a close friend and mentor. We had known each other for years. Our families had met, we shared career and life milestones, and I trusted him. One night, after a group of us had been out drinking, we ended up back at his house. He cornered me in a bedroom, blocked the door, and assaulted me. The next day, I confided in a close friend, who convinced me to go to the hospital. I refused the forensic exam. It felt too invasive, and at the time, I was certain I wouldn’t press charges. The doctors treated me, documented my injuries with photos and notes, and I left. I told no one else for four months.
During that time, I was consumed by shame, confusion, and self-blame. Why didn’t I fight harder? Why didn’t I call the police? Why didn’t I scream? I convinced myself it was my fault because I hadn’t done those things. The weight of it was crushing, and I was deteriorating in every way. Eventually, I broke. The secret I had been holding inside spilled out.
At first, speaking up didn’t feel like relief. It felt impossible. Terrifying. But as they say: Feel the fear but do it anyway. Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes. Any and all platitudes I could scrounge up to inspire the courage it took to face this process of seeking justice in the courts against my assailant.
As word spread of the incident and investigation that was taking place, other women that this man had assaulted began to come forward. One by one, until there were six of us from the same workplace that had all fallen victim to this man’s violent, devious agenda.
Every day that I didn’t want to keep going in the dragged out legal process, where I was the one who essentially ended up on trial, I found strength in the fact that holding him accountable might keep another woman from being his next victim. Not all of us saw justice for our cases, as many charges went unconvicted. In the end, he was sentenced to only three years in prison for his crimes against half a dozen women he was the direct supervisor of. A devastating reality to face after putting up a half decade long fight. But I would never wonder “what if” again. I could sleep a little better knowing that by coming forward, other women felt called to come forward as well and share their truth. That we may have put an end to his cycle of abuse and easy access to victims by sharing our stories and pursuing legal justice against him. Or at least made it a little more difficult for him to hide behind the title of a “trustworthy leader” any longer.
