Recently I shared an article from NPR titled Seeking Justice For Campus Rapes, and I was surprised there was not more outrage at the statistics. I thought we would hear the stories on on NPR, read the research, and start to fix the system.
Well that did not happen, but there was one student affairs professional that volunteered to share. This is her story…
Like most college students, I was under the impression that “It could never happen to me!” As a naïve undergrad, there were so many reason I could come up with why I was exempt from all the horrible and scary statistics they kept throwing my way. Besides being untouchable, I was smart and I was always safe. We partied in groups and only with people we knew. While we were out, we didn’t take drinks we didn’t pour ourselves, and we danced the night away with our hands over the tops of our red Solo cups. We had designated look-outs who abstained from drinking and made sure everyone made it home safe at the end of the night. We even hosted frequent sleepovers at each other’s places just to make sure nothing shady happened after we got home.
It was fool-proof…until the night I was raped in my own apartment, in my own bedroom, while my friends and roommates crashed outside my door, by a guy who I’d know and been close with for almost a year.
I had been looking forward to this weekend for months! My roommates and I were hosting out-of-town guests and we were hell-bent on showing them a good time. They would arrive on Friday afternoon at which time we planned to commence the pre-gaming. Friday night to Sunday morning would be a blur when we would drag our hung-over-selves to IHOP for greasy hangover-curing-food and we would see them off, a little worse for wear, but with some killer stories to share back home.
All went according to plan. Friday afternoon pre-game, check. Later that night, we took our guests to a party at a friend’s place. There wasn’t a single person in the room that I didn’t know, and I was going home with some of my best friends in the world – LET’S DO SHOTS!!! Upon arriving home after the party, we stumbled up the three flights of stairs to our apartment, laughing the whole way. Once inside, we changed to our pj’s and hung out a little longer, telling stories of nights this one would be compared to in future tales. Everyone was so happy to be together and we were having such a great time – at that second nothing could have ruined the high.
Eventually, everyone was tired and we headed off to bed. Three of us lived in this particular apartment, me included, so we were the lucky ones with real beds. Everyone else claimed couches, futons and floor space – there may have even been someone in one of the bathtubs. The place was quiet and I was dozing off into a drunken slumber when my bedroom door cracked open.
He said he was uncomfortable on the floor and wanted to know if he could crash with me. I thought nothing of it and rolled over to make room for him in my bed. After all, he had a mega-crush on one of my roommates, and our relationship had always been mutually platonic, so it was no biggie. He started to snuggle up to me which I thought was a little odd, but still, whatever, I was drunk and just wanted to sleep. When he tried to kiss me, I suggested he go next door and give it a go with the girl he really wanted. He didn’t leave.
The experience, as I remember it, wasn’t violent. I was hurt physically and confused mentally, but he didn’t yell or tear at my clothes or hit or scratch. Neither did I.
I cried. I told him he was hurting me, and asked him to stop. He didn’t listen. I repeated my requests, but he continued. When it was all over, I turned over, put my face into my pillow and sobbed until I fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, he was still in my bed. I asked him to get out of my room and finally, he obliged. Those were the last words I spoke to him – when he left my room, he continued on out the front door – when I got up, I didn’t ask where he’d gone or if he’d be back, I already knew the answer.
For the rest of the weekend, I put on a happy face and played nice like nothing happened. After the weekend, I kept on going through life like nothing happened. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t talk about it, I didn’t even think about it. I was fine…nothing happened.
I’m not sure where the communication broke down for me. I knew in my heart of hearts that I’d been raped, but something in my mind wouldn’t let me admit it and begin to process the experience. Thinking back, even if I did want to report it, I was too scared to call the police and I didn’t have the first clue who to contact on campus, especially during the weekend. At the same time, I know I’d seen signs for offices offering help to those in tough situations and I’d been present for speakers on the topic.
My experience is in the past and thankfully, I was able to eventually open up about it and get the help I needed to move forward with my life. But just because what happened to me happened nearly a decade ago doesn’t mean there aren’t college-aged students who will experience nearly the exact same tragedy this weekend, and the next, and the next. As college employees, and even more as professionals who work with students on a daily basis, it is of utmost importance that we beat these kids over the head with the priceless information that they could care less about hearing.
Posting a sign is not enough. Hosting a speaker or two is not enough. Whatever we do, I don’t believe we can stop crimes like rape, but we can work toward the goal of planting the seed in every students’ mind so if they unfortunately fall victim to something they can’t stop, at least they’ll know where to go and feel safe doing so. Instead of hitting them with statistics and handing out brochures of offices they should contact, just let them know you’re a safe person who will help them through the process. Even if you’re not the person they need to end up with, you can be the person they come to for help.
