Your Humanity is your Secret Weapon
**The following blog might be triggering for some to read. If it is too much to read, it’s always okay to take care of what you need and give yourself the permission to stop reading**
The first time it happened, I wasn’t sure what was happening or why I wanted to crawl out of my skin. My body was not my own. I numbed out, fell asleep, and rushed out of where ever I was the next morning. My brain was still foggy. “I think I had too much to drink,” I thought. I was 21, and that was the first night I had stayed out all night because I had finally moved out of my parents’ place and did not have to report back. Or be barraged with phone calls and texts every 15 minutes after 9 pm. Yet, a part of me wished someone was calling me every 15 minutes. A part of me felt dirty and wrong. Another part wanted my mommy and wanted to feel cared for and safe. If none of this makes sense, this is more coherent than I had ever been around the first time I was sexually assaulted. No one ever knew about this situation. Or to those I felt brave enough to share with would have heard me say, “yeah, I have no clue what happened. Oh well, I was really drunk. Nothing happened”. The truth is, I had two drinks. I was not drunk, but I sure felt like I had more drinks than I thought I had, and I believed that whatever happened must have been my choosing that night.
The year after, I ended up in a committed relationship. Every time we had sex, I would find myself numbing out and flopping there almost like a dead body or making pleasured sounds while all I wanted was for everything to stop, to run away. There were times when it felt okay, but most of the experiences were difficult to bear. And I was so confused as to why. I thought it was my fault that I couldn’t be giving in a loving relationship.
I found I was moving further and further away from myself, from my humanity. I didn’t know what I wanted. I would agree with what the other wanted and then feel this pit in my stomach. I think it was telling me some of those choices didn’t feel right. I didn’t listen to it. I numbed out emotionally. I threw away my humanity.
A few years later, my long-term relationship ended. And dating became a whole new experience. Online dating through apps was exciting, and they were also difficult to navigate.
“What were you supposed to do on a first date? What does it mean if I say yes to hanging out at their place?”
These questions were what I found myself asking and what I heard about often from friends who were also participating in online dating. More experiences came up where I felt dirty and wrong, and I doubted myself and my ability to make “smart choices.” I met nice people who were pleasant during our first encounters, so it was very confusing when those nice people behaved in ways that made me feel trapped and uncomfortable.
Luckily, by the time I started online dating, I was seeing a therapist. She was my North star throughout this experience. She helped me recognize that my experience at 21 years old was sexual assault, and I was likely roofied. She made me realize that because I agreed to meet someone in their home doesn’t mean I am giving them consent to touch my body. She gave me a new narrative that if I say “no” and someone doesn’t listen, and I don’t move, that is my survival instinct kicking in, and my silence is not consenting for someone to continue to engage in whatever it was they were doing. She gave me strength. She taught me to appreciate and connect with my humanity again. The part of me that I had thrown away.
There are still times I fear my humanity, and I fear the feelings that come with it. Because when I do feel it, then the floods of memories come back from each assault. It is a lot to feel. However, by reclaiming my humanity, I have also been able to voice that I will not be used or treated as though I am something that someone can take whatever they want from. I am a person who needs to be seen, heard and understood.
“Silence is not consent, someone not fighting back is not consent, and someone drunk cannot give consent. I won’t give away my humanity again. I want whoever I am engaging in sex with to see and know my humanity.”
I hope you don’t give away your humanity. I hope you hold it close and listen to it. I hope if someone does tarnish a part of your humanity, you’ll be willing to reach out and let someone else embrace you in all that you are, just as my therapist did.
Vivian is a clinical therapist who supports individuals by helping them learn to embrace their humanity through their history and experiences. Vivian works with people to help them cope with changes and challenges. Vivian believes that everyone deserves a safe and non-judgmental space to share their stories.