Imposter Syndrome as Sexual Assault Survivor

Once I developed breasts in fourth grade, I was granted access to the magical world of male attention. How special. In fifth grade, my soon to be off again- on again ‘boyfriend’, remarked “your boobs look big in that shirt.” YES! My cotton, teal Hollister T-shirt accentuated my blossoming B cups which were held by a hot pink polka dot Limited Too bra. I was in. In the years to come, I climbed the sexual scale with flying colors. Hand stuff in ninth grade, check. Oral by junior year, check. Losing my virginity at prom, check. All the while, when my “no’s” were ignored, questioned, or shamed, I succumbed. It’s normal to have to be convinced (or sometimes forced) to do sexual acts right? I became the perfect student of rape culture.

Into campus life...

The “fun” continued in college, and I was able to leave on the patriarchal googles I was given. There was a lot of coercing, some stealthing, endless fake orgasms, and well, a whole lot of ‘grey’. Of course at the time I would have never labeled any of these experiences as nonconsensual, they were normal- “just what hooking up is” (thank you shitty high school sex ed). Because of this, I was able to keep up the persona; I was the “I don’t give a f*ck girl.” The girl who parties and hooks up with senior frat guys. The girl who always hates herself the next day, but plays it off because it makes for a good story. The girl who needs male attention because she was taught that her only worth lay in her body.

I kept the mask on, until it shattered. I was sexually assaulted in the middle of my second semester. And while in some ways this was “just another grey” situation, my body told me otherwise. From the moment he left my dorm room, I felt the weight of this situation. This was different, drastic, life changing. The patriarchy bubble burst open before my eyes, leaving a flood of flashbacks, trauma, and shame for me to mop up.

The clean up process was, and continues to be, emotionally laborious. But after transferring universities, therapy, and delving more into #metoo content, I slowly put my pieces back together. I am now an advocate for survivors and use my art to dismantle rape culture on college campuses. I talk to fraternity guys about how to end sexual violence and have more pleasurable hookups. I even “came out” as a survivor on Instagram. And yet, sometimes a wave of insecurity washes over me with whispers of “but was your experience even that bad?”, “you weren’t even r*ped”, “people will find out you’re a fraud”, “can you really dedicate your life to this?” And I am here to label this imposter syndrome as another bull shit symptom of rape culture.

Breaking up with Rape Culture

Rape culture has taught me to adapt the attitude of “well that was kind of bad, but it’s fine” or “it could have been worse.” These principles pushed me down a rabbit hole of sexual abuse because I never felt like what happened to me was “bad enough.” I felt the need to meet some quota of pain in order to be considered a true survivor (whatever that means). And if you have ever felt this way, I want to tell you that this is patriarchal CRAP.

Our culture has normalized abuse so much so that we are left to feel like our experiences are not valid, which silences us. If we do not come out with our stories, the cycles of abuse can continue to thrive in secrecy. I want to reiterate some basic principles that have gotten lost in patriarchal lies: we should not have to be touched in ways we do not want to be. We should not have to do things just to “get it over with.” We should not feel traumatized at a place where we are supposed to be getting an education. We should not have our no’s be ignored. We should not have our choice stripped from us. Period.

I am a survivor because I feel like I have survived. I do not need to prove that my pain was worthy of this identity. I get to reclaim this for myself, and I hope you do too. I love you fiercely, fellow survivor.

In solitary.