One in Three #NoMore

Bear with me, I'm writing this on my phone.

Yesterday the news story started creeping into my Facebook feed.

A college student raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster, was caught by two eyewitnesses, and got SIX MONTHS in prison. Six months.

The super brave victim wrote her story down for all to see. (You can read her powerful testimony here. ) Thank you Buzzfeed, for giving her a platform. I am in utter and total awe of her strength and conviction.

And also, her story resonated with me. Why? Because I am one in three.

One in three women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime. Usually before they even reach their 30s.

Immediately after the fact, I became obsessed with this statistic. Why me? Why did I have to be a statistic? I had made it 18 years without being one. And then, all of a sudden, I was. Was I supposed to feel better about it? "Oh, don't worry, it happens to a third of the female population. No big." I mean, rite of passage, ya?

Shortly after, my life seemed to take off on a series of events that I felt powerless over. My identity felt ripped away, accusations bounced around in my head. "You're making too big a deal out of this." "You're ruining his life." Once the quintessential church-going good girl, I dove head first into college, binge drinking, secularism. I became voiceless. I had no one to talk to. My friends didn't understand (praise GOD), and when they tried I ended up re-traumatizing myself by trying to explain and relive that horrible night. After a particularly botched counseling session in college I tried, and loved, marijuana for the first time. I drank 3, 4, 6 nights a week. I learned the perfect combination of cocktails to make myself forget. Those sweet, sweet, blissful hours of forgetting.

So I became silent. Like the girl in the headlines I too drove around, turned the music up, and screamed until my throat was raw and hoarse. Once a praise and worship, pop and punk listening girl,  I developed a taste for metal, hard rock. I discovered the band Thrice and started to heal while I screamed along to their lyrics.

"Don't be a victim" they say. "Don't let this control your life" they say. But I did. That's a funny thing that happens when you are violated without your consent. You start to lose your grasp on the meaning of the word. My whole life turned into "it just happened to me." I lost my voice. I lost my conviction. I had to slowly retrain myself to give myself "consent" back. I succeeded. It took me several years, many great friends, and guardian angels keeping more violent and ill intentioned people away, but I rediscovered my consent.

And even still, it follows me. It's been 11 years this past May. And it hits me in the gut. It attacks me in my motherhood, the most sacred place. My PTSD from being kidnapped and sexually assaulted keeps the nurses hawk eyed on me after I give birth. Indeed, after my second sons traumatic birth I was in fact hospitalized for post partum depression. Maybe a different woman would have been stronger. Maybe a woman who hadn't been tormented would have been more resilient.

As I write this my gut sinks in that familiar way. Panic rises in the back of my throat. But I'm done being silent. I'm done with the guilt. Because I have children, because I have a daughter.

And the panic crests when I think of sending them out into this world.

1 in 3.

Will my precious, beloved daughter be 1 in 3?

Will we have a society that continues to blame victims?

Will her voice be silenced before she can even speak?

What of my sons? Will they be victimized too? (We must be careful not to limit sexual violence to one gender. Violence does not see gender. We must see the violence.)

And so we must fight NOW. We MUST speak up NOW. We must change our justice system NOW. it's 2016. Maybe my educational experience was flawed but I grew up thinking the world had evolved in some way. Repeatedly I find it is ever much the same, with racism, civil rights violations, human trafficking RAMPANT.

No one likes to talk about this "ugly stuff." But the ugly stuff is there and you don't have to look very hard for it. That's why we have half a million social justice warriors come out swords blazing for a gorilla, but not near as much spotlight for the human trafficking that happens during the Super Bowl.

Fight. Speak up. For yourself, for your children, for the dignity of humanity.

Let the statistic haunt you as it haunted me; as it still haunts me all these years later.

1 in 3.


Edited To Add: Gosh guys, Im loving the encouraging feedback.  But I want to clarify:  I NEVER NEVER would have had the courage or motivation to write and share this if it weren't for this brave woman who came forward, for the benefit of us all.  Most of the time I'm content to sweep my feelings about this under the rug and into the past.  To be sure, I have experienced incredible healing and mercy from this at every turn.  And justice?  Did I get justice?  Who's to say.  I don't know where he is or how his life turned out, all I can do is pray for the best and hope that I was his last victim.

But when I think about my daughter...long before she arrived in my uterus, I was terrified of having a daughter.  Because I KNEW.  I knew I would then be compelled to look into my darkest places.  To confront my deepest scars.  I knew that I would have to be my best self...BE a strong woman so that she would know HOW to be strong.

This is my baby step forward, for me; but mostly, for her.

My justice, her justice, your justice, our justice...will come when six month prison sentences for rape-crimes are unheard of.

We're not there yet.

Cherishing Footprints

It's slightly cliche, that saying about people walking in and out of our lives but leaving footprints on our hearts.  I suppose I prefer to think of it as pieces of our heart dedicated to individuals; our memories of and love for them.  The piece of my heart that belongs to Kait Schlegel is significant and at the moment, feeling a little empty.  Our memories were not complete.

I was supposed to see her this summer at a wedding.  Our ten year reunion is right around the corner.

And yet, I feel selfish for wanting more time with her.  Her friendship was so rich, such a gift during our teenage years.

We shared much during that time.  Chorus, select chorus, musicals...a few classes here and there (let's be real the girl was brilliant...I didn't take near enough Honors or AP classes for our curriculum to overlap much), and youth group.  Oh, youth group...I think that's most likely how we met.  I feel so blessed I got to pray and worship and sing with her so many times there.

There are a few specific memories of Kait that stand out the most, and highlight her beautiful personality.

Our junior prom she hosted a fun sleepover after party.  I remember staying up and talking in her room, pulling copious amounts of bobby pins out of our hair.  I went to a few parties at her house for various birthdays and special gatherings, always having a blast, laughing until it hurt.  She came to my birthday parties, too.  I still have the 2 page letter she wrote me for my Sweet 16.

Senior year I got in a serious car accident on the highway.  I was fine physically, but the next day at school I broke down in tears right at the end of chorus.  Kait was the one who held me while I cried, who tactfully and fiercely shielded me from prying eyes/our choral teacher's reprimand that the bell had rung.

In our Musical Theatre class we were stoked to get put together for the number "Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better."  I remember singing it in class, out of class, being ridiculous together and laughing.  (Most memories of Kait involve that, and I'm sure I'm not alone in that.)

Other memories are hazy now, vague from both years gone by and the plenitude of them.  I remember that she gave great advice; I turned to her frequently for help with romance, friendships, school, etc etc. She was my cheerleader, lifting me up when I was down on myself or lacking confidence in my abilities, whether they be academic or musical or whether I just had the blues.

I think that some of my favorite memories are from our junior year English class.  We sat right next to each other, at a group of four with Matt and Brittany.  Constant giggles and laughter.  Constant.  I used to write her these long, elaborate poems that she absolutely HATED.  I would rhyme her name with anything and everything I could think of, writing them on the margins of papers and the backs of notebooks.  "Kait is so great, she's a great date, you can pick her up at eight, but make sure you're not late"...and on and on and on.  It got to the point where it could have ended our friendship if I didn't stop.  (Just kidding :P) She was my number-one proof reader.  I probably owe any good grades I got in that class to her, actually.  She was so smart.  I loved hearing her speak french, so fluently.

These are just an iota of all the good times we had together.  I regret that it's been almost 8 years since graduation; 8 years since we last spoke and saw each other.  Besides some facebook contact, we never really stayed in touch.  I wish she could have met my husband and son.  He loves to laugh as much as she did.  It's so easy to picture his face lighting up at her laugh.  But I know that this is the pain and beauty of growing up; we go out in the world and say goodbye to some to say hello to others.  It doesn't take away from the friendship we shared, and I am eternally grateful for our time together.  Kait touched my life in many ways, and I am  a better person for knowing her.

Rest in peace, Kait...I love you, I miss you, and I pray we are reunited again someday <3