This shouldn’t be my story

He was my boyfriend at the time. We were in the mountains of Colorado for one of my friends’ weddings.

We had been dating for … some months by this time. I had crushed on him for months at school — I had been working and he had been subbing. We had it set up so one of my friends would send him on errands to my room. How the butterflies would tickle my skin when he walked in. I felt like the teenagers I taught, caught up in this almost-budding-romance-that-I-wished-for.

I think I learned some time later that when we first met, he had a girlfriend. At some point, as we got to know each other through silly run-ins at school, his relationship ended, and one officially started between us.

He’d picked me. Too often during my young — or even not-so-young-adulthood — these had been the giddy words that rose up within me when a new relationship began. Suddenly, in tandem with a young man I deemed so good-looking, I turned into a desirable flower. Something to be chosen from the corner shop.

He’d purchased me with casual dates. I remember one moment specifically when a woman whispered to me while he and I were out about what a beautiful couple we were. We’d been noticed, how good it felt to be named one part of a beautiful pairing.

I wish I could say something like, “During these months of courtship…" not to be old-fashioned, but to indicate some level of formality, to demonstrate there were clear boundaries established. But dating hasn’t really worked that way for awhile.

At this time, one of the ways I practiced my Christian faith was through abstaining from intercourse. I had been clear about this with him. I had been direct. He had indicated that he respected that.

At the wedding we were drinking. I’d heard that alcohol could affect you more while in the mountains, but I had never experienced it. And I was having so much fun. I’d developed an affinity for beer after moving to Colorado, and good beer I was imbibing. He was drinking too; albeit he was a much more seasoned drinker than I.

The reception ended and a pack of us traveled to my friends’ hotel room. More drinking. But with friends. And my boyfriend. Not driving. Laughing. Being silly. Safe.

I didn’t make a habit of heavy drinking. And I know I write that to prove I was “a good girl.” You can’t say a good girl asked for it, can you?

I’d probably had too much. This occurred to me when it was a bit too late. Too late for what, though? Too late to feel good in the morning? Too late for a serious conversation?

Too late to remember much of what happened in the next hours. But enough clips of it to know.

I remember skipping with my boyfriend away from my friends. I remember. I remember them saying, “Hey ____, don’t …. tonight.”

There’s an image imprinted in my mind that I won’t describe. Then there’s a blackout.

A wake up the next morning, sick in the bathroom. A bad feeling. A nauseating trip home in the car with him and my friends. A falling into my bed in the condo I shared with one of my best friends. At some point, a call with him. “Did we ….?” “Yes.”

Except we didn’t. He did..

I’m sitting here watching my cursor. Why didn’t I break up with him? In the least, why didn’t I break up with him?

I never land on a satisfying answer. There isn’t one.

But I’ve also been asking the wrong question. Why in Heaven’s name did he believe it was okay, excusable, acceptable to do what he did?

And there are many answers to that. All of them much more terribly nauseating than that car ride two decades ago.

This story has lived in my body for all of these years, but has lived in few other spaces. So why share now? Also not really the question to ask, but I’ll address it:

The Cornell 7 has been one of the most triggering media stories for me. The past week it has blown up my social media, and with one of the 7 a Korean national, it’s blown up in my school as well.

“The Incident” as it has been coined in some messaging (ask Jane Doe if she’d name it so), has been the impetus for conversations this week at school between administration and counselors. How are we educating our students about consent? How are we talking to them about being an upstander and not a bystander? We know you are good and wonderful and want to do the right thing — what are the barriers to acting? How can we overcome those? How are we helping them feel safe while also getting the message across that a society that is safe for women can not be built by women alone.

So what do we do, anyone who has stumbled upon or been directed to this post?

We don’t debate what is or is not sexual assault. We don’t say to girls or women, “Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Maybe if you hadn’t had so much to drink. Maybe it was the flirting … the short skirt … the choice to walk home alone…”

We mobilize. We meet and plan sessions for students. We allow them space to share their voice anonymously. We ask our children how they are processing. We ask them what they need.

We open up conversations in our homes.

We find resources to share with parents — you start talking about consent at 2 years old, with all genders of children.

You tell your toddler she does not have to kiss or hug anyone when she doesn’t want to, including mom and dad. You guard the boundaries she was born with with your life.

You fucking hope the world is different for her soon. And you know it can’t just be the women — the wonderful women who show up for each other and then for people they don’t know — to change it.

I am shaking as I reread this post the morning after I have drafted it. I really don’t want to focus conversation on my “incident.” I want us all to be moved to motion by the actual fact that 1 in 5 women in the United States experience attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. Look around the room you are in. Count the women around you. Do the math.

Some resources:

How Men Can Fight Toxic Masculinity and Rape Culture

5 Things Men Can Do To Help End Sexual Harrassment and Assault

See Bridget.ParentCoach’s latest Instagram post

Don’t Hug Doug (He doesn’t like it) (picturebook)

Yes! No! A first conversation about consent.

Unpack purity culture with Dr. Celeste Holbrook

Books for when your feminine rage is simmering (or beyond)

That’s What Friends Do — a middle grade book about giving and receiving consent

Challenging Conversations, Talking Masculinity in Schools (a one-hour webinar)