The first time I didn’t report it because I didn’t know it was wrong. I was 8 and was molested by an older cousin. My dad and aunt said that it wasn’t okay but that he was just curious and boys just have different urges and do these types of things. It wasn’t until a while later that I realize just how fucked up their response was to try to make it a “boy will be boys.” There are many reasons I am not close with that side of the family (Mom and Dad divorced when I was younger).

The second one I did report. I went to the bar with friends, ordered a drink, and woke up naked. I crawled under my bed just trying to process what happened and where my memory was and stayed there. I think that is the most broken I’ve ever been. My friend and sister immediately supported me and believed me and convinced me to report it (boyfriend reacted like I cheated on him but that’s a whole other story). I went to the police, did the interviews and rape kit. They identified the attacker. Then they found a snippet of video of me at the bar where they said “it looked like I was having a good time and just drunk” so they didn’t have anything to press charges. It didn’t matter that I didn’t remember a single thing, it didn’t matter I never gave conscious consent, it didn’t matter that a tampon had been shoved up against my cervix and only found during the rape kit. By that point I just wanted to stop trying, I was tired of the interviews and being told there’s not enough evidence. I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. So I let it drop after they told me they wouldn’t press charges.

What people don’t realize is if you report it, it’s not a single moment of courage, it’s weeks of reliving the attack. It’s weeks of being brave and strong right after your entire world has been shattered. I have very supportive family that would believe me in a heartbeat, I am an assertive professional, but I would be lying if I was said I was 100% certain I would report it if it happened again and that truth still haunts me.