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untonugganPeople talk a lot about sexual assault on college campuses, talking to college students about consent, yadda yadda.
It needs to start much, much earlier.
Here's why, based on my own personal anecdata.
By the time I went to college:
- I'd been non-consensually groped by a dude who took advantage of the fact that I'd just been dumped; he used the same M.O. on a friend of mine. I am eternally grateful to the other student who accidentally interrupted before my groping went as far as my friend's. (would not be surprised if he is now a serial rapist, honestly)
- I told a teacher about the groper, but my friend wouldn't come forward because her parents would have locked her in a tower, possibly with a chastity belt to boot. My teacher gave him a lecture, but told no one else (to my knowledge), his parents nor mine were never notified, and he suffered no other repercussions other than knowing that I had notified an authority about him. WHICH WAS THE BEST.
- I'd been in an emotionally and sexually abusive/exploitative relationship with a dude I met in one of my classes. When I broke up with him by coming out, he offered to transition so we could stay together. He later came to my place of work and lingered for three hours trying to "be friends", and it just so happened to be the day I was wearing a costume for children's party-goers. My older coworker did not pick up on his creeper vibe, and volunteered him to hold my hand while in the giant sweaty awful costume so I did not trip. Fortunately he only did this the once.
- I'd witnessed friends in abusive relationships, and also seen those same friends stay in crappy relationships with dudes who ignored all their interests because those same dudes met the gold standard of "not being a rapist."
- when mental health providers asked if I'd been abused, I honestly said "no" believing I had not, because what happened to me (except for the one groper dude) did not fit the image in my head of what rape or assault was. I mean, when I was hospitalized briefly for depression I met a 12 year old with a kid -- surely whatever I was dealing with was totally legit right?
- I spent half of prom trying to warn the date of the serial-groper that she might want to watch out for him; she blew me off when I found her in the bathroom. I really hope she was okay.
When I went to college:
- two of my friends (from different schools and different areas of my state) approached me to let me know that dudes we knew mutually were (a) going to my school; (b) going to be in my dorm; (c) had raped them (one using alcohol to almost cause a black-out); (d) that I could not tell anyone, because they could not deal with the blow-back from rape accusations.
- I spent large parts of my first freshman semester trying to keep my friends and roommate from going to drinking parties in the rooms of dudes I knew had raped friends of mine. I struggled with if it was ethical to warn them and violate a friend's privacy, and if I told a friend whether I would be disbelieved and ostracized for being a weird dyke with a chip on her shoulder and no proof. Would I get in trouble with the school for an honor code violation of spreading rumors?
- One of a troop of boy scouts on tour of my campus tried to peer in my bathroom window just as I was getting out of the shower. I told no one and hid in a corner with the blinds drawn, terrified, until they left.
- Our orientation included dire warnings about walking across campus in the dark or going in the woods, but the one time I took their advice and called for campus police to give me a ride they never came. I was crying by the side of the road when a guy from my dorm offered to walk me back. I accepted, knowing full well that he could just as easily be a rapist himself but...better the rapist you know? This was before cell phones, and my other option seemed to be sleeping outside or walking back myself.
- the woman I dated briefly was three years older than me, and we did not have clear ways of communicating consent. I was attracted to her, but I was also dealing with a lot of feelings (and honestly PTSD) without really dealing with them. we broke up shortly after consummating our relationship.
- when I went to parties with friends, I drank nothing and kept an eye on them for fear they would get roofied or cornered by people. I did not relax or have a good time. I was terrified that even though I was sober and clear-headed(ish), something would happen to me anyway.
I spiralled into depression, told no one about any of the PTSD-related issues I was going through because I did not know how to name them myself (oh, that I had taken women's studies that semester!), and nearly killed myself. My university responded by suspending me until I could certify before the honor committee that I would never put myself at risk in that way again, which as someone at that point diagnosed with chronic mental illness I could not honestly say.
This all happened before I turned 18.
I transferred to a school closer to home, which was a much better fit for me but meant living at home which is a whole different story.
Moral of the story, if there is one: we need to talk to people we consider "children" about consent, even if it's uncomfortable. It doesn't have to be about sexual consent at first. Let them decide who gets to touch or hug them.
And for the love of god, please don't threaten to harm "anyone who touches your daughter." From my experience, that is a sure-fire way to guarantee your child will not come to you if she's been harmed, because she is afraid of what will happen. Open up channels of non-judgemental communication, so if your kid does something you don't approve of your first response is not, "How could you?" and a ban-hammer but listening and compassion. Because I too was afraid that if I told my parents things I was uncomfortable with, I'd have to quit my job and never do anything with friends again, which were also not great options for my mental health.
*drops mic*
ETA: signal boosting or sharing open because I'm tired of being silent about this shit.
It needs to start much, much earlier.
Here's why, based on my own personal anecdata.
By the time I went to college:
- I'd been non-consensually groped by a dude who took advantage of the fact that I'd just been dumped; he used the same M.O. on a friend of mine. I am eternally grateful to the other student who accidentally interrupted before my groping went as far as my friend's. (would not be surprised if he is now a serial rapist, honestly)
- I told a teacher about the groper, but my friend wouldn't come forward because her parents would have locked her in a tower, possibly with a chastity belt to boot. My teacher gave him a lecture, but told no one else (to my knowledge), his parents nor mine were never notified, and he suffered no other repercussions other than knowing that I had notified an authority about him. WHICH WAS THE BEST.
- I'd been in an emotionally and sexually abusive/exploitative relationship with a dude I met in one of my classes. When I broke up with him by coming out, he offered to transition so we could stay together. He later came to my place of work and lingered for three hours trying to "be friends", and it just so happened to be the day I was wearing a costume for children's party-goers. My older coworker did not pick up on his creeper vibe, and volunteered him to hold my hand while in the giant sweaty awful costume so I did not trip. Fortunately he only did this the once.
- I'd witnessed friends in abusive relationships, and also seen those same friends stay in crappy relationships with dudes who ignored all their interests because those same dudes met the gold standard of "not being a rapist."
- when mental health providers asked if I'd been abused, I honestly said "no" believing I had not, because what happened to me (except for the one groper dude) did not fit the image in my head of what rape or assault was. I mean, when I was hospitalized briefly for depression I met a 12 year old with a kid -- surely whatever I was dealing with was totally legit right?
- I spent half of prom trying to warn the date of the serial-groper that she might want to watch out for him; she blew me off when I found her in the bathroom. I really hope she was okay.
When I went to college:
- two of my friends (from different schools and different areas of my state) approached me to let me know that dudes we knew mutually were (a) going to my school; (b) going to be in my dorm; (c) had raped them (one using alcohol to almost cause a black-out); (d) that I could not tell anyone, because they could not deal with the blow-back from rape accusations.
- I spent large parts of my first freshman semester trying to keep my friends and roommate from going to drinking parties in the rooms of dudes I knew had raped friends of mine. I struggled with if it was ethical to warn them and violate a friend's privacy, and if I told a friend whether I would be disbelieved and ostracized for being a weird dyke with a chip on her shoulder and no proof. Would I get in trouble with the school for an honor code violation of spreading rumors?
- One of a troop of boy scouts on tour of my campus tried to peer in my bathroom window just as I was getting out of the shower. I told no one and hid in a corner with the blinds drawn, terrified, until they left.
- Our orientation included dire warnings about walking across campus in the dark or going in the woods, but the one time I took their advice and called for campus police to give me a ride they never came. I was crying by the side of the road when a guy from my dorm offered to walk me back. I accepted, knowing full well that he could just as easily be a rapist himself but...better the rapist you know? This was before cell phones, and my other option seemed to be sleeping outside or walking back myself.
- the woman I dated briefly was three years older than me, and we did not have clear ways of communicating consent. I was attracted to her, but I was also dealing with a lot of feelings (and honestly PTSD) without really dealing with them. we broke up shortly after consummating our relationship.
- when I went to parties with friends, I drank nothing and kept an eye on them for fear they would get roofied or cornered by people. I did not relax or have a good time. I was terrified that even though I was sober and clear-headed(ish), something would happen to me anyway.
I spiralled into depression, told no one about any of the PTSD-related issues I was going through because I did not know how to name them myself (oh, that I had taken women's studies that semester!), and nearly killed myself. My university responded by suspending me until I could certify before the honor committee that I would never put myself at risk in that way again, which as someone at that point diagnosed with chronic mental illness I could not honestly say.
This all happened before I turned 18.
I transferred to a school closer to home, which was a much better fit for me but meant living at home which is a whole different story.
Moral of the story, if there is one: we need to talk to people we consider "children" about consent, even if it's uncomfortable. It doesn't have to be about sexual consent at first. Let them decide who gets to touch or hug them.
And for the love of god, please don't threaten to harm "anyone who touches your daughter." From my experience, that is a sure-fire way to guarantee your child will not come to you if she's been harmed, because she is afraid of what will happen. Open up channels of non-judgemental communication, so if your kid does something you don't approve of your first response is not, "How could you?" and a ban-hammer but listening and compassion. Because I too was afraid that if I told my parents things I was uncomfortable with, I'd have to quit my job and never do anything with friends again, which were also not great options for my mental health.
*drops mic*
ETA: signal boosting or sharing open because I'm tired of being silent about this shit.
