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2nd Chance News You Can Use, MYSAAY, Sexual Assault Awareness

Becoming a Warrior for Medical Care (and Self Care) after Sexual Violence Trauma

 

Jeannie is a sexual violence program advocate at 2nd Chance. She likes boots, her truck, Pokemon hunting, candy, and has a fierce determination to help those who have been victimized transition into warriors.

 

Note from Jeannie: So, I haven’t written a blog since, like MySpace.   Good luck to me and here’s to hoping I don’t use obnoxious amounts of bad grammar.

 

Becoming a Warrior for Medical Care (and Self Care) after Sexual Violence Trauma

I refer to myself as a girl with a hard backstory. In a movie you sometimes need the backstory. Maybe in this blog you need some backstory. If it traumatizes you to read about someone else’s hard back story please scroll past the next section.

Trigger warning: Sexual Violence, I hate when trigger warnings have triggers in them! Will someone please fix that?

At age three, I began experiencing sexual violence perpetrated by my biological father. The violence escalated until it became rape and sodomy. At 13, a friend pushed me to speak up and I became a ward of the courts. I had physical damage that anyone with that a young body that has experienced rape and sodomy would.

In the last few years, I have had to repeat some reconstructive surgeries I had performed in my early twenties. The myriad of tests and medical procedures were overwhelming.

For me, having to be in public in front of others without all of my clothes is traumatic. Going across a hall without a bra in a hospital or doctor’s office is awful. Taking everything off and putting on a gown horrible! I’m not talking about, “Oh, I’m uncomfortable.” I’m talking about my chest clenches, tears threaten a public display, and I sit in a chair or on a table consumed with my physical safety compromised. (You can handle a street fight when you are not worried about not having clothes on.) My head fills with what ifs and “I really, really, really want to be back dressed, safe, layers covering me just in case I need to fight my way out of a bad situation.”

I would hear things like:

“Well, everyone in the room will see you naked once you are asleep…” To which I actually hear, “you will be 110% powerless, and you will be 110% vulnerable, ” and then I’m scared more. Will they try to make things harder because I am not cooperating? You know not quite as gentle with the IV?

“Everyone has a bottom, I see it every day, and I don’t even notice…” Gee thanks, I’m barely holding it together, but it’s no big deal for you, well must be nice…

“I’m a professional, and I am not looking at you as a woman- just a patient. I’m offended that you even feel you can’t have a male nurse, you have a male doctor…” Hey, buddy, it’s not you it’s me, but you may have just been an insensitive jerk. Do me a favor and try helping out with that whole gender equality stuff because I really wanted a female doctor too.

“Nobody can see you. You have a gown on…” Really, because it feels like I’m naked, covered with a thin cheap sheet, my nipples are showing and no, it’s not just nurses here.

“How did you ever have sex to get pregnant if you have this problem?” Well, I had five years of therapy and then married someone who respected my needs in that area, you should try that whole respecting my needs deal.

“When you get far enough into labor, you won’t care.” You bet your sweet rear end I will care. Do me a favor and protect me even when you think I don’t care. I think you just scared me into a C-section because I’ve now been stuck dilated a three for seven hours thanks. I now look like a scared animal who has stopped laboring, jerk.

“It’s not a big deal.” Okay then, you get naked too! Oh, really that’s different, and you can’t work naked in a gown, guess it is a big deal after all.

I’m sure there is more. These things they said, their signs of impatience, all took a toll. In my twenties, I froze and did what I was told. In my forties it dawned on me, I am paying for a service. I came to realize, that though they may have a lot of other patients, I am my only patient, and because of that I want all of my needs met. All of them! I am paying for this, and with insurance, I still am paying you thirteen times what I paid for my last car (I buy really cheap cars last one was $600, but that’s a whole other blog post).

I have a right to dignity and respect. It should be provided without me asking, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that I get it.

Instead of leaving my providers without the backstory (because I want control of that part of me) I started to speak up.

When the nurse asked me, “What meds do you take?”

I replied, “Well, I take Lamictal. I know it’s a bipolar or seizure medication, but I take it because it helps control my PTSD. In fact, let me tell you more; not every minute detail but let me help you understand what and why. I have PTSD because I experienced a severe sexual trauma. It’s been a while, but this is unbelievably hard.”

The nurse looked at me for a moment, but even with my voice shaking a little, I kept on, saying, “Here is what helps me, please keep me covered, as much as possible, as long as possible, leave my advocate with me until you can’t anymore. Approach me in my line of vision, it really helps me. If you don’t and I’m medicated heavily during a procedure, I might become combative. I would never want to hurt you and tying me down for your safety in that situation is reasonable, but it will also to further traumatize me.”

At that point, things changed.

By sharing my backstory and letting them know what I need in these situations, I reclaimed so much control. It’s become a part of my self-care. I became a warrior for myself.

EVERY single person involved in my care did every single this I asked. I was covered, accompanied, allowed to redress to go in public spaces, isolated from other patients’ view and no one’s bored, nosy husband was able to see me or listen in to my care plans. It worked. For someone who has the life experiences I have, it was a win, the scoreboard went from 0-100 me down in the first quarter to me walking off with a total 100-110% because they made a 110% effort to help me.

It happened again when I let know my needs, at the OBGYN’s office, and again at the hospital (with the next five doctors, the next three separate surgeries and four separate wins, every person who walked in gave 100%). I was in control. I got what I asked for and figured out if I didn’t, I was still in control. I am the captain of this ship and I don’t have to pull into any old port. I am a warrior for me. If they don’t appear to be willing to change course, I remind them that I am in control, this is my body, and I choose what I permit them to do. I also let them know that there are other providers.

You should not need to share your sexual violence trauma with anyone if you aren’t ready, but there is power and freedom in taking an active role in your recovery when you can. Your experience is yours. You aren’t obligated to anyone’s rules, directions, attitudes or ignorance. You taking care of you is critical and worth fighting for. I hope you are able to become the warrior you need to be, for yourself.

I believe in you. You are a warrior. It is inside you, you survived the worst. You are stronger than most. You’ve got this!

 

2nd Chance News You Can Use, MYSAAY

Black Survivors

Adisa Salim is the Shelter Director for 2nd Chance, Inc. She is a mother of five sons and grandmother to nine. She is a community activist, author and spoken word artist. 

When I was a little girl, I didn’t have the “sex” talk with my mom. There was no talk of healthy sexuality because the rule in my childhood home was simple, sex was bad, don’t do it. In the 80s and 90s, the message that was most prominent was “just say no” to drugs rather than “no means no” when it came to my body. So, at 16 years old when I found myself being sexually assaulted by a boy I considered a friend. I didn’t tell anyone. I blamed myself for being in a place I shouldn’t have been. I blamed myself for trusting him. I rationalized what happened to me, filed it in the back of my mind and never spoke of it.  Deep down I knew the label that would be given to me if I told what happened. I would become a rape victim. As a teenager, my desire was not to stand out but to simply blend in. I didn’t want to be different. I didn’t want attention. Now as an advocate for victims of sexual assaults, I am happy to have found my voice. Unfortunately, however, my silence is not unique—especially among women of color.

Black women are less likely than White women to report that they’ve been raped. There are mutual reasons that both don’t report rape—a sense of shame, a belief that they were at fault, fear of repercussions. But some reasons are different and based in history. Rape of African-American women goes back to before they reached the Americas. African women that were kidnapped were routinely raped by crew members during the transatlantic voyage. There were few consequences for rapists—regardless of race. In 1859, a Mississippi judge overturned a guilty verdict from a lower court in a case involving two slaves. The victim was less than 10 years old. The judge wrote in his decision: “The crime of rape does not exist in this state between African slaves, because their intercourse is promiscuous.” His ruling reinforced the belief that African-American women are naturally hypersexual beings. That myth endures today.

Given the strained history between the Black community and police, Black survivors may be wary of seeking help from law enforcement. They may feel safer avoiding law enforcement altogether.

There is also the stereotype within the African-American culture that women are to remain strong no matter the circumstance or situation.

Black Survivors who have been assaulted by other Black people may feel a responsibility to protect members of their community, fearing that speaking out will affirm negative stereotypes and criminalize a man of their race. Historically, Black women have carried the burden of fighting for racial justice for Black men, our Black children and our Black sisters. But who fights for us? Who protects us from injustice? Speaking up for Black women when they have been raped IS racial justice in a system that already sexualizes and dehumanizes us.

If a woman chooses to disclose her experience of assault, the environment she finds herself in isn’t always supportive. Our response to an actual occurrence of rape is often damaging enough to keep a woman from pressing  charges and dissuades her from sharing her experience. We ask questions that are loaded like a weapon: What were you wearing? Are you sure this isn’t just your regret talking?

Let’s make sure that if someone is brave enough to disclose that she has been the victim of sexual abuse we don’t add to her suffering. Let’s not re-victimize her with unfair assumptions or victim-blaming questions. Let’s be listeners. Let’s be safe outlets for her hurts and fears.

If you have been a victim of sexual abuse, you are not alone. And whether you have friends and family members you can confide in or not, I encourage you to seek out a professional therapist you feel comfortable with. You have suffered a terrible trauma. Just as a doctor can put a cast on a broken bone, a good therapist can provide a safe space for you to speak up, be heard, receive impartial advice, and heal. Ending the silence around sexual abuse is going to take all of us. Let’s listen instead of labeling. Let’s support instead of second-guessing. Victims need to be cared for, not shamed or shushed. Silence only supports the stigma.

 

 

2nd Chance News You Can Use, Sexual Assault Awareness

Rape is No Joke

Lauren Gualtieri is part of the Sexual Violence Program Team at 2nd Chance, Inc. She studies social work at Jacksonville State University and will always pet a cat when she meets one- even though she is terribly allergic. 

 

 

Rape is no joke.

We have all probably heard the jokes at some point in our lives, and we have probably heard some of the defenses of it too: “It’s just a joke, lighten up;” and “It’s free speech.” Sometimes it’s family, friends, or even strangers passing by. It’s not just men who make these kinds of jokes either. I have recently heard a woman “joke” about forcing her boyfriend to have sex, even if he didn’t want it. I pointed out that it was wrong and was told “it’s just a joke, I don’t really mean it.”

They say that with comedy nothing is off limits, but jokes that minimize the struggles of people, who have experienced a trauma, should be. They should not be made to feel triggered for the sake of a few laughs. Rape is, unfortunately, very common. With every one out of four women and one of out every six men having experienced sexual assault in their lifetimes, there is a great chance that your audience may include someone who might be emotionally triggered by your snide remark. Whenever a rape joke is made, it is incredibly likely that a survivor is hearing it and could be negatively affected. Rape jokes could trigger emotional distress and even flashbacks. Even if these jokes don’t trigger such a severe response, it would definitely show that the joker doesn’t take rape seriously. This could cause their friends, who have experienced sexual violence, to not trust the joker enough to share their experiences with them.

Rape jokes mock and silence survivors. Whenever you make a rape joke, or when you laugh at a rape joke, it normalizes the concept of rape. This means that any rapists who observe your behavior continue to think of their unacceptable sexual tendencies as “no big deal” or “what every guy thinks.” Rape jokes are not jokes. They are ignorant, malicious, and typically sexist.

Sexual assault is not funny, it’s scarring. It is a violation of everything that constitutes a safe environment for all. Sexual assault is many horrible things, but it most certainly is not is funny. When you say something you think is “funny” you have no idea who you could be hurting. Survivors feel enough psychological pain; becoming the butt of a sick joke will make them feel worse. Those who suffer from sexual assault or abuse do not laugh about this abuse, they do not laugh about a traumatic situation happening to them. It’s not the punchline to a joke. It’s not the thing to make a meme about. It’s not something to sweep under the rug. It’s not “locker room talk”. It’s not something to ignore. I am not personally a survivor of sexual assault, but I work to help those who are. I have heard my own family and friends make jokes like these before. Even if I wasn’t working with those who have been assaulted, I would still have told them it was wrong to make these jokes. I feel we all have the responsibility to stand up and say their jokes are not funny. We should always defend those who have been sexually assaulted.