The political events of the past week have been gutting for me and many others, taking us back to moments in our lives when we were violated and disrespected, our stories dismissed as insignificant and unimportant. They brought back memories we had successfully suppressed. They helped us see the truth of situations we had glossed over, pretended were OK because it was easier than facing the truth of how we were treated by people we loved and trusted. They have left us feeling battered and vulnerable, grieving and angry.

For me, the Kavanaugh/Ford situation has not been about who was telling the truth. Only they know that.

What troubles me deeply is the experiences Ford described being dismissed as nothing, as insignificant, as something that should be forgiven and forgotten.

What troubles me most is the belief that Ford should never have spoken up without evidence sufficient for a court of law. That no woman should speak up about assault, molestation, or rape without evidence.

The problem with this is that most abusers are not considerate enough to leave sufficient evidence to convict them.

Abusers wait to abuse until there are no witnesses, even if it’s only for 30 seconds. That’s enough for them to penetrate, violate, and harm irreparably.

Abusers wear condoms so there is no semen left behind. Or they penetrate with fingers or other objects that don’t leave any evidence.

Abusers use positions of power to control and dominate, so that even when the victim speaks up they are not believed and are, instead, punished for seeking attention, ruining a reputation, or causing a scene.

Abusers traumatize their victims so they do not have the tools they need to report until long after the outrageous statutes of limitations have passed.

So what is a victim of sexual assault supposed to do?

This is the question I’ve been pondering all week. If we don’t have evidence, what do we do?

We speak anyway. We tell anyway. We voice what happened to us regardless of what the response is.

We speak the truth to ourselves first, name the perpetrator, detail what happened, and how it affected us. When we speak truth to ourselves, we assure ourselves that we are on our side, we’ve got our back, we are there for us. We start to heal the disconnection that happens when we are assaulted.

We speak the truth to others. To safe people who will carry our story in love and compassion. A partner, a friend, a therapist, an online friend. To be believed is an essential part of healing, and does much to rebuild trust and remind us that in spite of what we’ve experienced, there are good, trustworthy people in the world.

Then, if we want to, we can file a police report.

Of the numerous times I’ve been assaulted, I’ve only filed 2 police reports. The first assaults happened during a time when I didn’t know I could report, didn’t have a support system in place to help me know what to do. But the last two times happened when I was healthy enough to know and believe my worth, when I had the support of Bear and dear friends, when I had recent, first hand accounts of what happened.

When I filed the reports, I knew that they would accomplish nothing in terms of justice and accountability, but they accomplished much in terms of my own well-being, courage, and strength.

The cops who took my reports told me that even though there was no evidence, simply by filing a report, I put the perpetrators on the police radar. They now had a record of their abhorrent behavior. It put the perpetrator on notice that they would be watched. If any other reports came in about the perpetrators, the victims would be believed without question.

It is not justice, but it is something.

This week I spoke anyway.

Two memories I had suppressed came flooding back and took the breath out of me. Suddenly I was sobbing uncontrollably, sick to my stomach, numb with grief, then shaking with anger.

I wrote it all out. The names, the locations, what was said, what was done, how those vile people made me feel, how they damaged and affected me to this day.

I reminded myself that no matter what, I am worthy of love and respect. Always.

I spoke to the me that was assaulted, and apologized for not knowing how to protect her, not being able to protect her. I wrote out what I’d do now: scream, yell, fight, cause the biggest scene imaginable, call for help, report to the police. I used all the tools in my healing tool belt to release those memories and the power they’d held over me.

Then I slept. Deep, peaceful sleep, with good, lovely dreams of the good people in my life now.

We may never get justice for the things done to us, but we can take back our power and be the thriving, shining, brave souls they tried to break. xo