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RAPE. It's a nasty word, isn't it? It's a nasty act as well. It demoralizes a person, makes them feel unclean, used, and discarded...and your life is never the same afterward. I know this from experience. Unfortunately, I didn't just have one experience, but three of them. One of those times there was more than one person attacking me. Yet here I am today, dealing with the emotional scars these acts inflicted upon me and coping with life fairly well. It took a lot of work and determination on my part to become the well-adjusted, not looking over my shoulder every five minutes woman that I am now, but I succeeded.

For a long time, that wasn't the case. Occasionally I still have a few issues with being touched, especially in "private" areas, but I find being open and honest about my rape and how it has affected me has helped most of the men in my life to be more understanding. Not all of them, mind you, but a good share of them. I even went through a period of time after having my oldest child of not wanting to be touched at all by anyone, except for my son, of course. I have to give his father kudos, he went 16 months without touching me, and he stayed faithful and understanding the whole time. I credit him as part of the reason I can have some sort of normal sexual relationship with my current boyfriend. Mostly, however, it was pure will-power and not wanting to play the role of "Victim" for the rest of my life.

My attackers took from me my trust, confidence, and sense of well being away from me, but they did not succeed. If rape is indeed a power thing for those who commit it, then I feel they walked away powerless, not me. I am still here, still fighting to have a normal life, if there is such a thing. And though there are times when it is still extremely difficult for me to do that, I will NOT give up. I will NOT give them that power over me.

I fought hard to regain my self esteem after I was attacked when I was 17. I felt ugly, unclean, and completely used after my attacks, one of which was when I was as young as 6 years old. I talked to people who were open about their sexual assaults, and found out I wasn't a minority. So many of them felt the same way. Some of them felt that was all they were good for, so they became over promiscuous instead of the prude I had become. But all of them said basically the same thing, that they were demoralized in the worst way. Unlike some of the women I talked to, however, I never told anyone but close friends. I didn't report it, I didn't go to the hospital, I just lived with my shame. Yes, MY SHAME. But I hadn't done anything wrong, even though that's how I felt. I asked myself all the time what did I do to encourage it? It wasn't until my mid twenties that I fully realized that the fault didn't lie with me, but with my assaulter's. THEY were in the wrong, not me. THEY committed this horrible act, not me. And though they are still free to roam the planet, they have not won. I am still here. I am still strong. I will go on and have a normal life.

Learn more about this author, Kelly Sandefur.
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