A man raped me when I was 23 years old. I met him through friends. When inviting him back to my apartment, I told him I didn’t want to have sex, but expressed my desire to spend time with him. When he began to rape me I said, “I told you I didn’t want to have sex.” He didn’t stop. While raping me, he repeatedly asked me over and over again if I was ok. Every time he asked, I said “No.” He didn’t stop.

There’s no room for misinterpretation there.

But I invited him into my room. I let him lay on my bed with me. I let him kiss me and touch me. I kissed him goodbye.

I kissed him goodbye.

“Would she kiss him goodbye if he raped her?”

Yes. she would.

I didn’t want to kiss him goodbye. After he raped me, he wouldn’t leave. He lingered; asking me what was wrong; saying that he thought we had a really good connection and that I was being weird. I couldn’t form the words “You raped me”. I was so afraid he was never going to leave if I didn’t pretend like everything was ok. I don’t remember my exact words to him, but I remember the feeling of pretending; the feeling of brushing off the experience of being raped as me just being kind of weird for a moment. I told him we were fine. He kissed me goodbye. I didn’t want to kiss him. I just wanted him to leave.  

To the men, who I love, who are afraid of the #metoo movement:
There are no stories that are perfect. There are no stories in which a woman has acted in a way that will ease your confusion or fear around the topic of rape or how it applies to you as a man. There are no stories that will stand truer than the others so you can return to your previous experience of this life in which you were removed from and so didn’t feel complicit in rape culture. There are not 2 true stories and 10,000 questionable stories. There are many many many, so fucking many, true stories of women experiencing assault of all different levels.

If you are confused about how to act towards women now that we are no longer accepting this level of intrusion, then here you go: treat her like a human. Like a fucking human with a body that is not yours to touch, to make decisions about, or to coerce into decisions about touching. Most rapist don’t even end up in jail so I’m sure you’ll be fine when you so unassumingly touch that woman’s shoulders while passing by. And If you’re not because she tells you how she feels about it, just apologize, don’t do it again, and sit in the very human experience of someone telling you that they didn’t like something you did. This is not your moment to feel sorry for yourself because you are experiencing the very healthy relationship condition of boundaries. I have spent my whole life feeling afraid because there are men who rape. You might have to spend some time feeling uncomfortable because you have to learn how to respect the boundaries of women. You might have to learn that you don’t get to do whatever you want without someone having a fucking feeling about it. So get comfortable with feeling uncomfortable.

If you already respect boundaries and you still feel uncomfortable with the movement, then let me tell you this:

Rape isn’t grey. It isn’t an accident. It’s not a whoopsie. It’s not something someone does without knowing. You’re not going to slip and land your dick in something. you’re not going to masturbate in front of a woman on purpose without her consent on accident, you’re not going to slip a roofie in her drink on accident, you’re not going to come on to your subordinate employee on accident, you’re not going to touch the ass of the lady standing in front of you at the concert on accident, you’re not going to shame the girl at the party for not having sex with you on accident, you’re not going to penetrate the unconscious girl on accident…. If you do it, you do it knowingly. And that is what makes a rapist.

You have complete choice about what you do not do.

If your next argument is to point out that a woman could lie and say you raped her, then I’m going to tell you what I’ve been told my whole life: Don’t put yourself in that position.

Be a good girl. Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t let a man pick you up for a date. Don’t get too drunk. Don’t wear revealing clothing. Be smart. Don’t trust.

If you don’t want to end up in a precarious situation (and I am well aware that a few good men have) of being accused of something you didn’t do, then proceed like a woman: don’t be alone in a room with him (her) unless you’re gambling for rape.

That’s a sad answer isn’t it? I wish it wasn’t the answer.

I would never dismiss the horrible tragedy of a person falsely accused of a crime. But I will dismiss the use of this fear to diminish the actual experience of women who are actual victims of actual crimes.

This is complex. Our justice system, our human ability to lie, to rape to be horrendous to each other, is terrifying and complex. But I’m not going to carry it alone so men can feel comfortable. 

I am not comfortable. 

And further, I would give about anything to feel uncomfortable instead of totally paralyzingly afraid. Scratch that. Totally paralyzingly tired.

When I say #metoo, it is not complex. It is me saying:

A man raped me when I was 23.

My friend’s boyfriend waited outside the door while I was showering so I would catch him masturbating when I was 21.

My brother’s friend attempted to rape me when I was 16.

A man standing behind me at a concert stuck his hand up my crotch when I was 31.

A man offered me a ride home and then pulled his dick out and tried to force my hand to touch him when I was 33.

I had GHB slipped into my drink when I was 27 and when I was 32.

A man slapped my ass so hard it froze the room – so loud, awkward and painful – when I was 18 and when I was 23.

A man blocked my ability to leave a hiking trail while trying to convince me to leave to have sex when I was 31.

A man offer to help me tie my dress in the back when it came loose at a party and he took it as an opportunity to touch my breasts when I was 26.

An Uber driver asked me to “touch myself” when I was 34.  

I have been told these things are my fault, not a big deal, not worthy of a voice. So when you say you are confused or afraid of my voice, I am shattered. Because you are the men I love. You are the men I trust. You are the men that I feel so deeply safe with. But your words make me feel alone. They make me feel invisible. They make me feel like a liar. They make me feel like what happened to me doesn’t deserve space in your world if it isn’t easy for you. Please be willing to be uncomfortable. Please sit in this with me so I am not alone. Please echo my voice without questioning it or diminishing it.

#metoo hasn’t changed how women perceive their assaults. It hasn’t created some system in which women are in cahoots to make rapists out of good men. All that has changed is your awareness of the prevalence of violence against women. I encourage you to let yourself feel how deeply painful it is that the women in your life have been living this way without your knowledge and sometimes with your complicity. I encourage you to be the voice for how good men choose to behave. I encourage you to listen more and talk less. I encourage you to believe the women who are telling their stories.

We need to be believed. We need to be seen. We need you to be brave enough to stand with us. We need you to be brave enough to be present in how very fucked this is. And we need you to be willing to give up the part of your privilege that has allowed you to feel comfortable despite how very fucked this is.

You are the men we love. You are the men we trust. We need you to believe us.