8 October 2021
The rewrite…
This post has haunted me for some time now. I often question how honest I was to myself and to my readers about what really happened that night all those years ago, and always just push those thoughts aside convincing myself that I was overreacting and over-analysing as I usually do. The doubt didn’t go away as I had hoped. Instead it multiplied in my mind until I felt compelled to revisit it and at rip off the band-aid that I used to disguise the inconvenient truth. I have a duty to be honest to myself and to others who may be influenced by my message.
I had convinced myself that it was not really rape and I used euphemisms to describe how my choice was taken away form me. I failed however, to expressly describe my experience as a rape. So here goes…
In Part 2, I left off at the end of my first marriage with my ex-husband finding a new love and me losing both my marriage and the love of my life who, fortunately, would not betray his wife and family for me. Not only was I alone; I was also thrust into a world that I was totally unprepared for – that of the newly single divorcee and the blood sport of dating. I suddenly found myself being pursued by single men. While some advances were inoffensive, others made me feel like a prize cow that was suddenly put on the open market, ripe for bidding.
My foray into this arena wasn’t particularly successful because, apparently, sexual relations had to be part of the deal and I’d always chicken out. Having come to the garden to pick the fragrant roses and finding their thorns unyielding, the studs in question would usually simply move on.
I’d love to pretend that my reluctance to engage in intimacy was purely because of my devout belief in the sacredness of a sexual union between two people and as such is not to be taken lightly, but I always suspected that it was also driven by deep-rooted fears stemming from past experiences.
Like most young women I yearned for the soulful experience that was reputed to come with marital relations when I got married. To my chagrin (and that of my former husband), however, I encountered, instead, a great deal of pain and discomfort.
I consulted medical doctors who offered no explanation or solution save to say that it was all my head. I took great offense, thinking that they didn’t experience it and could not possibly know what I was going through.
Only years later did I realise that they were right – my brain was telling my body not to “receive”. It was no doubt connected to my childhood experience, which we will delve into later.
However, I had an encounter during this time that forced me to take a closer look and reflect on how my childhood experience shaped my perceptions of the world in general, and relationships in particular.
I was living alone in the rented semi-detached house that I previously shared with my ex-husband in Mayfair. The other semi was still occupied by a couple who were close friends with us during our marriage and who were part of the close-knit group.
During this period, despite all my misgivings and lofty criteria for a husband, I got involved with a sporty young man who represented quite the opposite of what I thought I was looking for. He was aggressive, almost boorish and, unlike my ex-husband, not particularly handsome either. Perhaps I was attracted to his raw and obvious directness. He was unpolished, but there were no surprises, or so I thought.
I similarly refused to engage sexually and although he tolerated it at first, he continued to pressurise me and became increasingly agitated.
One night, I was alone at home and had settled in for the night. At around midnight I was startled awake by a loud banging on the front door.
I panicked, not knowing what to think, and then heard his voice, demanding to be let in. Relieved that it was not someone more sinister, I jumped out of bed and went to the front door.
I opened the door just enough to peep my head out to talk to him, but not letting him in. He sounded inebriated and tried to push his way in.
I resisted.
He became louder, threatening to wake up the neighbours. My neighbours were my and my exes best friends. They already judged me for leaving my marriage. What would they think if they heard this commotion?
I panicked.
I considered calling the police. What I would say to them? He hadn’t done anything. Yet.
Besides, I would have to get the door shut first to make the phone call. By now he had almost pushed his way in, making it impossible to try and slam the door shut.
Any attraction I may have felt for him prior to that point vanished when he turned into a drunken bully who was trying to force his way into my home, my sanctuary.
He pushed.
I pushed back.
He pushed … and eventually managed to shove his way through.
He herded me toward the bedroom and eventually onto the bed, all the while engaging me physically.
I detested his bullying. I kept on telling him – and then begging him – to stop.
He overpowered me.
I experienced the oddest sensation.
I was revolted by him, yet when he started pushing against me, I felt my body responding. It had been a while since I felt human contact and unlike my mind, my body was indiscriminate about the source of that stimulus.
Initially, my body seemed to be responding, until I felt the all too familiar pain.
Throughout, however, my mind was screaming in untold agony.
As he forced himself upon me, I felt betrayed by him, by my own body, and by my lack of physical strength and mental will to stop this atrocity.
Needless to say, that was the end of that “relationship”. I went to the doctor for a pregnancy test, not trusting anything over the counter.
I remember sitting in the surgery, contemplating the worst-case scenario. Although I wouldn’t want to take a life at any stage of its development, I understood how women with unwanted pregnancies felt when faced with the choice of abortion. Your life versus a life which hasn’t yet begun.
Self-preservation is a strong instinct. I prayed with intensity to be released from having to carry the burden from an unwanted sexual encounter with a person I now despised. God, in His infinite mercy responded to my call.
I was devastated. I didn’t dare to admit to myself that this experience fitted in with what is commonly referred to as “rape”. I nevertheless felt dirty, violated and ashamed. Violated because of the forced intrusion, shame and guilt because I did not do enough to stop him. Perhaps I could have screamed. Perhaps I could have done something, anything, except lie there being a victim to that brute of a man.
I didn’t tell a soul. I convinced myself that no-one would believe me, plus they would likely ask me why I didn’t resist harder, or why I didn’t shout or some other hindsight wisdom that comes from the comfort of one’s armchair.
I refused to admit that I was raped. I WAS RAPED. I realise my hesitance to openly admit this. I felt too ashamed to be labeled as a victim. The label is predicated on the notion of crime and punishment which, despite my legal training, has never been particularly useful to me.
It was the lawyer in me however, that weighed the odds, and the chances of successfully pursuing charges against him at the time seemed remote. I didn’t want to risk exposing myself to the trauma of taking that course of action.
I had no desire to seek retribution; any “punishment” he would have suffered would have been cold comfort to me, given the misplaced guilt and shame I hung onto.
Instead, I picked myself up, moved on and refused to look back.
I missed a few critical factors, however. By refusing to acknowledge a factual assessment of what had happened, I implicitly condoned the violation I endured. He may go and do this to other women, believing he had a right to “sex on demand” in a relationship.
I was also implicitly condoning the prevailing attitude that when a woman says “no” she really means “yes”. I had missed the opportunity to articulate the right of a human being to make the choice to say “no” at any stage of engagement.
Furthermore, if I had reported it, he would have been subjected to the system in some way at the very least, which may have been a deterrent for him in the future. It may have also warned others, or made them aware, that he could possibly not be trusted.
If I had had the courage, I could have made a difference, no matter how small.
My own feelings of shame, guilt and betrayal probably also played a role. Many years later, I realised that one’s bodily responses are automatic.
Bodily organs are designed for a particular function and would perform that function if the correct stimulus is applied, irrespective of what the mind has to say about it. If your bladder is full it provides the stimulus for wanting to urinate, no matter how much you tell yourself to suppress the urge.
If the stimulus for sexual intercourse is there, the body responds, which is why it is, in my view, possible for men to be “raped” if they are overpowered in some way. If their sexual organs are exposed to physical stimuli, their bodies will most likely respond, even if they mentally and emotionally do not want to engage at that point.
Our minds make the choice about what we want our bodies to do, even if it is a seemingly automatic action, like lifting one’s hand, walking or sitting down. The body is unable to respond without an instruction from the brain.
We should, however, be able to choose to expose our bodies to sexual stimuli and to engage in the consensual act of coitus. If we do not make the mental choice, even if our bodies respond to physical stimulus, it is not consensual. It is rape.
It is our freedom to choose whether to be exposed to and respond to sexual stimulus that sets us apart from other animal species.
I felt robbed of that freedom to choose. Had I understood these aspects of my experience, I might have carried less shame and might have had the courage to do the right thing. I only hope that woman who are violated in ANY way, have more courage than I did to report and confront their aggressors, and do the right thing.
While I did not want to live my life looking in the rear-view mirror, on a developmental level, I had to also search for the meaning in that experience. Things did not just randomly happen to me.
I could not live my life feeling sorry for myself in the big bad world. I played some part in every aspect of my life – consciously or sub-consciously. My conscious and sub-conscious choices lead me to the situation, which was a necessary part of my evolution as a human being.
This was the second unsolicited sexual encounter I experienced in my life and it was no co-incidence. God’s universal law has no place for randomness. Everything in the universe works with absolute precision, even the seemingly random events like natural disasters have a cause and a pattern. Because we struggle to sometimes discover the cause, does not mean that there is none.
My “disaster” had now come around a second time and I had to search for the cause and the pattern. I had to look back yet again at the fateful day of my first sexual encounter in my dear maternal grandmother’s house at the tender age of six.
ORIGINAL POST
29 July 2018
In Part 2, I left off at the end of my first marriage with my ex-husband finding a new love and me losing both my marriage and the love of my life who, fortunately, would not betray his wife and family for me. Now completely on my own, I found myself being hunted by single men. Some advances were inoffensive, and others made me feel like a prize cow that was suddenly put on the open market, ripe for bidding. I tried dating without much success because, apparently sexual relations had to be part of the deal and I’d always chickened out. The studs in question would, after losing the battle to convince me to concede, move on. I’d love to believe my reluctance to engage in intimacy was purely because of my devout belief in the sacredness of a sexual union between 2 people which is not to be taken lightly, but I always suspected that it was also driven by deep rooted fears stemming from my past experiences.
I was not going to talk about this indelicate aspect in my story, but I was persuaded by a close friend that there are many women out there who have suffered similar ill-fated sexual encounters that may have tainted their views about relationships. So, I’m steeling myself for the comments about my “raw truth” and similar euphemisms. God help me. Here goes..
Having looked forward to the soulful experience that was reputed to come with marriage, to my chagrin (and that of my ex-husband), I was met with a measure of pain and discomfort with the whole affair. I consulted medical doctors who offered no explanation or solution save to say that it was all my head. I took great offense, thinking that they didn’t experience the pain and discomfort and could not possibly know what I was going through. Only years later did I realise that they were right, my head was telling my body not to ‘receive’. It was no doubt connected to my childhood experience which I mentioned in previous blogs. However, at the end of my marriage, I had an encounter that forced me to take a closer look and reflect on how my childhood experience shaped my perceptions of the world and relationships.
I was living alone in the semi-detached house that I previously shared with my ex-husband in Mayfair. The other half of the semi was occupied by a couple who were close friends with us during our marriage and who were part of the close-knit group. During this period, despite all my misgivings and lofty criteria for a husband, I started getting involved with a sporty young man who represented quite the opposite of what I thought I was looking for. He was aggressive, almost boorish and not good looking (unlike my ex-husband). Perhaps I was attracted to his transparency. He was unpolished but there were no surprises, or so I thought. I similarly refused to engage on the more intimate level and although he tolerated it, he continued pressurising me and becoming increasingly irritated. One night, I was alone at home and had settled in for the night. At around midnight I was startled by a loud banging on the front door. I panicked, not knowing what to think, and then heard his voice, demanding to be let in. I was relieved that it was not someone more sinister, jumped up and half-opened the door, peeping my head out but not letting him in. He sounded inebriated and started trying to push his way in. I resisted, and he became noisier and threatened to wake up the neighbours. I panicked and thought about calling the police, but wondered what I would say to them, since he hadn’t done anything yet. Besides I would have to get the door shut first to make the phone call, and he was overpowering me. Any attraction I had for that man before that point disappeared when he turned into the drunken bully that was trying to force his way into my home, my sanctuary. He succeeded in pushing his way through and herded me toward the bedroom and eventually onto the bed, all the while engaging me physically. I detested his bullying and I kept on telling him, and then begging him to stop. He overpowered me. I experienced the oddest sensation, I was revolted by him, yet when he started pushing against me I felt my body responding. It had been a while since I felt human contact and unlike my mind, my body was indiscriminate about the source of that stimulus. Initially, my body seemed to be responding, until it was interrupted by the usual pain. Throughout, my mind was screaming in untold agony. As he forced himself upon me, I felt betrayed by him, by my own body, by my lack of physical strength and mental will to stop this atrocity. I was devastated. Needless to say, that was the end of that “relationship”. I went to the doctor for a pregnancy test, not trusting anything over the counter. I remember sitting in the surgery, contemplating the worst-case scenario. Although I wouldn’t want to take a life at any stage of its development, I understood how women with unwanted pregnancies felt, when faced with the choice of abortion. Your life versus a life which hasn’t yet begun. Self-preservation is a strong instinct. I prayed with intensity to be released from having to carry the burden from an unwanted sexual encounter with a person I now despised. God, in His infinite mercy responded to my call.
I never dared to see this as a ‘rape’. If it was a rape I would be the victim, which I refused to be. I nevertheless felt dirty, violated and ashamed. The violation was attributed to the forced intrusion, the shame and guilt, to the betrayal by my body. I also never told a soul because I was sure that no-one would believe me, and they would likely ask me why I didn’t resist harder, or why I didn’t shout or some other hind sight wisdom that comes from the comfort of one’s arm chair. I refuse to see myself as a victim. The label perpetuates the mentality of victim and villain, which does not prove helpful. It is predicated on the notion of crime and punishment which has never been particularly useful to me, despite my legal training. It was the lawyer in me however, that weighed the odds, and the chances of successfully pursuing charges against him at the time seemed remote. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk exposing myself to the trauma. I had no desire to seek retribution, any ‘punishment’ he would have suffered would have been cold comfort for me, since I held onto misplaced guilt and shame. Instead, I picked myself up, moved on and refused to look back.
By refusing to acknowledge what happened though, I missed a few critical factors. I implicitly condoned the violation I endured. He may do this to other women, believing he had a right to ‘sex on demand’ in a relationship. I was also implicitly condoning the attitude that when a woman says “no” she really means “yes”. I had missed the opportunity to articulate the right of a human being to make the choice to say “no” at any stage of engagement. However, by reporting it, at the very least, this man would have been subjected to the system in some way, which may have been a deterrent for him in the future. At the very least, others would have been aware of the possibility that he could not be trusted. If I had the courage, I could have made a difference no matter how small.
On a developmental level, although I did not want to live my life looking in the rear-view mirror, I had to search for the meaning in that experience. Things did not just randomly happen to me. I could not live my life feeling sorry for myself in the big bad world. I played some part in every aspect of my life consciously or sub-consciously.
Many years later, I realised that one’s bodily responses are automatic. Bodily organs designed for a particular function would perform that function if the correct stimulus is applied, irrespective of what the mind has to say about it. If your bladder is full it provides the stimulus for wanting to urinate, no matter how much you tell yourself to suppress the urge. If the stimulus for sexual intercourse is there, the body responds, which is why it is, in my view, possible for men to be ‘raped’ if they are overpowered in some way. If their sexual organs are exposed to physical stimuli their bodies will most likely respond even if they do not want to engage at that point. Our minds make the choice about what we want our bodies to do, even if it is a seemingly automatic action, like lifting one’s hand, walking or sitting down. The body is unable to respond without an instruction from the brain. We should however, be able to choose to expose our bodies to sexual stimuli and to engage in the consensual act of coitus. If we do not make the mental choice, even if our bodies respond to physical stimulus, it is not consensual. It is our freedom to choose whether to be exposed to and respond to sexual stimulus that set us apart from other animal species. I felt robbed of that freedom to choose. Had I understood these aspects of my experience, I may have carried less shame and had the courage to do the right thing.
My conscious and sub-conscious choices lead me to the situation, which was a necessary part of my evolution as a human being. This was the second unsolicited sexual encounter I experienced in my life and it was no co-incidence. God’s universal law has no place for randomness. Everything in the universe works with absolute precision, even the seemingly random events like natural disasters have a cause and a pattern. Because we struggle to sometimes discover the cause, does not mean that there is none. My ‘disaster’ came around a second time and I had search for the cause and the pattern. I had to look back yet again at that fateful day of my first sexual encounter in my dear grandmother’s house at the tender age of six. But more about that next time God-willing.
Always with love, Radia💚