Tissue Alert!
After telling the men sitting in the circle of chairs about my assault, I described its aftermath—the high-pitched anxiety and fear, the flashbacks and nightmares, the strain on my relationships, the bitterness of feeling reduced to a narrow identity: rape survivor. Their faces radiated with unmistakable empathy. The tall man in the baseball cap leaned forward. “What would you say to your rapist if he walked through the door right now?” he asked.
I knew exactly what I would say. “Do you still think about it?” I asked my invisible assailant. “I do. It still affects me. It affects the way I raise my kids and my ability to walk outside at night. It affects the way I interact with people. I want you to know that I am not angry. I was very angry for a very long time, and even though I will never forget what you did, I forgive you.”The men nodded, and then began to reveal their own feelings about the crimes they’d committed. One talked about how he thinks about his victim every day. Another spoke haltingly about his awareness that he had destroyed his victim’s life and how he could never forgive himself. I couldn’t help but recognize what my work has long shown about sex offenders and victims—that they are not so different. We experience the same complex stew of shame and embarrassment. We’ve all suffered a loss of hope and been altered by violence. I realized that as scared as I had been to speak to them, they had been even more terrified at the thought of facing my judgment and anger. We all had preconceived notions about this encounter, but instead experienced something that none of us predicted.
For me, it was profound. In all the years of harboring anger at my perpetrator, I’d never wished for him to have gone through thecriminal justice system for what he did. I’d wanted nothing more than to sit face to face with him and tell him how his actions affected my life. I’d wanted an apology. Telling my story to the men in that room, hearing them acknowledge my pain, and accepting their regret and apologies about their own sexual violations helped me find the peace and closure I had been craving for more than half my life.
Note: To read the full piece. To find out more about Alissa's work and life. Her website tag line is:
"Committed to ending sexual victimization one data point at a time."
She is also part of the Sexual Offense Policy Research (SOPR) working group. And she shares her art work on her site.
Alissa is an academic, a writer, a survivor, a partner, a parent and a teacher. She teaches anyone who knows her to think beyond stereotypes and assumptions.
She is also an artist, and has a way of viewing the world, that prove that all the time. I love how she blends, shares and calls on all parts of who she is and it is, in my opinion, why her work is so moving.
What I admire most though is the way she invites all sorts of people to sit at one table, to converse, to consider feelings and facts and situations from perspectives most don't have. And when I can't join her or disagree or am simply not ready to move closer to humanity, my own or that of others, she also listens. I'm so frigging lucky she's my friend.
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