How to Support a Survivor of Sexual Violence in 4 Difficult Sentences
April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.
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April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.
A lot of my work centers around prevention—prevention of STIs, of unwanted pregnancies, of sexual difficulties, of relationship difficulties caused by sexual difficulties, and, of course, of sexual violence. Something that makes my work both optimistic and, it feels sometimes, Pollyanna-ish, is my certainty that a great deal of suffering could be prevented.
But of course not every act of sexual or gender-based violence can be prevented. So the question must and does arise: how do I support someone who’s been a target of violence?
It’s actually fairly simple, but not even a little bit easy. Several years ago I came up with four simple sentences you can say, usually in this order:
I believe you.
Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.
I am sorry that happened to you.
I support you whatever you choose to do.
Let me break that down a little.
“I believe you.”
This is where it all begins. We live in a world where survivors are often not believed. Their motives are misunderstood. (“That person just wanted the attention she’s getting,” people say, not stopping to consider that that attention consists primarily in people being douchebags and telling the person they’re lying, they deserved it, or actually making threats.) Their stories are belittled or litigated. (“If you didn’t want it, why did you go into that room/wear those clothes/walk down that street? Why didn’t you kick/fight/scream?” Because of freeze, y’all, people survive by shutting down, not by increasing the physical force needed to restrain them.) Just believing the person, without question, without judgment, is a gift in itself.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”
Given the risk of not being believed, being judged, or being interrogated, it takes a great deal of trust and/or an intense level of need for a survivor to dare to tell anyone their story. In telling you, they’ve taken a leap of faith. With “I believe you,” you justify their faith, and with “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” you acknowledge their courage.
“I am sorry that happened to you.”
Does this seem too obvious? It’s not. Because so much of the initial response to a story of sexual violence is “But are you sure that’s what happened?” and “But why did you do the risky things that led to that happening?” and “But you seem fine.”
“I support you whatever you choose to do.”
There may be a part of you that goes into protector mode or avenger mode, wanting the person to go to the police, to go to the hospital, to go to therapy. You may want to confront the perpetrator. You may want to shield the person from any further risk of harm by keeping them away from anyone who might ask uncomfortable, misguided questions. And that’s beautiful. But it’s also potentially harmful. When a person has been a target of violence, they’ve had control over their own bodies stolen from them. Your role as a supporter is to make sure they lead whatever happens next, so that they can reclaim their bodily autonomy. If that means they never tell anyone else or do anything at all, that’s their choice and we celebrate it, because it’s how they practice regaining the control that was stolen. If that means they go to the perpetrator's home and shout at them through the door, that’s their choice and we celebrate it because, again, they’re reclaiming autonomy. (We go with them, in that case, with their permission.) If they go to the police, the hospital, or therapy, that’s their choice and we celebrate it.
After these four sentences, then you listen and be present… and then listen and be present some more.
You’ll experience an urge to take care of the person. That’s normal, because you care. But you must, must, must sit still with it and let the person take care of themselves. Trauma is (in part) about having control over your body and your choices taken away. Survivors need, therefore, safe environments where they can take back control. So sit still with your need to drive them to the hospital, call the police, beat the shit out of the perpetrator, or even hug the survivor. Sit still, notice that you care, be kind to yourself, and sit still some more.
And then you take really good care of yourself, because you’re a co-survivor and that’s hard too.
And forgive yourself when you screw up, because you will screw up and it’s okay. I’ve screwed up, and the survivors still healed. My co-survivors screwed up and I still healed. We’re all in this together, working toward wholeness.
Questions or comments? Please email my very tiny team at unrulywellness@gmail.com
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Stay safe and see you next time.