After the Storm

He reaches out to hold my hand. I flinch. He goes to kiss me. I purse my lips. He starts to remove my shirt. I hold my breath.

He asks if I want to have sex.

I go numb. I flashback to the night my body was stolen by my rapist.

It took me more than a year to have sex after I was raped. I was given tools for therapy and legal aid, yet conversations about repairing my relationship with sex were left mute. For those who have fallen victim to sexual violence, your thoughts and impressions of sex are not felt in isolation. My rapist saw my innocence as an opportunity. He corrupted every thought I had about my sexuality. For years, I no longer welcomed intimacy, instead recognizing the touch of a man as a virus. I would shut down to a state of paralysis as my body disintegrated into a lifeless object. I had no sex drive. I found no pleasure in any act of sex. When I looked in the mirror, I wouldn’t recognize myself. I would hear my friends describing their mind-blowing sexual experiences as rough, kinky, and passionate. For three years, I described sex as terrifying. I wish that when I disclosed my assault, someone sat me down and told me what I know now. By virtue of all-consuming panic attacks, self-loathing, and experimenting with my boundaries, I now stand stronger than ever before. Every survivor’s journey is unique, but it does not need to be braved alone. The discussion of sex after sexual violence has become taboo. People forget to tell you that sexual dysfunction is normal after trauma. Your psychologist may fail to mention that most assault survivors will feel excruciating pain while having sex, or will be incapable of reaching an orgasm. When you go in for an STI test after assault, your doctor may forget to tell you that you may seize up and cry on the table during examination. There are no pamphlets indicating the rush of guilt you will feel the first time you start to like someone again. Self-help books tend to gloss over the fact that your first time having sex after assault will be awful. The first time I had sex after my assault was worse than losing my virginity. I was awkward, nervous, and could only handle it for about two minutes. The journey is tough, it has ups and downs, and sometimes it will feel unbearable. However, it’s worth every second of the wait. I have currently been a survivor for almost four years. Who I am now versus who I was then is essentially incomparable.

I still struggle with the demons my rapist instilled in me, but now they’re much smaller and come by less frequently. Still, I will never be able to go into a shower with a man because all I see is my rapist—when he found me hiding in my dorm room shower and pinned me against the wall. Forming romantic relationships is still an obstacle for me, because my rapist broke all the faith I had in men. It’s strange to think that a single person had the power to break all the trust I had in an entire gender. Yet, I am not ashamed of this.

From my own personal experience, I’ll leave you with a few tips:

1. The first time you have sex again, do it with someone you trust and never be embarrassed to share your story. Their reaction will tell you if they are worth your time.

2. Masturbate. Learning to love yourself and your body may make you feel more at ease with the idea of intimacy with someone else.

3. Watch porn in bouts you are comfortable with.

4. Experiment and allow yourself to be vulnerable. It is not a weakness or a fault; vulnerability is something you can use daily to feel empowered and liberated.

Sex is not a burden for me anymore. My sex life is healthy, my libido is through the roof, and intimacy is now something I crave rather than fear. To all my fellow survivors, I am here to assure you that your sex life can be rewritten into something beautiful once again. Rape has a rippling effect. It creates the fear that every person who looks at you the wrong way is a predator. But do not let your assailant’s selfish act become their legacy. What we tend to forget is that rape is not a form of sex, it is a form of violence. While it may take you one day, six months, or 10 years to find pleasure in sex again, I promise the day will come where all you want to say to your partner is “more.”

by Hannah Quarin