When I tell you my story, I don’t want you to look at me differently. But I don’t want you to look at me in the same way either. I want you to see me not as the shell of the being I once was, but as the same person with an extra crack in her structure. With a crack that is still visible but has been filled in with concrete so that the structure itself has become stronger and less likely to collapse.

When I tell you my story, I want you to listen with your heart and not with your ears. I want you to try your best to understand my pain. To feel the agony in my words and to be honored that I trust you with my vulnerability. That trust is rare and special – do not throw it away.

I do not want you to take pity on me. I want you to sympathize and be there as a rock for me to hold on to, a rock that I can trust to support me in whatever I need.

I want you to understand the gravity of what I am about to tell you. I never want you to tell me to be strong, to be positive, to not let this break me – because I am broken, and it is not my fault. It is not my fault. Nor is it my obligation to put on a stoic attitude to make you feel less uncomfortable. Let me fall apart so I can put myself back together again.

I never want you to tell me that my assaulter didn’t know that what he did was wrong. That him violating me was an honest mistake. That I should have been more clear in my boundaries and my feelings.

“He’s a good kid … he probably just had a crush on you.” “Well, what were you wearing?” It doesn’t matter. The nature of assault means that all power is taken away from the victim, and therefore they have no control over the situation at hand.

All of this is on him. I refuse to bear the burden of his crime.

You see, we, as sexual assault survivors, are made to feel like criminals when we talk about the crime committed against us. Do not incriminate me.

I want you to say exactly what happened to me: A-S-S-A-U-L-T. Assault. A crime. Do not dumb it down with words like “harassment” or “misconduct.” Say it for what it is. Doing so gave me the power to start processing all of this myself.

Never tell me how to react. Or how to feel. You have not walked a single step in my shoes. You were not put in my situation. The only person who has the authority to tell me how to feel is me.

Be there for me. Hold my hand. Never make me feel worse about what happened to me. Never make me feel like a burden. Never make my telling you about my assault more traumatic than the assault itself.

I am not a victim. I am a survivor. I am broken, but I heal bit by bit every day. My vulnerability, my tears, my honesty, and my openness make me a survivor. They are my healing superpowers.

I will get better. Someday, I will find myself again. But I need your help. Your hand. Your heart.