Trigger Warning: Account of childhood/adolescent sexual abuses.

***The motivation to finally write and submit this article came from reading the Cosmopolitan article on a TED talk about the topic of forgiveness after rape. Knowing someone else had taken on the journey I have provided me that comfortable space to tell my story, so it is my hope that this will do the same for someone else.***

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A metaphor often attributed to the great American writer Mark Twain imagines that, “Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it." Once the petals of a flower are crushed, there's no returning them to what they once were; despite this, an aroma blesses the aggressor even after the act of destruction. This is forgiveness.

Forgiveness, like history, constantly spars with those sitting in their consideration. While context is crucial to understanding the “whys" of the world, if too much time is spent looking behind ourselves we'll eventually run into a wall or trip over ourselves or those we're around. We have to embrace the discomfort of our pasts in order to plan a truly brighter future, full of self-awareness and respectful, progressive discourse.

Growing up in the household I did, conscientious behavior and consideration of others was a highly prized value. We were taught that no one was better than us, but that we were no better than another. This meant that any time we could, we should seek to forgive anyone who had hurt our feelings or said or done something unkind. This was reiterated in Sunday School and TV shows like "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood", "Veggie Tales", or "Sesame Street". Unless someone was in danger, it was better to try and resolve conflict between ourselves than to tattle to a parent or teacher. These are among our first conscious lessons in life. Treat others the way you want to be treated, and remember that you don't always know where they're coming from. In short, do what you can to make others feel good and you will be blessed in return.

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Memory, somewhere between 6 and 8 years old: A family friend, only a year or two older than me, sits in the corner with me, nestled in an overstuffed, spinning armchair. In what I tell myself is an age appropriate way, my different body parts are explored but I'm unsure if this is okay or not. After all, didn't my parents tell my to protect my bathing suit zone, to keep it private until I'm older and in a relationship? I feel more confused since the armchair is turned to face the corner of the room, which implies a mild sense of privacy. If what's happening is okay, why are we hiding? I want to get up and go play, but I don't want to be rude. Isn't this a kind of learning, I wonder?

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Somewhere along the way, my memory and the years blur together. From ~2003 until early 2012, this behavior continues and gets more “adult" the older we get. It was the norm, whenever we saw each other. I didn't think much of it, and assumed most people had someone they “played" with in this way. As I got into my early preteen and teen years, I began to understand that what we did and the secrecy of it wasn't normal. As young as 12 years old, I had completely separated the notion of “making-out" from romantic relationships. By 13, the media and my peers placed a doubt in me, and I thought the obvious next step would be that we'd be “boyfriend and girlfriend." After all, our “relationship" had been going on for about 5 years. I knew that was odd, and that I didn't usually want to be a part of our kind of closeness, but since it was so normal and I couldn't remember a time where things hadn't been that way, I didn't question the whole situation much. When he “turned me down", so to speak, I assumed we'd stop *doing* things. But he didn't, so I didn't. I didn't know how to say no. I thought it'd be unfair to him.

I considered letting ourselves get caught by parents or other adults, but a deep set fear prevented this. What if they blamed me? What if I was to blame? Weren't we equal in this? Didn't I kiss him back? What would happen to him? Bases 1-3 were covered by the time I was 15. Did all of this make me a terrible kid? Was I making it up that I didn't want to be a part of this emotionless, physically sexual friendship? Could I even call it sexual if we hadn't “done it?" I knew I didn't want to.

By the time I had my first boyfriend freshman year of high school, I tried again to tell *him* I was done. He laughed and said that would never happen; I liked it too much, he said. I laughed, but knew there was a blackened flower beginning to grow in my belly. I began to resent *him*. But almost immediately after that root took place, I became paralyzed with a refusal to put the blame on anyone but myself; treat others the way you want to be treated. I definitely did not want anyone to hate me, so I refused to hate anyone. Except maybe myself.

I had the power to say no, to stop this when it started 7 years before. If I truly hadn't wanted to have my body engaged in a way I still deemed inappropriate for it, it was my fault for letting it continue. *He* couldn't be to blame. The blackened flower became a definitive weed, and wound its way up to my brain. My already intensely emotional self had just begun to house a parasite, one that would soon metastasize into a unique brand of depression, anxiety, and self-loathing.

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Memory, 15 years old: Another family friend, this time my age, looks at me with hungry eyes. He calls me one of the prettiest girls he's ever seen; my young adolescent mind overflows with flattery, even though I am not actually attracted to this friend. I've always been way too short and way too skinny; for someone to find me beautiful? In that way? I became intoxicated with the memories of my pre-adolescence, and the odd kind of pride it brought me to see my body being the thing that brought *him* happiness. I didn't want to *do* anything with this friend, but I did think it clever to stuff my bra. Make him think me even prettier. Now we're alone; this was unintended, I had just stuck behind to tie my shoes while my friends moved on to our next adventure in the woods. I hadn't noticed that this friend was still by me, and when I did I assumed he was just being kind to wait. Suddenly, our bodies are close. Closer than I'd like. My shirt is coming off. I definitely want to leave now. I still haven't learned how to be honest about my needs though, after years of ignoring them for the benefit and protection of *him*. I quickly decide that the best course of action is to wait it all out. I'm frustrated that my other friends haven't come back in search for us. I'm equally relieved, still fearing blame. I'm cold, and disgusted, and angrier with myself by the second.

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I've led a privileged life. My parents have been madly in love for the past 25+ years, and the stability of my home unit has only ever been truly threatened by my own meltdowns. My intensity and frequent emotional explosions, some of which were likely the result of undiagnosed and untreated ADHD, were a rollercoaster from my birth to age 16. At 16, the tracks broke, and I went flying. For a while I was completely lost. Nowhere to be found. The whole of the earth's floor was eggshells, and I was a time bomb. With the help of family and other loved ones, I slowly came back into focus without losing too much time. The car of my emotions eventually found the tracks again. But the roller-coaster kept on at a steady 80 mph.

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Memory, 18 years old: I am a day camp counselor in urban New Haven, CT, imported for three weeks with my peers (all of us counselors in the White Mountains of New Hampshire). My life is being changed by the challenges and blessings of this job, and since I don't sleep in the same cabin space as my campers, I have more time to reflect. One night, I go into the ornate, sprawling sanctuary of the church we live in for these three weeks. The only light comes from the lamps outside and right above the altar. I am caught off guard by violent tears; I choke on my breaths, and experience my first moment of true clarity in almost 3 years. Both a little embarrassed by the hokeyness of the moment, and empowered by my blast of honest emotions, I try talking to “God". As an agnostic individual, and cultural Lutheran, this feels fake. But my thoughts flow off my tongue regardless, and I express emotions specific to the life I'm living in that moment. The faucet has been turned on, and it won't stop until I've admitted the roots of all of my fears and insecurities. Snot running down my face, throat raw, I collapse on the carpet and lie there deciding what to do next.

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Shocked by how easily I broke, I taught myself that my only path towards self-preservation would be to forgive, relentlessly and unconditionally. I had known this before, but I had never included myself in the equation. What's more, I needed to explicitly tell those who had hurt me how what they did, whether consciously or not, shaped my mental needs into the catastrophe they were for so many years. I needed them to know this, and I needed them to know that I forgave them regardless.
The examples I share in this article were not the last experiences I would have with my bodily control being taken from me. They may have had the most fundamental impact, and in many ways they groomed me to be even more easily taken advantage of. I panic when I am alone in a room with a man or men I do not know well. I generally trust the situation will very likely be safe, but I am terrified regardless. In the moment, I don't always know if it's better to say no and find a way to escape or to just let it happen so as to avoid provoking actual violence.

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Memory, almost 19 years old: It's the week after my boyfriend and I have broken up. We break up because I cheated on him while drunk at a party. I hate myself for this, but know that my history has wired me to not immediately see the difference between physical affection and exclusive relationships. I was also intoxicated, further inhibiting my sense of moral decision making. But I didn't try hard enough. I could have and should have tried harder. I have no excuse.

I'm being walked home from a party. I allow myself to accept drinks in my state of heartbreak, and by doing such am not capable of walking myself to my dorm. I'm numb. A good friend of my ex offers to ensure my safe passage home. Somehow during this walk, lines get blurred. Despite a severely fuzzy consciousness, I know that I do not want what was happening to happen. I don't know him well enough. His muscles are distinct and frightening; will he hit me if I try to stumble/run away? Probably not, but I have to be sure. I go along with it. When it becomes clear we've gone too far, I allow myself to become faint. I want him to be faced with the seriousness of my incapacitated state. I need him to know that I am not capable of making decisions on my own. He realizes, and stops. The rest of the walk home, he laments his regret. He begs I tell no one. Especially not my ex. Then he texts me the same request. He believes if someone found out, he'll have nothing left. He'll lose all of his friends, and have to leave college. I don't tell my ex until 2 years later, after we've gotten back together and re-broken up. I still don't know what will happen consequently. I'm still terrified.

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These internalized tendencies are not my fault, and I have to forgive myself. I discovered that I could only do that by forgiving my abusers, no matter how complex and daunting a task that may seem. This is not to excuse the actions of those who rape, abuse, batter or trespass the bodies of any fellow human. I cannot and will not ever expect any survivor to do what I've set out to; my experience is my own, and I'm handling it how I personally must. But I do believe that condemning all rapists as inhumane monsters takes the blame away from the system that groomed them to ignore feelings, effective communication, and considerate sexuality. It assumes growth is impossible, and reconciliation inherently out of reach.

I have felt deeper anger in regards to the three boys who have assaulted me than I ever imagined possible. But I don't hate them. I hate the culture that raised them with an aura of toxic masculinity, dead set on assuming power of all kinds. I hate that at least one of them was assaulted himself, setting in his mind an inappropriate construct of physical touch and interaction. I hate that my friends or myself being "grabbed by the pussy" in a bar or on the street, followed, or catcalled, is not taken as seriously as violent rape. That the psychological damage which follows is any less valid. But I do not hate these boys (now young men). I do not hate them, because I do not want to be hated. I do not hate them because they have people who love them, and one of humanity's most basic needs is love (even if we may not believe they deserve it).

The system cannot be toppled until we refuse to feed it. We must starve the hate, entitlement, and ego that permits humans to take another's body for their own. We must thoroughly and continuously condemn all acts of violence, sexual and emotional, but I truly believe this should not manifest in hate for the individuals who commit it. Do not hide the very real feelings of reactionary pain, such as disgust, fury, and sadness, but forgiveness is all I had left to offer. Without it, I would not have made it alive as far as I have.

If you or someone you know has ever been sexually assaulted, here are lists of national and Luther specific websites and hotlines. Never let fear get in the way of caring for yourself and those you love; never keep secrets as painful and dangerous as these. Resources like the following are here to help you through.

Luther/Iowa Resources

Luther Counseling Crisis Webpage: http://www.luther.edu/counseling/crisis/assault/

Iowa Sexual Abuse Hotline: (800) 284-7821

Riverview Center Sexual Assault Services: (563) 380-3332

24-hour crisis line: (888) 557-0310

Decorah Police Department: (563) 382-3667

National Resources

Prevent Connect-http://www.preventconnect.org/

National Sexual Violence Resource Center- http://www.nsvrc.org/

National Resource Center on Domestic Violence- http://www.nrcdv.org/ Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE

One in Four (national rape prevention peer organization)- http://www.oneinfourusa.org/

U.S. Department of Justice- http://www.ovw.usdoj.gov/sexassault.htm

1 is 2 Many- https://www.whitehouse.gov/1is2many

Can I Kiss You?- http://www.canikissyou.com/index.html

SAFER Campus- http://www.safercampus.org/

No More- http://nomore.org/take-action/

National Alliance to End Sexual Violence- http://endsexualviolence.org/

Surviving in Numbers- www.survivinginnumbers.org/about

SurvJustice- www.survjustice.org

Start By Believing- www.startbybelieving.org

It's On Us- www.itsonus.org