A Personal Lesson on Victim Blaming

“Why me, then?” I ask. “Why not Branley? She’s way hotter and was just as drunk as I was.”
... "It happened to be you, but it could’ve been anyone else." - Mindy McGinnis, The Female of the Species

            It’s been over two years since I was sexually assaulted, and though I’ve recovered a lot through therapy and support, I still suffer from self-blame. Though I can say what happened was not my fault, I still get pervasive thoughts such as, “If I hadn’t been stupid, it wouldn’t have happened.” It’s not often, but it’s still a touchy subject for me.

            There’s a reason that the first line on the “Sexual Assault” page on the RAINN website says, “Sexual assault can take many different forms, but one thing remains the same: it’s never the victim’s fault.” Self-blame and victim blaming are among the most common responses to sexual assault and rape, but these responses are harmful.

            Going to group therapy was probably the best decision I made for myself, but it took me over a year to do it. There was too much shame I wasn’t ready to face and I thought that I could just push it away and ignore it, because it was too hard to face.

            One of the number reasons that victim blaming is so harmful is because victims are already blaming themselves. We already feel ashamed for something that was not our fault, so we don’t need anyone coming in to make us more ashamed. I blamed myself for many things. I blamed myself for what happened to me, for not reporting it, even for what it happening to another girl soon after me.

            When I first wrote the story of what happened to me, my worst fear in sharing the story was someone else telling me, “Well, what part did you play in it?” This fear has prevented me from sharing my story with those I care about, and plenty of others. However, I'm finally at a place where I can examine why anyone would so I'm to blame, even partly, for what happened to me.

Why People Victim Blame

            There seems to be a few reasons, but the one that makes the most sense to me is that it makes others feel safer. In an article about victim blaming on the Good Therapy website, victim blaming is defined as “a practice of questioning what a victim could have done differently in order to prevent a crime from happening, thus implying the fault of the crime lies with the victim rather than the perpetrator.”

            The article explains that victim blaming is often subtle and many don’t realize they are doing it. When we know that something bad happened to another person, such as sexual assault, if we can point to something the victim did to allow that to happen, then we feel safer believing, “I would never [fill in blank - act that way, get that drunk, be alone, etc], so that would never happen to me.” This kind of thinking falls into the just world hypothesis.

            Sherry Hamby, a professor of psychology at the University of the South and founding editor of the APA’s Psychology of Violence journal explains the just world hypothesis: “It’s this idea that people deserve what happens to them. There’s just a really strong need to believe that we all deserve our outcomes and consequences.” She also says that this desire is probably stronger among Americans, “who are raised in a culture that promotes the American Dream and the idea that we all control our own destinies.”

            To prove that deep down we believe the world is fair and just, psychologist Melvin Lerner and his colleague Carolyn Simmons conducted an experiment to explain victim-blaming. They got a large sample of women to watch a video of a person being shocked, unknowing that it was an actor. They were told the person on the screen was involved in a learning experiment and would be shocked for every error they made.

            The women watching the video were divided into two separate groups. Both groups were initially upset by the victim’s suffering. One group was allowed to stop the punishment from happening and instead choose to award the victim with money for every question they got right. The other group was only allowed to sit and watch without doing anything.

            Afterward, both groups gave their opinions of the victims. The group that was allowed to restore justice by stopping the punishment saw the victim as a good person. The group that was not allowed to do anything thought the victim deserved to suffer. In the article, “Why Do People Blame the Victim?” David B. Feldman Ph.D. explains, “In other words, because they weren’t able to actually bring about justice, they protected their view that the world was a fair place by coming to believe that the victim must somehow not be a good person. If she deserved the shocks, they could tell themselves, then the world was still fair.”

             I think the just world hypothesis is a little funny, because on the surface, we know that the world is not good and just. We can look to the news, to the world, to mass shootings and natural disasters and know that bad things happen to good people. Yet, I commonly hear unreligious people say things like, "karma gets us all,” and religious people say things like, “God will judge you.”

            We have this deep desire to know that justice takes place, so it makes sense that if something bad happens to someone then they must’ve done something to deserve it. And for many instances this is true. People suffer the consequences of their actions all the time. We know this. So it makes sense to rationalize that if someone got assaulted then it’s because it was the consequence of what they were wearing, doing, saying, etc.

            Barbara Gilin, a professor of social work at Widener University, says that we tend to believe we have control over whether or not we’ll become a victim of a crime – that if we take precautions, we’ll be safe. This is why “some people have a harder time accepting that the victims of these crimes didn’t contribute to (and bear some responsibility for) their own victimization.” This thinking leads to people rationalizing that if they take the right precautions, they’ll never be a victim.

            In the “Psychology of Victim-Blaming” by Kaleigh Roberts, she says, “Holding victims responsible for their misfortune is partially a way to avoid admitting that something just as unthinkable could happen to you—even if you do everything “right.””

            It’s a hard thing to accept that not everyone deserves what happens to them. It’s much easier to believe that if something bad happened to someone, then they must’ve done something to deserve it. This would mean that if we never do anything to deserve something bad happening to us, it won’t. But that is not the way the world works.

Advocacy for Safety 

            Alongside victim blaming, there seems to be a lot of retaliation when people try to advocate for safety. This is often called victim-blaming.

            On the one side: We should always caution safety to prevent crimes from happening to us. We do not live in a safe world, something many people are aware of, so we must always practice safety.

            On the other side: Sexual Assault is never the victim’s fault no matter how safe or unsafe they are being. These types of crimes can happen to anyone. 80% of the time they happen with someone known and trusted.

            I’ve heard the argument that we protect our houses from getting robbed by putting in an alarm system and having guard dogs and guns. A house without these precautions is asking to get robbed. Here’s why this scenario is flawed.

            It is a good thing to practice safety. However, because of the nature of sexual assault crimes happening with people known and trusted, the scenario should really look like this: Your house is protected with alarm systems, two guard dogs, and guns. You invite someone into your home, someone who’s been to your home before. This person is perfectly normal. This person befriends your dogs. Then this person robs you.

            Is it now the homeowner’s fault for not protecting their home enough? Is it their fault for their lack of judgment and trusting the wrong person? Is it their fault for letting someone into their home?

            The correct answer is no.

            Here's another scenario. If someone walks into a dark alley known to be dangerous and then waves their wallet around, isn't it their fault that they got mugged?

            Firstly, every woman I know is scared of walking down alleys alone. But that's besides the point. In this scenario, the person walked into an alley that he knows is dangerous. Women don't know where there are sexual offenders, because they can end up being anyone. 

            Secondly, if that same person took their wallet out in the middle of a kid's playground, mall, Starbucks, etc, and started waving it around, what are the odds they will get mugged? I'm sure it can happen, but now the question is who we would suspect of mugging that person? Muggers? Does everyone at Starbucks suddenly become a potential thief? Do we really suspect anyone of mugging us, or is it only people in scary alley ways?

            So where do these sexual predators hide? Parties? Bars? Well, I can tell you a whole lot of them are on school campuses apparently. So should women stop going to colleges because it's unsafe? Should they stop going to parties, where 99% of the time they either know someone at the party or brought a friend. A party is not a dark scary alley way filled with known dangerous people.

            If I could put it one other way, I'll add this. While I was in therapy and I told my group that I was terrified of getting into a car with another guy, my facilitator pointed something out to me. She asked me how many times I had been in a car with a guy without anything bad ever happening to me. I said many. Then she asked, so why would I think something bad would happen this time? It's the same thing with drunk girls at parties. If they had been to parties a thousand times (again, probably always with friends and people they know at the party), and nothing has ever happened to them, then why would they think something would?

            Are women supposed to go their lives believing anyone could and would sexually harm them? Because that is not only terrifying and exhausting, but also completely closes them off from ever trusting men. The sad truth is, though, that many women already kind of think this way.

            Before I met my boyfriend and would go on dates with different guys, my roommate would always ask for the guy’s name, where we were going, and told me to keep my phone on me, because we are women. The world is unsafe for us. We know this.

            Here’s the thing. Every woman I know, including myself, knows all about safety. We know that it’s scary to walk alone at night. We know that when we go out, we bring a friend to watch us. We know that we are the physically weaker sex. We know that the statistics are against us. We know from a very young age that men are scary and we should always fear them. We know to be safe. We know we know we know.

            Here’s what the rest of the world doesn’t seem to get. Sexual assault is not about safety. Nor promiscuity. Nor naivety. Nor stupidity. Nor what she was wearing. Nor where she was at. Nor how intoxicated she was. Nor nothing that she did.

           It's not wrong to advocate for safety. But it is wrong when you use lack of safety precautions as an excuse for what happened to a victim.

           What it comes down to is that there are men who take advantage of women. And men who take advantage of men. And even women who take advantage of men and women. End of story.

My Self-Blame

            As for my situation, despite the fact that I on some level know that what happened was not my fault, one of the hardest things for me to talk about to this day is all the things I believe I did to allow this to happen to me. If I hadn’t done x, y, z, then this horrible thing wouldn’t have happened to me.

            This is how my story breaks down:

            He was my co-worker who I knew for a couple weeks before I hung out with him. Everyone at work loved him. He was a flirt, but had never done or said anything too suggestive. He was fun.

            He picked me up from apartment, which is gated. I came down to his car, so he never knew which apartment I lived in. We went to the beach during summer. A public crowded place. Though there had been no flirting in the car, once we arrived at the beach, he wouldn’t stop trying to kiss me until I finally caved. I did not want to kiss him, but here was my rational – he wouldn’t stop endlessly trying and it’s exhausting to keep saying no. If I truly refused him enough to anger him, what if he left me there? He drove us, and the drive was nearly an hour to get there.

            On the car ride back, he continued to try to pass more boundaries for over an hour that we were in traffic. Again I eventually caved, though I didn’t want to. Again the rational was that it was still exhausting to repeatedly say no, and he was driving. He could stop the car at any point and kick me out.

            When we got back to my place, it was broad daylight during rush hour. I led him to a place he could park across the street from my apartment. Yes, it was to make-out with him, but nothing more. My safety precautions: daylight, close to my apartment, lots of cars passing by. I felt safe. I could get out of the car at any time and walk across the street to go home.

            Here’s why I blame myself. Despite the numerous times I had said and indicated no from the beach to the car ride back, I was stupid enough to believe he would listen to the big NO if he tried to push for sex. I was stupid for leading him to a spot to park so that we could make-out after all the red flags that had already happened. I was stupid. And because I believe I was stupid, I believe that what unfolded in the car was my fault.

            I still tell myself, if I had been smarter, if I had paid attention to the numerous red flags, if I had more self-worth and dignity, if I if I if I.

            Here’s the truth, a truth I’m still struggling to accept. I truly didn’t believe a co-worker would harm me. Not with his reputation and job on the line. And also because he had been so nice and charismatic to everyone. Why would this person hurt me? Why would I ever believe I was in an unsafe situation?

            The truth is that the only person at fault is him. He was the one who didn’t listen to my no’s. He’s the one who continued to push and push and push and push and push. He’s the one who didn’t notice my clear discomfort and eventual distress. He’s the one that hurt me.

A Grammar Lesson on Victim-blaming

            So, how do we prevent victim-blaming? There are a couple cures I found super useful. The first, which should be the most obvious, is empathy. David Aderman, Sharon Brehm, and Lawrence Katz, repeated the experiment of watching someone getting shocked, but changed one aspect. Instead of simply asking the participants to watch the victim suffer, they asked them how they would feel if they were in the same situation. This inspiration for empathy eliminated the tendency to blame the victim. 

            The Center for Relationship Abuse Awareness has some tips to “Avoid Victim Blaming.” They say, “One of the biggest sources of victim blaming is the way we talk about it. Language surrounding abuse and sexual assault immediately puts our attention on the victim instead of the perpetrator.”

            Time for a short grammar lesson. The person/thing committing the action in a sentence is the subject. The person/thing receiving the action is the object. For my purposes, we’ll use my situation and I will name my perpetrator Kyle.

            Example:

            “Kyle didn’t listen to no.” Kyle is the subject. Kyle didn’t listen.

            “I was sexually assaulted by Kyle.” I am the subject. I was sexually assaulted.

            “Kyle sexually assaulted me.” Kyle is the subject. Kyle did the sexual assaulting.

            So kind of get it? Okay, here’s why this is important. When the victim is the subject, we think the subject is the one with the power and control in the situation.

            For example:

            “I was sexually assaulted by Kyle.” Immediately, it’s easier to come up with things I could have done differently to avoid being sexually assaulted. It’s easier to blame me for what happened to me. Why did I let this happen to me?

      

            But when the assaulter is the subject, then the focus of control and power shifts.

            Example:

            “Kyle sexually assaulted me.” Now, we are blaming Kyle. Kyle, why did you sexually assault someone?

            This language is very important, because it significantly changes the way we think about the situation. We have to avoid using language where the victim is the subject, where the perpetrator is removed from the sentence, and where the victim’s identity becomes part of the crime that happened to her.

            Examples to avoid:

            Victim is the subject: “I got into the back seat with Kyle. I was sexually assaulted by Kyle in the backseat.” I am the subject, so the blame shifts to me. It’s easy to say, then why did I get in the backseat?

            Perpetrator removed from sentence: “I was sexually assaulted.” There is no mention of Kyle, thus Kyle either did nothing wrong, or at the very least is protected from all blame. All blame falls to me.

            Crime becomes part of victim's identity: “I feel damaged, because now I am a sexual assault victim.” This is part of my identity. This is who I am. Also, harmful, because Kyle is still not part of this. Also, not only does my identity become internalized, it doesn't leave me with a chance to change it in my eyes or others.

Lesson to be Learned

            When sexual assault happens, why don’t we put the blame where it deserves to be? On the perpetrator. There is a reason a victim is called a victim and a perpetrator is called a perpetrator.

            Avoid asking questions such as, “Why did you… Why didn’t you… Why weren’t you…” Basically any question that assumes the victim should’ve done something different. These questions are not helpful and further shame the victim.

            Instead, try asking, “How do you feel? Are you alright? Do you want to talk about?” Empathetic questions that show care and concern for the victim.

            Remember that though everyone should practice safety, it is not a lack of safety precautions that put the victim in the situation they ended up in. The only reason something happened to them is because someone else hurt them. It may make the world seem like a scarier place, but the truth is that there are people who hurt other people and anyone can be a target. Whether it’s the most street savvy person or most sheltered one, it can happen to anyone. And it is never the victim’s fault.

            Lastly, I’d like to leave you with this final thought. I hear a lot that we can’t stop people from sexual assaulting so the only thing within our power is to help potential victims to become safer. I find fault with this idea, because we can and have taken steps to change this.

            Though the reasons for why men sexually assault is diverse, which I won’t get into here, I believe these are a few of the reasons: men feel entitled to women’s bodies and to sex; men are taught to only seek their own sexual gratification through porn and toxic masculinity; there are not enough conversations around pleasure and consent with young people; awareness on the depth and gravity of sexual assault wasn’t known until the #MeToo movement, but awareness still needs to grow.

            When the “Don’t Be That Guy” ad campaign was released in Vancouver in 2011, sexual assault crimes dropped by 10%. The ad shifted attention from the victim to the offender. The poster, which was put up in bars around the city, shows a young woman in red tights and short black dress who is passed out on a couch with wine bottles around her. The poster says, “Just because she isn't saying no doesn't mean she is saying yes. Sex without consent = sexual assault. Don't Be That Guy.”

            In Alexis Jones’ campaign “Protect Her,” she talks to male athletes in locker rooms about respecting women. She meets them in their domain and speaks their language to better engage them. She gives a presentation with a statistic of how many women are sexually assaulted, to which the men mostly glaze their eyes back. But then she shows them pictures of all the women in their lives (which she gathers from social media prior) and relates the statistic to their mothers, sisters, and girlfriends. This is what gets their attention and brings many to tears.

            The RAINN "Sexual Assault" page ends with, "Survivors of both stranger rape and acquaintance rape often blame themselves for behaving in a way that encouraged the perpetrator. It’s important to remember that the victim is a never to blame for the actions of a perpetrator." It's the first and last thing mentioned on the page. I wonder why.

            Sexual assault is a problem that isn’t going away any time soon, but we can all make the effort to help with our language and conversations. Don’t be that person who adds more shame to victims who don’t deserve it. Let’s focus our accusations where they belong.

Sources:
Sexual Assault
Victim Blaming
The Psychology of Victim-Blaming
Why Do People Blame the Victim?
Perpetrators of Sexual Violence: Statistics
How to Avoid Victim Blaming
Avoid Victim Blaming
Don't Be That Guy ad Campaign
Redifining Manhood - one locker room talk at a time
Protect Her

Onward

"I dream. Sometimes I think that's the only right thing to do." 

― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

            Now that I’m done with grad school, the question of “who I want to be” seems more important than ever. This isn’t like when I got my Bachelor’s and meandered for three years before pursuing my MFA. I’m older, now with two degrees under my belt, and I don’t have any more excuses to not get my life together. It’s intimidating. I have found myself for the past few years in search of a role model whose path I can emulate, because I am among the first in my family to get a Master’s degree.


            When I think about who I want to be, there are a few people who come to mind. There’s the girl from the Zumba videos I work out to. I want to have her body, which is why I keep thinking if I work out to enough of her videos, I’ll eventually reach that goal. It has been a lot of hard work so far, but every week I inch my way a little bit closer wondering if I’ll ever be as fit as her.

            Then there’s Veronica Roth, who got an agent while studying creative writing at Northwestern University and then became a New York Times best-seller. I follow her on Instagram. She’s a full-time writer, travels a lot, and only four years older than me. That is the dream. I want to be her so bad.

            There’s a classmate I went to school with, Liz, whose almost twenty years older than me. She’s a mother and I bought her first published book not too long ago. In a class with her once, after reading one of her amazing short stories, I walked straight up to her and told her I want to be her when I grow up. When I bought her book, she signed my copy saying I will be.


            I have had the same dream since I was nine years old and it has never changed nor faltered. I want to be a published author. Now I have this Creative Writing degree that I’m hoping will help me come closer to it, but it doesn’t guarantee anything. A professor in my program told us once that our degree was pretty much useless, and I agreed with him. The degree does not significantly help with writing, does not guarantee a job after graduation, nor does it guarantee publication. In fact, the director of our program informed us early on that the vast majority of MFA graduates do nothing with their degrees. Research has shown me she is correct. Most go back to doing whatever it was they were doing before they got their degree.

            I was perusing Google for a couple hours trying to find inspirational articles about dreams or success, but nothing was appealing. Most were about trying to find your passion. I’ve already found mine. In the article, “Stanford researchers: ‘Follow your passion’ advice could make you less successful,” Mark Cuban, owner of the Dallas Maverick, is quoted as saying, “One of the great lies of life is ‘follow your passions.’” He makes the argument that, “people should focus on their strengths rather than their passions, because we are not always good at the things that interest us the most and because perfecting a strength can become a passion.” It’s good advice, but I don’t doubt my skills as a writer. Writing is my strength and my passion. Just not the most practical one.

            While in grad school, people would ask what I’m studying. When I said creative writing, they’d ask, “What do you want to do with that?” To which I’d always respond the same, “That’s a very good question.” Truthfully, just as in undergrad, I’d hoped I’d figure it out during school. I didn’t.

            However, I’m not in that much despair. I’m not as mildly naïve and incredibly hopeful as I was when I got my Bachelor’s degree five years ago. As of 2018, 21% of U.S. adults have a Master’s degree and 48.2% have a Bachelor’s. So that must mean I’m worth something, right? That’s what I have to keep telling myself, because I’ve always been good at school, but I’m not so sure yet that I’m good at life. Guess I’m going to figure that out.


            My problem in being who I want to be has never been a lack of set goals or ambition. I want to publish a book, and now I plan on sending out a manuscript this summer. That is plan A. Plan B has always been what I’ve been trying to figure out, but I’ve given myself until the end of my twenties to pursue plan A. My biggest problem, however, is confidence, which is surprising to the few people I’ve told because they all know what a big head I have.

            One definition of confidence is “a feeling of self-assurance arising from one's appreciation of one's own abilities or qualities.” From past research on the topic, I’ve learned that confidence is correlated to ability (though can’t say that’s true for some people I know who have no right being as confident as they are). For example, I’ve always done good in school, thus I’m confident that I can continue to do good. My ability has increased my confidence. However, I don’t have much experience going out there and trying to get a job, thus I don’t have much confidence I can do it, especially a good job worthy of my new degree.

            There’s also the statistic, “Men apply for a job when they meet only 60% of the qualifications, but women apply only if they meet 100% of them.” I feel this statistic deeply within my core. I feel like I have to make myself good enough before reaching for a worthy goal, which is one of the reasons I pursued a Master’s degree. And yet I still don’t feel worthy or good enough. Even applying for a creative writing degree was propelled somewhat for validation that I’m a good writer, which is why I was so excited when I got accepted by my first choice school.

            In Frances Bridges’ article, “10 Ways to Build Confidence,” her first tip is to achieve small and big goals. Though this might sound arrogant to some, getting a degree is not a big goal. It’s not exactly a small one, but it’s something I knew I could do. The big goal is publishing a novel. The bigger goal is that novel becoming some kind of success. Those goals are scary because I’m not sure I can do either.

            The only thing I have been ever taught to do is to follow my passion. Both my parents have been teaching me that lesson all my life. My dad didn’t finish high school. My mom got her GED when I was a toddler, an AA when I was a few years older, and only in the past few years did she go back for her Bachelor’s and Master’s (all of which I’m so proud of). My dad has been co-running his own business with his brother for a few years now. Despite their success now, they were nowhere close to these accomplishments while I was growing up.


            My parents were poor while raising me, a fact I didn’t discover until I started undergrad and found out I had been living under the poverty level my entire life. I found out it was not normal to live paycheck to paycheck, and that most people at my school never struggled with money the way my family has. My parents were young when they had me, my mom 21 and my dad 20, both coming from immigrant parents and neither one having a clue about anything. Everything I am today is thanks to them and the way they raised me.


            Out of all the people I want to be, my parents are my biggest role models. I’ve seen the way theirs lives have unfolded, with the failures and success, with the lowest of lows and coming out much stronger and capable. They are still on their paths, but they’ve set themselves up to succeed, which could’ve only happened after all their hard work and learning. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for myself too.

            I know my fears are the fears of every graduate out there, no matter from high school, undergrad, or beyond. Out of everyone I talk to, no one has a clue about life after school. Maybe like a couple here and there who have internships, but for the most part, everyone is trying to figure it out. I’ve gotten this far because of my obsessive one-track passion for writing, and the hard work that no longer feels like hard work at all. I know that now all I can do is make goals for myself and try to accomplish those while finding the confidence to do it along the way.

            So, here’s to all the new graduates (including myself): I do not wish you luck, because only a very few are lucky. I wish you the confidence and ambition to pursue your dreams and to give up when it’s not working out. When you fail, because everyone does at some point, have the courage to try again or start a new path. Either way, keep moving forward and onward, because it’s the only direction you can let yourself go.

*originally published on j.ilianaserna@wordpress.com

Sources:
Veronica Roth
# of people with degrees
10 Ways to Build Confidence
Why Women Don't Apply for Jobs Unless They're 100% Qualified

Stanford researchers: ‘Follow your passion’ advice could make you less successful

My Personal Journey With #MeToo

“I think that little by little I'll be able to solve my problems and survive.”
― Frida Kahlo

*For context, this article was originally published Jan 23, 2019 and is being redistributed here.


            I’ve wanted to write about this topic for some time, but it’s been very hard for me. I haven’t had the courage to do it, but I’ve been trying to gather it. Even now, I’m writing this with shaky hands, not because I care about this being public, but because I care about it being known by my family. The reason it’s important for me to finally speak up is because I believe shame shouldn’t fall on the victims, and victims shouldn’t have to worry about making others uncomfortable while they suffer silently.

           I’d like to write about my journey with sexual assault, from the beginning numbness and denial, to the shame and guilt, and through the repeated trauma of headlines recounting the stories and tragedies of many other victims. I also have a message for men and women who are either perpetrators or victims.

           Before I get into my story, I want to explain why I’ve waited a year and half to write about this. I shouldn’t have to explain, but I know a lot of people don’t understand why victims don’t come forward. When the hashtag #metoo was going viral in social media, I didn’t add mine because my uncles, aunts, and cousins are my friends on Facebook. If I wrote #metoo, they would know something happened to me, and I wanted to spare them the pain and myself the shame. I’m very close to my family, but I couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing me differently, and particularly blaming me or saying anything hurtful about my experience. I respect my aunts and uncles so much that if anyone of them ever put any kind of blame on me, I knew I’d immediately lose respect for them and I couldn’t handle that. I was already blaming myself so much.

           I was scared of their blame because before the #MeToo movement became popular over a year ago, one of my uncles who I have so much respect for said that any girl who wears provocative clothing is “asking for it.” He compared it to someone who walks into a known bad neighborhood and then complains about getting mugged. His mentality was that if you know you are walking into danger, then you are to blame. I didn’t agree with this, and before my assault, before this became personal, we had a civil argument about it. But now, this is too close to home for me to argue about it civilly with him again, because now he’s talking about me. Now he’s saying that I asked for what happened to me. That’s it’s my fault and I should’ve known better. The tragic part is that a big part of me agrees with him. Even though I know none of it was my fault, it’s a hard truth to believe.

           My attempted assault happened in August 2017, right before the fall of Weinstein and all the other #MeToo reckonings. Since then, it’s become a topic in many group discussions. When my dad’s family has gotten together to have breakfast, the topic has arisen on at least two separate occasions that I was part of. My dad has four brothers and one sister. My aunt is the matriarch of the family and her opinion garners a lot of respect from everyone. When I heard my aunt putting the blame on the celebrities who spoke up against Weinstien, I knew I couldn’t ever talk to my family about my experience. She and my uncles were talking about #MeToo as if it were a witch hunt toward men and they feared for the safety of men, not caring about all the victims or knowing I was one of them.

           Even in my church group, I once almost had to get up and leave when one of the women was also talking about those same celebrities. She said that they knew what they were doing by going into a hotel room with Weinstein. They knew what would happen. They accepted money and cared more about their careers than their self-respect. The rest of the women all nodded in agreement, which completely bewildered me. The only reason I kept myself from crying and getting up and leaving was because I didn’t want to make a scene. I didn’t want them to question why I was taking it so personally, though I later confided my experience with them but without any details.


            I respect my family and I respect the women in my church group. I think they are all wonderful people and I love them, and I know they all love and respect me. They don’t know that when they say the things they say, they are talking about me. They don’t know they are talking about me because they don’t know my story, and it’s this ignorance about victims and their experiences that keeps perpetuating the problem. What inspired me to write now is because I still have trauma. I’m fine 99% of the time, but once in a while I get triggered, and I know that’s no one’s fault except the guy who assaulted me.

           Most recently, I went off on my boyfriend during a discussion about R. Kelly and Chris Brown that escalated. I was trying to explain to him why I can never listen to their music or support them. Chris Brown beat a woman, and now has been accused of rape. R. Kelly has had multiple allegations against him recently disclosed in the documentary Surviving R. Kelly. As a woman, and a victim of sexual assault, I have to stand in solidarity with the victims. I can’t ignore them and their experiences. I can’t listen to these artist’s music without thinking about the women they’ve hurt. I can’t look away, but plenty of men can.

           My boyfriend didn’t even know about the documentary until I told him about it. I have a lot of respect for him too, but he can look away from the problem because it doesn’t affect him. I normally don’t broach the topic with him or with many people because I don’t want to make them uncomfortable, but I don’t want to keep silent anymore. It’s not fair to myself and the many other victims of sexual abuse that we keep quiet so that others can be comfortable.

           To spare my loved ones pain, I’m not going to disclose personal details about the experience, but I’ll relate the things that still haunt me. It was a coworker who did it. He took me to the beach and afterward when he was dropping me off, I directed him to park across the street of my apartment so that we could make out. I thought I was being safe and smart about the whole thing. I had only known him for a couple weeks, but he was well-liked at work for his charisma, endless energy, and the huge smile he always wore. Going to the beach was a public place, so I figured it was a safe place to go. Parking across the street from where I lived was also a safe choice because I could get out of the car at any time and go home.


            However, I think about people who say that those celebrities went into Weinstein’s hotel room. What did they expect? For me, it was broad daylight on a weekday. We were in a neighborhood crowded with houses. We were in the backseat of his car. What did I expect? I expected that we’d only kiss a little and that was it. But after the experience, the pervasive thoughts that kept going through my head were that I led him to the parking spot. I could’ve just had him drop me off. I got into the backseat with him. I could’ve just gave him a quick kiss goodbye, or none at all. I kept telling myself, “It was my fault it happened. I led him there. It was my fault.” And I was so afraid of anyone else – cops (if I had reported it), my family, strangers – telling me the same. I was ashamed.

           Beverly Engel has had forty years of experience working with victims of sexual abuse, sexual assault, and sexual harassment. In her article, “Why Don't Victims of Sexual Harassment Come Forward Sooner?” she says, “Shame is at the core of the intense emotional wounding women and men experience when they are sexually violated.” Shame causes us to believe we are defective, unacceptable, unworthy, unlovable, and bad. It makes us feel isolated and causes deep pain and humiliation. Engel says, “We believe we should have been able to defend ourselves. And because we weren’t able to do so, we feel helpless and powerless. This powerlessness causes humiliation — which leads to shame.”

           I stopped the assault by getting out of the car, but not soon enough. I told him to not tell anyone at work about what happened. I couldn’t stop shaking for an hour and after calling two of my closest friends immediately, who came over as soon as they could, the first thing I did when I got home was take a shower. I felt dirty. For four days after the assault, I felt numb, like I couldn’t explain how I felt in the backseat of his car or how I felt about everything afterwards. After the four days, I realized that it was fear. Engel says, “Many women refuse to believe that the treatment they endured was actually abusive. They downplay how much they have been harmed by sexual harassment and even sexual assault. They convince themselves that “it wasn’t a big deal.””

           The next time I knew we’d be working together, I got to work fifteen minutes early and couldn’t stop shaking in my car. I called a friend and focused on breathing. I felt unsafe seeing him again, and whenever we had to come into close contact, I silently begged that he wouldn’t talk to me. For the most part, he didn’t talk to me, which made me feel a little safer. I kept silent at work about what happened, not wanting to make a big deal about it, but it was hard watching him laugh with my coworkers, knowing how much they liked him and how they had no idea what he did to me. The worst part is that I cared about not ruining his life. I didn’t want anyone to know and didn’t report it, because I didn’t want his life ruined because of me.

           Two weeks after my incident, I found out he did nearly the exact same thing to another coworker. I only found out because we both confided in a mutual friend. Then the guilt set in. If I hadn’t kept silent, I could’ve saved her from him. It was my fault what happened to her. I stopped keeping quiet and warned many of my female coworkers about him. When me and the other victim decided to go to our manager together, he said since it happened outside of work, there was nothing he could do. He said if we felt unsafe, he could have us transferred. I responded by asking if he was going to transfer every girl that came forward. It wasn’t until I talked to my female assistant manager that things got moving for our assaulter to get fired.

           For the next few months, I developed many fears. I could not be alone with any guy I was not comfortable or familiar with. I would jump or tense at any kind of physical contact from a man who was not a close friend or family. This included handshakes, a pat on the shoulder, or a high five. I irrationality hated men for months and was so angry. I was starting grad school and only wanted to make friends with females. I didn’t want to date, and was fearful of getting into a guy’s car. A male coworker who I enjoyed talking to wanted to get dinner one day, just as friends, and he wanted to pick me up. The thought of being in the car with him terrified me and I kept insisting I drive myself. He simply wanted to be gentlemanly, but I was too scared to let him.

           The American Psychological Association explains that about half of all individuals will experience at least one traumatic event in their lifetime. They go on to add, “Although the majority of individuals will be able to absorb the trauma over time, many survivors will experience long-lasting problems.” For me, it was a slow progression of months before many of my newly found irrational fears subsided. With time, I felt completely normal again, like the assault had never occurred. I had thought about seeking help multiple times, but I felt so normal and fine most of the time that I didn’t think I needed it. Then I learned about triggers.

           According to PsychCentral, “A trigger is something that sets off a memory tape or flashback transporting the person back to the event of her/his original trauma.” Triggers are personal to each person and their respective trauma. Survivors may avoid certain situations to avoid being triggered, and they react with the same emotional intensity that they experienced at the time of the trauma when they are triggered. My triggers have often surprised me, because it’s not easy to know what will trigger me before it happens.


            The biggest one I had was visiting the beach almost exactly a year after my incident. My best friend and I drove to 1,000 Steps Beach, which is right next door to Laguna Beach, where I went with my assaulter. As we drove along PCH, she wanted to find a bathroom, and our search took us to the Laguna Beach area. I never thought I was afraid of going back there, and I hadn’t intentionally avoided it, but it was my first time revisiting the area since I went there a year prior. I started feeling fearful and shameful the moment I saw familiar sights in Laguna. Simply seeing the architecture and designs around the area triggered me. I didn’t want to ruin our beach day before it had really begun, so I didn’t say anything to my friend at first and tried to push the feelings down. But they didn’t go away. We got to the beach, and as I sat there on my towel, the same towel I brought with me a year earlier, intense flashbacks of being with my assaulter brought deep feelings of shame. I was ashamed for ever wanting and liking his attention. I felt stupid for ignoring all the warning signs that led up to the assault. I started crying on the beach and wanted to go into the ocean to feel washed and clean.

           Throughout my journey will dealing with the aftermath of sexual assault, I've come to learn some of my different triggers. My most common ones are the headlines of continuous stories about more accusations against powerful men. Whenever I see a headline about sexual assault or harassment, I can’t ignore it. It’s not so much the stories that trigger me, but the responses to the stories. I always expect everyone to be empathetic and understanding of victims, but when they aren’t, when people I love and respect aren’t, I fall back into fear, self-blame, and guilt all over again. When Judge Brett M. Kavanaugh was confirmed to the Supreme Court despite Christine Blasey Ford’s allegations against him, I was saddened. But when thousands of people laughed at her at a Trump rally, I was devastated. One of her specific fears for not speaking up was being laughed at.

           Knowing that these recurrent headlines are a trigger for me, someone might say that I should just stop reading about it. Here’s my response to that. I can never forget when Senator Jeff Flake was accosted in the elevator by women demanding that he hear them. One woman kept telling him, “Look at me… Don’t look away when I’m talking to you.” The truth is that when you are not a victim, you can look away. It’s easy. If you don’t think you know anyone who this has happened to you, then it’s an easy problem to ignore, because it doesn’t affect you. But I can’t look away, because I would hate for anyone to look away from me.

           When I initially started telling the women at my work about my assault, the unanimous reaction from every female was immediate shock and belief. Right away they were done with the coworker they once liked so well. Right away their opinion of him changed. They needed no convincing. They were all with me. For the few men I told at work, their reactions were greatly, “I can’t believe he would do that.” It’s not that they didn’t believe me. It’s that they had a hard time seeing their charismatic coworker and friend as someone capable of doing something like what he did to me. They wanted to come to his defense immediately because of all his other great qualities.

           Women don’t often need convincing, because we know. We know it so intrinsically and understand it so well. This is why since the R. Kelly documentary came out, Lady Gaga, Celion Dion, the Pussy Cat Dolls, and Ciara all pulled their collaborations with him from streaming services. Notably, Chance the Rapper, who also pulled his collaboration, issued an apology saying, “[T]he truth is any of us who ever ignored the R. Kelly stories, or ever believed he was being setup/attacked by the system (as black men often are) were doing so at the detriment of black women and girls. I apologize to all of his survivors for working with him and for taking this long to speak out.” What’s missing from artists keeping quiet about their collaborations with R. Kelly is a lot of men, ten to be exact, as well as two women.


           More women than men are ready to speak up and take action, because it’s more personal. One out of every six of us is the victim of attempted or completed rape at some point in our lives, compared to one of out of thirty-three for men. Both numbers are tragic, and I don’t want to want to diminish the experiences of male victims. I only want to emphasize that nearly every women in America has experienced or knows one or more other women who have experienced some kind of sexual abuse. It’s happened to my mom, my grandma, a few of my friends, another woman in my church group.

            One in three girls gets molested by age eighteen, and when I was in high school, out of six of my closest female friends, I knew two of them had been molested. One by her older brother’s best friend who would sneak into her room when he’d sleep over. The other by her uncle. They never told their parents or anyone else besides perhaps a few trusted friends. Engel says, “In a study issued last year, the co-chairwomen of a commission task force said that roughly three to four people experiencing such harassment never tell anyone in authority about it. Instead, they said women typically “avoid the harasser, deny or downplay the gravity of the situation, or attempt to ignore, forget, or endure the behavior.””

           I never reported my assault. The truth is, though, that even if I did report it nothing would happen to him. RAINN statistics show that, “Only 230 out of every 1,000 sexual assaults are reported to police,” and, “Out of every 1,000 rapes, 995 perpetrators will walk free.” Kavanaugh got confirmed to the Supreme Court. R. Kelly is charting better than he has in years. Founder of the Me Too movement Tarana Burke says in her Ted Talk, “I've read article after article bemoaning wealthy white men who have landed softly with their golden parachutes following the disclosure of their terrible behavior and we're asked to consider their futures. But what of survivors?” I never wanted to report what happened to me because I didn’t want to ruin someone else’s life, but I know he’s ruined plenty of others.

           At first I told a few trusted friends. After about a month I told my mom, but even then it was difficult and hard to tell her the whole story. The hardest person to tell was my dad, which took me a full year to do. It was the same day I was triggered by going to the beach with my best friend. After the beach, I was supposed to go with my dad, stepmom, and sister to a rooftop movie. Even though I had cried at the beach before seeing them, I tried hard to hold back as many tears as I could so that they wouldn’t be able to tell I had been crying.


           Another big reason so many men don’t know about the experiences of women is because we spare them. In Monica Hesse’s article, “Dear dads: Your daughters told me about their assaults — this is why they never told you,” she says, “A lot of effort goes into protecting men we love from bad things that happen to us. And a lot of fathers are closer to bad things than they’ll ever know.” She starts the article by explaining she got an email from a dad who responded to an article she wrote about street harassment. She says, “He was so glad… that his college-age daughter never experienced anything like that.” Less than a day later, he took it back, because he talked to his daughter and learned that it’s actually happened to her a lot; she just never told him.

           One of the reasons I didn’t tell my mom right away was because I knew that anything that hurt me would hurt her too. I finally told her because I believed she could take on my pain, because she always had in the past. I couldn’t tell my dad for a year because I knew it would hurt him in a way different than the way it hurt my mom. I was scared it would hurt him too much and that he would do something afterward to get him in jail.

           When we drove home from the rooftop movie, I was in the backseat with my sister thinking hard about whether or not to tell him. I wanted to because I needed him. I needed him to hug me, make me feel better, make me feel safe and protected, the way he always does. But I had been protecting him, and I didn’t want to stop. When my sister fell asleep in the backseat, it was hard to continue to hold back tears. I needed my dad, which meant I needed him to know.

           When we got back to his place, I knew he’d walk me to my car like he always does, and I was glad my sister was asleep and being taken inside because I didn’t want to cry in front of her, and she didn’t need to know about any of this. I started crying to my dad and had a really hard time saying anything, but with the little I did say, he understood enough. I cried long and hard, and he hugged me just like I had wanted him to. He cried a little too and reacted in all the other ways I knew he would. But he assured me that he was strong and that he could handle anything, which meant that he could handle knowing what happened to me. He didn’t want me to keep something like that from him.


           Women don’t just protect their fathers like this – they protect pretty much all the men in their life who they care about. They sometimes confide in men, just I have, but we care a lot about not burdening someone else or making them feel uncomfortable. This is why so many men were shocked when the hashtag #metoo first went viral, but most women weren’t. It reached nearly 8 million total tweets in October 2017 when Alyssa Milano first asked survivors to write #metoo. Since then, the movement is still going and has cemented itself as a social media movement.

           Like many other survivors, I’m empowered by the Me Too movement. Tarana Burke, the founder of the movement, says in her Ted Talk that she started it one night while lying in bed thinking about all the sexual violence in her community. She took a piece of paper and wrote, “Me too” at the top. Then she wrote an action plan “for building a movement based on empathy between survivors that will help us feel like we can heal, that we weren’t the sum total of the things that happened to us.” One of the biggest things I’ve hated about what happened to me is that I hate feeling like a victim. Like something is now wrong with me. This is why I love the Me Too movement and what it stands for. It promotes communal healing among survivors.

           Burke says, “… the violence doesn't end with the act. The violence is part of the trauma that we hold after the act.” This is what the Me Too movement is all about – recognizing the survivors and the pain and trauma they carry with them often for the rest of their lives. According to the APA, “Research indicates that women are twice as likely to develop PTSD, experience a longer duration of posttraumatic symptoms and display more sensitivity to stimuli that remind them of the trauma.” We carry our pain heavier and longer.


           Healing comes to survivors in many ways. It comes through support, through being believed, and through being listened to. There is something else I believe would also bring so much healing, but is probably the hardest thing for survivors to get: sincere apologies. When the allegations against Kavanaugh and the hearing were all happening, I kept thinking to myself that I understand this man wanted to defend his reputation and his career, but it would be so much better if he simply apologized. Blasey Ford was so clearly upset and had been silent for so long. Even if Kavanaugh truly didn’t remember the incident, he should’ve believed her, apologized for being a terrible teenage boy and showed how different and better he was now. It would have spared both parties a lot of pain and humiliation.

           As a Christian, repentance is very important. It means to “turn from evil, and to turn to good.” It is a call to turn away from sin and turn to God. I think this is something survivors crave from their perpetrators. I know it’s what I want. I want the guy who assaulted me to recognize that he did something wrong, because I know he doesn’t. I want him to feel bad and ashamed, instead of me feeling that way. I want him to never do it again, because I know he probably still is. When I gave him my number and typed my name in his phone, several other girls of the same name popped up. Two weeks after he assaulted me, he assaulted another girl, but this time when she told him to stop just as I had, he got angry with her telling her he thought she was different. I never think of forgiving him or ever expect an apology. However, I’d like it from so many other people.

           Engel explains, “Research shows that survivors of previous abuse and assault are at a higher risk of being sexually assaulted again.” This is true for me. My assaulter of a year and a half ago wasn’t my first one, but so far he’s been the last. As for the other men who’ve hurt me, if I ever knew they were sorry, that they shouldn’t have done what they did, that they shouldn’t have expected anything from me or pushed for more than I wanted to give, it would probably give back a piece of me that was taken. I even appreciate all those apologies men give on behalf of other men, or who take a stand for women. It means something to me, because it means there are men out there who listen and care.

           What happened to me a year and a half ago isn’t comparatively the worst sexual assault I’ve had, but it was the most traumatizing. For the nearly two years I was depressed before it happened, I sought ways to make myself feel better. Many seek it through drugs, alcohol, or meaningless sex. I sought it through affection and attention. I kept dating guy after guy hoping that someone would make me feel good, that someone would fill this huge gap I had inside of me. I had such low self-esteem at the time that I didn’t care what happened to me or my body. I just knew I craved a man’s hands on me only because I craved physical contact. I allowed things to happen with a few men that I didn’t want to happen, but afterward I never felt traumatized. I just knew I never wanted to see those guys again.


           By last summer, I was in a better place emotionally and mentally. I wasn’t depressed anymore and I was done dating just to feel good about myself. That’s why I blamed myself so much for what happened. I was supposed to be smarter and know better by then. When I was depressed, I didn’t know how to say no, but last summer I did, and I said it numerous times. Just as many other women know, it’s exhausting to have to say no so many times until you finally relent to a yes. It’s exhausting being the one responsible for how far sexual activity goes. I did say no. I did say stop. I did get out of his car eventually. I did blame myself.


           I know I’ve written a lot, and to me, everything I’ve had to say is important either because I haven’t said it before or because I don’t think it’s been shared enough. The last thing I have to say is what I’ve learned from my experiences and the Me Too movement and what I’d want to teach other women. In the New York Times article, “45 Stories of Sex and Consent on Campus,” a college girl explained, “I need to find my ability to not just say “yes” or “no,” but also “not tonight” and “that hurts.” I need to stop being polite about it.” This is what I’d like every woman to know.

           Right now, I have a pretty great boyfriend who has known about my assault very early on. It was important that I tell him as soon as possible so that he would understand that I get triggered and that it’s not his fault. Before I started dating him, I was once triggered on a date by a guy who wouldn’t stop touching my knee through a hole in my pants. It sounds dumb, but I didn’t want him touching my knee honestly because I hadn’t shaved my legs. He made it a kind of game and kept touching it despite how many times I told him not to. Before my assault, I wouldn’t have cared and would have played along. But now, I am very sensitive to whenever a guy doesn’t respond to my small no’s. My assaulter ignored so many little no’s before he ultimately ignored the big ones, which I didn’t realize at the time was such a red flag.

           What I appreciate so much about my current boyfriend is that often times, I don’t even have to say no. Since the beginning, if he’s ever tried doing anything I wasn’t obviously very receptive to, he simply stopped trying. I don’t have to verbally say no. He automatically understands this basic thing that every guy should: if a girl doesn’t seem into it, don’t try to coerce her to get into it. Any kind of sexual activity should only open when all individuals involved want it to happen.

           I know I am lucky. I have support, I have sought healing, and I have always been believed. I know so many other women don’t have these things. Despite all this, it’s still incredibly hard for me to deal with what happened to me. I’m signed up to attend a support group this week and I’m so scared. I want to talk about it to other survivors who understand, but I’m scared and it’s hard. It’s hard to sort through all the messiness of the pain that I think is gone most of the time but still creeps up now and again. I’m not scared to relive what happened, but I’m scared to face the fact that I may not have the support of my family if or when they find out. I’m scared to waddle through the shame, guilt, and self-blame. I’m scared in ways I don’t know how to verbalize. I’m just scared.

           That’s why I needed to write this. I need to feel like I can be brave. I need to not be silent anymore, even if the voice I add to the noise is such a small one. I needed to finally write #metoo.

p.s. This video came out months ago in response to Trumps words once saying it's a scary time for men. I still appreciate the video, so click here to take a look.

“As soon as healing takes place, go out and heal somebody else.”
― Maya Angelou

*Update: Since the original publication of this article, I have been to group therapy through Project Sister, a non-profit that opens its doors up to all victims of sexual abuse. They provide free one-on-one or group therapy counseling. It has been an invaluable help in my journey.

Sources:
Why Don't Victims of Sexual Harassment Come Forward Sooner?
Facts About Women and Trauma
What is a trigger?

Chance the Rapper, Lady Gaga, Ciara, and More Artists Who Have Pulled Their R. Kelly Collabs
How #MeToo really was different, according to data
What is a trigger?
Repentance
Why Don't Victims of Sexual Assault Report Sooner?
RAINN statistics
Facts About Women and Trauma
After Scathing Documentary, R. Kelly Is Back on the Charts
Dear dads: Your daughters told me about their assaults — this is why they never told you
Me Too is a movement, not a moment

45 Stories of Sex and Consent on Campus

How to Know You've Found the One

Mia: "Maybe I'm not good enough."
Seb: "Yes you are."
Mia: "No... No, maybe I'm not."
Seb: "Yes you are."
Mia: "Maybe I'm not."
Seb: "You are."
-  La La Land

            If you google how to know if you’ve found the right one, you will get nearly ten billion results, so what’s one more article about it? I’m not sure I can provide anything more enlightening from any of the dozen articles I just went through ranging from eharmony advice to science and psychology and even a contributor on Oprah.com. All I can add is my own personal experience supported by t.v. and movies, which I hope will exemplify my excellent taste. But hey, personal journeys and pop culture are often places we look for advice and truth anyway, right?

            I think the list of “signs” that I've found on many many sites are super great and helpful. They talk about how much you respect each other, how comfortable you feel, having that gut feeling and that euphoria. I agree with most of what any listicle says, except maybe the Insider’s “11 surefire signs that you've found 'the one'” that had more to do with simple compatibility rather than love or “the one.” For the most part, though, being able to “share your hopes and dreams” (Lifehack) to “You manage conflict well” (eharmony) are pretty accurate indicators of being in the right relationship.


            Though everyone has different thoughts on this, I don’t believe there’s only one “the one” out there. There are too many people on this planet for that to be the case and so many factors fall into falling in love. You can find “the one” in the small hometown you grew up in, while travelling the world, or swiping right. If you would’ve never met that one, you would probably find another one along the way. That being said, I also think it’s a rare beautiful gift to find someone who in the cliché terms completes you.

            I was a big fan of the show Once Upon a Time (even during the times it was mostly going downhill). I feel like my love theology is similar to the show’s, which believes your true love is out there, but if you lose him or her, then you can find a second. The chance of finding a third, though, is slim to none.

            One of my favorite movies is Before Sunrise, in which an American, Jesse, and a French girl, Celine, have a serendipitous encounter on a train in Europe and then decide to get off in Vienna to spend a day and full night together. The trilogy follows them every nine years and shows them reunite in Before Sunset and then living their lives together in Before Midnight. It’s a beautifully realistic portrayal of love and genuine connection that goes against the sappy Hollywood films that get it wrong so much of the time.


            Spoilers ahead, but in the first film they are both in their early twenties and by the end decide to not exchange information at the time of their departure. Instead, the film ends with a cliffhanger of them meeting in six months at a precise time and location. The second film, which picks up nine years later, reveals Jesse’s unhappy marriage to a woman he has a son with and Celine’s lonely relationship with a guy who is often away. My favorite line of the second film is when Jesse is rhetorically asking why they had never exchanged numbers when they first met, and Celine replies, “I guess when you're young, you just believe there'll be many people with whom you'll connect with. Later in life, you realize it only happens a few times.”

            Genuine connections can be rare, and though it isn’t the only factor in knowing who “the one” is, it is vitally important. So once the genuine connection, mutual respect and admiration, and all that other jazz are all accounted for, there is one thing I want to focus on to determine how you know you’ve found that mystical “one.”

            One of the most important qualities I think someone can look for is how much you can both throw yourselves into each other’s passions. First, you have to know what your own passion is and then find out your partner’s, which if you know yourself well enough and have been dating any amount of considerable time, this should be obvious. Next, you have to find out if it’s something you can support. If their sole passion in life is to make lots of money by any means necessary, but you think money is the root of all evil, then your relationship will never work. If however, you both support each other’s passions and as the website Hack Spirit says, “You are their biggest cheerleader,” then this is a very good sign.


            Get ready for another movie reference, because La La Land is such a good example of this, which is all about falling in love through each other’s passions (lots of spoilers ahead). Sebastian loves jazz. Mia wants to be an actress. In one of their early conversations, she admits she doesn’t like jazz, so he takes her to a jazz club and throughout the film she develops a love for it too. In fact, at some point later in the film she tells him that she likes jazz because of him. Similarly, Seb becomes the biggest supporter of her dream and is the one who helps her to decide to write and act in her own play, which is what ultimately leads to the ending in which she gets discovered and achieves her dream.

            Throughout the film, they become enmeshed in each other’s dreams and passions. Mia designs Seb’s logo for the future club he wants to own, and later finds that he uses it. She is so immersed in his dream that it becomes a source of conflict later on when he isn’t living his dream and she scolds him for it. It also a breaking point for Mia when after all of his support, during a fight he belittles her for being an actress and says, “Maybe you just liked me when I was on my ass because it made you feel better about yourself.”

            Being able to support each other isn’t everything, but to me it is one of the most important indicators for a successful relationship. It is so important to me that during my dating life whenever I’ve started going out with someone, one of the first things I try to find out is what the other person’s passion is and whether or not I can support it. I also let them know what mine is and along the way determine how supportive they are of it.

            It’s okay to not throw yourself into the other person’s passion right away. It’s healthy even, because it means you are your own person first. But as the relationship progresses, how much you delve into what the other person loves is increasingly important. When I’ve met guys who don’t like to read, but are willing to read my blogs and short stories, then it’s a good sign. But if they put minimal to no effort into reading my stuff, then I write them off completely. However, the more involved we become, the more I want and expect them to support me and vice versa.


            Falling in love usually plays the biggest role in supporting one another, because this is usually the point where your partner falls in love with what you love because of how much they love you. Everything before this point usually requires effort, but at this point it should become easy and natural. Loving what your partner loves can range from anything to loving their kids (if they have any), to taking their spiritual views seriously, to going to every gig if they are a performer and loving what they play even if you weren’t stoked about that kind of music before you fell for them.

            As with anyone who loves you, if they really care about you, they’ll support you. I’m always appreciative of my family supporting my writing and their willingness and want to read what I write. However, I truly believe that your partner who ends up being “the one” should be your biggest supporter and possibly even greatest muse. This is the person you are enthusiastic to share your passions and dreams with because you know how excited they get about it for you. They believe in you even when you doubt yourself and carry you on through the struggles of following your dream.

            If you are questioning whether or not this person is “the one” for you, then among other important questions, ask yourself, “Can or do I love what he/she loves?” As well as, “Does he/she love what I love?” What someone loves reveals a lot about who they are and I think is the best test to determine how compatible two people are, even if you have different views on it. Do you both love politics but see things differently? Do you both love God but have different religious backgrounds? Can you love the other person’s family and friends? Can you share and participate in their dreams? If the answer to these questions is yes, then it’s safe to say you’ve found that elusive “one.”


p.s. This is the best article I found for a list of "15 Questions to Know if You've Found the One"

*originally published on j.ilianaserna.wordpress.com