Hear Our Voices: End Male Violence Against Women
It is suggested that 1 in 5 women are subjected to sexual violence in their lifetime, sometimes on multiple occasions. That statistic is shocking in itself. But I ask myself, is the true prevalence of sexual violence higher? I spend my personal and work life discussing and researching sexual violence, and I am yet to come across another woman that does not have a story to tell.
Below, I share the stories of the brave women who have contacted me to raise awareness of sexual violence. It’s important that we remember that these stories are not ‘experiences.’ These are instances where women have been subjected to sexual violence by men. They are traumatic, but not necessarily violent, and they can have a devastating and long-lasting effect on the survivors. It is all too-common for the victims to blame themselves, and we have a responsibility as a society to do better.
*Trigger warning: detailed accounts of sexual violence and sexual abuse
Our Stories
“When I was 15, I was sleeping next to a male friend. I woke up to him touching me inappropriately (I’ll spare the graphic detail). I was too scared to ask him to stop but it was just horrific. I pretended to move in my sleep, trying so hard to not let him know that I was awake. I thought that if he knew that I was awake then it would escalate. The touching didn’t stop until I had completely rolled over and moved away. I told my friends about it and they told me “how dare I say things like that about it him. It would ruin his life.” They suggested that I was asking for it. But how could I consent? I was asleep.
With hindsight, this blame had a huge impact on my self-worth and sexual relationships, both in my remaining childhood and then part of my adulthood. I believed that I was nothing more than a woman for men to have sex with, to make sexual and inappropriate comments and gestures towards, and that my consent was overshadowed by my role to please men.”
“I went away to a concert once with a group of boys and I had to share a hotel room with one of them. I didn’t mind because we had been friends for almost 7 years. But when we returned back to the hotel room and got into the shared bed, he began to try and touch me sexually. I told him no and that I didn’t want to, and even tried to move away, but he kept grabbing me and touching me. I was scared at first but then I remember thinking that I must have done something to lead him on and that I was asking for it. He was telling me that I was “easy” and therefore “up for it.” I eventually moved away from him and the touching stopped, but I lay awake all night in fear that he would touch me again. It took me years to identify that what had happened to me was a sexual assault because of the guilt, shame and blame that I carried. I never told anyone - I still haven’t. In fact, I completely forgot about it until something triggered the memory. Women are taught to stay silent for fear of being disbelieved (or worse.)”
“I went for a run once in broad daylight around my village. [My boyfriend] was ahead of me and a white van beeped at me. I was a bit concerned and then when I was near my house the same white van had found me again! They slowed down right next to me, so I tried to ignore them but it was proper creepy as they were just watching me. So, I stopped running and took my headphones out. They were saying how beautiful I was, asked if I had a fella (which I replied saying he was running just ahead of me) and that they wanted to take me home!! I recorded this all on Strava in the description of my run and eventually they drove off after me saying thanks but no (why I felt I had to be polite to them is beyond me). I then phoned [my boyfriend] as I sprinted home as I thought they were going to beat him up or something for being ‘my fella’. I made a joke of it at the time on my Strava account but now I look back at how horrific it actually was - the fact they had turned around somewhere and came looking for me!”
“My ex tried to anally rape me. He left me in tears and didn't care about what he had done. I was too scared to go to the police. He is no longer in my life but he did father my child. I am teaching my son to respect women and treat them with kindness.”
“I was slammed against a pool table after finishing my shift, and the 50-ish manager, thrusted against me and fumbled at my clothes. I belted him and ran away. I didn't get paid for that night.
My next door neighbours son was pouring us drinks in their house. I don't remember leaving. I woke up to find my cargos buttoned up wrong. And I'd had sex (been raped). I was 43 and he was 20. I had no interest in him but I know he'd had a crush on me for years. Not consensual at all.
I was dragged into the male toilets at a ball by a friend’s partner and slammed against the wall as he fumbled at me and tried to kiss me. I was only saved by someone else I knew coming in.
I seemed to be a magnet for men to paw at. I had long blonde hair. I was attractive, I guess. In my teens I ended up being pals with lots of gay men, and went to their clubs (then still illegal) so I could dance and chat and not be pestered. When I went to Art College, I ended up with bright pink hair shaved at the sides, as I was so over being a man's entitlement. It worked - men stopped deciding I was there for them.”
“I was sexually and physically abused by my brother between the ages of 13 and 17. He would come into my room, whether i was sleeping or not and touch me, get into bed with me, sometimes penetrate me. I would wake up with him either on top of me or besides me with a hand up/down my top or worse with him inside of me. And it got worse as he got older as he would have friends to stay and they would do the same. Once I had to buy the morning after pill but I had no money so I tried to lift some money out of my dad's wallet. He caught me and beat me with a belt.
Another time, I had been out with a friend and had gone back to stay at hers. After many drinks, I was drowsy. I fell asleep on her sofa and woke up to see I was exposed and her younger brother was masturbating over me.”
“The murder of Sarah Everard and the social movement towards ending sexual violence allowed an old memory to surface that I had not acknowledged for almost a decade. I was 15/16 and at a house party which was thrown by a boy that I had recently started seeing. His parents were away and we were all drinking. I remember drinking so much that I threw up all over myself. The boy put me in the shower, fully-clothed, to get the sick off of me. He then put me to bed and I passed out. My memory is pretty hazy due to the alcohol and the length of time since it happened, but I remember suddenly coming to an awareness that we were having sex. I was confused and felt uncomfortable. I remember thinking to myself “perhaps I consented to this and don’t remember.” But the truth is, I now know that I was in no state of mind to be giving consent. I just lay there, frozen, and let it continue. I blamed myself for drinking too much. I never spoke of this to anyone. And that’s the thing, because it was almost a competition of bragging about sexual encounters at my school, and it took me until adulthood to question this experience. Why did I not tell anyone? I would usually tell my friends everything and it would have been seen as something to give me ‘street credit.’ And what’s more, he had actually cheated on me with another girl whilst I had been passed out in his bed. So, he must’ve known I wouldn’t catch him because I was passed out and heavily intoxicated. That must mean that he knew I was in no fit state to consent, right? This experience still confuses me today, and I just can’t quite figure out whether I have been raped or whether I just can’t remember consenting. I have been vaguely in touch with this person for years, but this revelation has made me extremely uncomfortable, especially when I see his name pop up on my screen. The not knowing is haunting.”
“When I was young and naive, around 13/14/15, men made sexual comments to me all the time. Their wives would appear and they would change back into doting husbands, and as soon as they left they would be talking about porn, etc. I was very innocent in that regard. I was very tall for my age, and they all seemed very different excited at me becoming older/sexually aware/ etc. I never forgot how their behaviour would change when their wives appeared.
I was locked in a taxi once when I was 15, I did the same, pretended to be interested, invited him to mine (so I could at least get all the way home, I had no more money), then when I got there, went in the house to ‘check the coast was clear’ then ‘discovered’ that my father had came home unexpectedly, and he had to leave before my father saw him.
When I was younger, around 16, I was offered a lift home from work with some others, I was to be last out the car. The guy pulled up near the blocks of flats, pulled out his penis, and it was filthy. Like utterly disgusting. He tried to grab my hair and force my head down. I knew if I wasn’t clever I wouldn’t escape, so I pretended to be astonished that he like me, simpered at him that I had fancied him for ages, and why didn’t we get together in better surroundings? I told him I would run in and grab my stuff. I went into the wrong building and chapped a woman I knew and hid in her house. Thankfully the flats were very bland and Indistinct. He had no idea where i had gone. I never went back to that job.
I ended upon anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, every drug you could imagine. I would drive the kids four hours to see him. My child was seriously ill, wasn’t sleeping, has a bad heart, joint disease, learning difficulties. My eldest was fine, but loved and missed her dad. I put them before me. On one visit, when I thought we had reached a co-parenting agreement, he slept with me when I had had my anti psychotics. He knew that was a big no-no, that I was paranoid about being helpless. I was stupid. My youngest daughter saw him close the door, and peeked in and saw him. She has to carry that.”
“It is something you never imagine will happen to you until the day it does. Growing up, I had experienced sexual harassment in many forms, from cat calling on the streets to unwanted flirting. However, I never thought that it would happen to me and that I would be a victim of sexual assault. I do not remember being taught much about consent at school other than ‘no means no.’ What I do remember, however, is being told not to walk home on my own and not to walk home late at night at the risk of being sexually assaulted by a stranger in a dark alley. However, when I was sexually assaulted it was not in a dark alley or on the streets but in my own home - somewhere I once considered a safe place. It was not by a stranger, but by someone I had known for a long time and at one point considered a friend.
It was an ordinary Tuesday night; I was getting ready to begin my night shift when he messaged me asking if he could pop round for a catchup. At first, I was hesitant to see him as I knew I would have to go to work in a couple of hours. However, having not seen him in so long, I agreed and told him he could pop round. All ready and dressed for work when he arrived, we went upstairs and initially sat and talked for a while, catching up as friends do. At this point we were sat at opposite ends of the bed, him facing towards the TV and me facing toward the wall. As I went to lay down next to him, now facing towards the TV, is when it all started.
He began edging closer to me as I continued to watch what was on the television. He then began running his hand against my joggers up along my inner thigh and before I had the chance to tell him stop, he was sat on top of me kissing up and down my neck. As I tried to resist and get him off me, telling him no and moving my head frantically so he could not access my neck, he grabbed both my arms with one of his and placed them above my head in his attempt to stop me resisting. He then began undoing my trousers with his other hand, even making comments like “you’ve done these up tight for someone who wants it so badly” and “why are you wearing so many layers, you’re not making this easy for me.”
I tried to get him off me but with all his body weight on me and my arms behind my head I could barely move and by this point, both my trousers and pants had been removed. He then began undressing himself at which point I tried to get up only to get pushed down again. I continued shouting at him, telling him to stop, pushing my knees into his chest in hope that it would get him off me and eventually it did.
I leapt up and put my clothes back on as did he and asked him to leave, but instead of leaving, he insisted he was only messing around and promised me it would not happen again. I continued asking him to leave but he would not and being in the house by myself I could not ask anyone for help. I thought it would not happen again but it did. No more than fifteen minutes later, stood up at this point, he pushed me down onto the bed, gripping my wrists and pinning me down to the point I could barely move. I continued to tell him no but instead of choosing to listen he continued kissing my neck and as I tried to resist his grip around my wrists got stronger. The more I said I was not interested, the more I said I wanted him to stop, the more forceful he became.
By this point I had lost count of how many times I had said no. Despite my refusal and repeated attempts to get him off me, he was relentless:”‘come on, I know you want it’, ‘you do not have to go to work for a few hours, we can make it a quick one.” He once again began undressing me and undressing himself, began touching me inappropriately and tried forcing his penis into my mouth several times.
It is something I will never forget. A few minutes turned into what felt like a lifetime. It felt in that moment like time had just stood still. It was a strange feeling, doing all my best to get him off me whilst fearing what might happen in my own home. I continued in my attempts to get him off me and eventually I did. I began screaming for him to get out of my house and after a while he left. I was in utter disbelief as to what had just happened and what might have happened to me. For a moment I just sat there overwhelmed with disgust, self-blame, and guilt. I felt ashamed and disgusted in myself and even wondered if what had happened was in some way my fault. Had I led him on? Despite my doubts, rationally I knew I had not and knew that I needed to talk to someone about it.
Shortly after he had left and not long before I had to leave for work, my housemate returned home. Still in shock as to what had just happened, I sat in the lounge both shaken and upset trying to explain to my housemate what had just occurred. Their response? “You’re probably just upset because it’s the first person since your ex.’” As I denied this assumption and continued to explain what had occurred in more detail, they became more empathetic and supportive of my situation However, that was not the point.
I was stunned by their initial response. In that moment I began to question everything and even doubt myself. Was it wrong of me to say anything? Do they think I am attention seeking? Should I have kept quiet? It probably was not that bad and I know people who have gone through worse. As I set off for work all I could think about was whether I should have said something and whether telling someone else would warrant a similar response.
After a lot of thought I finally decided to tell my best friend and it is with her unconditional love and support that I am able to write this blog and share my story. While I did not receive the initial response I had anticipated, I am glad I spoke out and am I hope this will encourage others to do so as well. I think the reason that many men and women are encouraged not to speak up is so that [the perpetrators] are protected. But the truth is, no one should have to put up with harassment or assault of any kind, in any environment.
Being ‘safe’ should be defined not as staying quiet but instead by speaking up and addressing situations like my own. Silence is what gives some people permission to do the things they know are inappropriate. Acting, on the other hand, is the only way to create the change we want to see in the world. Yes, it can be daunting, it can be uncomfortable and no it might not always work but it is an opportunity we have to create a better future and hopefully put an end to harassment and assault.”
“I was out with friends in town and I was staying at their house that weekend. They had the luxury of a spare room now they'd taken the grown-up step of having their own place. It was somewhere that was always completely safe and never the place of crazy parties now we were all in our late 20's. Even now, I justify this because society still believes the onus is on women to do all the possible risk assessments known to mankind in order to keep ourselves safe! But I knew where I was staying and I knew how I was getting home at the end fo the night so my risk assessment was done, in my mind at least.
Whilst we were out, we ran into a joint friend. He was out with his new housemate (let’s call him XY) and his housemate's fiancée who I hadn't met. When the venue shut, it was still early for us, so they came back for a bit of an afterparty. Whilst everyone else bundled into taxis, I walked back with my mate (whose house it was) as it wasn't really that far and I could do with walking off some of the booze. At the last moment, XY decided to walk with us. I remember thinking that he was a bit of a dick and made no attempt to converse with him. When we got back to the house, things started ramping up a bit and people got out the coke. I was quite picky about who I did drugs with, was already sobering up and decided I wasn't going to get involved so said my good nights.
As I left them to it, my friend quickly explained that XYs fiancée was totally wasted by the time she got back to their house so they put her to sleep in the spare room - where I was staying. Apart from groaning that I was now going to be sharing the large double bed with someone else, I didn't really think anything of it. She was completely out of it, so I put on my pjs and got into bed. At some point in the night, I remember the door opening and someone standing on the bed. XY was (trying to) whisper his girlfriends name and tell her to move over. She moaned, I swore and shuffled over -now there were three in a bed.
I woke up later to find XY's arm around my waist. Assuming him to be drunk and mistaking me for his girl, I kicked him off and went back to sleep. This happened a few times - I'd had a bunch of late nights that week, I was knackered and mostly just pissed off he was interrupting my sleep. It then felt like I had a good stretch of sleep, but when I woke up again every alarm bell in my body was ringing the second I opened my eyes. I didn't wake up groggy, I woke up totally alert (not like me). I was confused. I was also not in the same place in the bed as when I'd gotten in. I knew something was wrong but in those first seconds, which felt like forever, I couldn't really work out what. But I'll never forget the colour of the bedroom wall and the weird blue-green border in that bedroom - the wall I woke up staring at.
My heart was thumping and I felt strange and then I felt someone put their fingers inside me. I completely froze and my entire body went rigid. He stopped, perhaps sensing I'd woken up, but then he started again. I couldn't move and then perhaps panicked that I had to stop this, with a sort of nausea (not the alcohol variety). Suddenly, I sat bolt up right in bed and stared at him. His eyes were closed - he laid totally still. I wanted to punch him square in the face, but in that instant I paused. I looked at his girl. I couldn't punch him now, and I lost the opportunity. That moment had gone forever. I came to regret that an indescribable amount.
I don't know how long I sat there working out what to do. I looked around the room to see a few people were also sleeping on the floor. They must have turned up after I went to bed. I knew who they were but not really well. My clothes were folded on a chair at the other side of the room, but with the people on the floor, I felt trapped. I didn't feel like standing over them in a pair of shorts and a vest - I wasn't really sure what state of dress I was in either at that point. For some reason, I could reach my phone. I think it was hanging in my handbag at the end of the bed. XY was still motionless. I didn’t' really know who to ring, though. I texted my housemate to see if he could come and rescue me but he'd been up early and had gone out for the day. I just wanted to go home, but I couldn't get out of that room, or I felt like I couldn't.
There was no one else I could contact so I dragged my sorry arse up to the far corner of the bed, curled up in a ball and pulled the duvet over my head. I laid there until everyone left. I hated myself for this for a long time. Not only had I not punched him, or event yelled at him, but I then hid. That was my response. To fucking hide. I don't know how long it took. I felt totally stuck.
The two people on the floor quietly got up and left. I heard the front door bang fairly close together. That left XY and his fiancée. The stomach churning cutesy, lovey-dovey conversation of a couple who've just woken up in bed together - whilst knowing what he'd done. I can't remember his face, but I'll never forget his voice. Eventually, they left and I went and I went and woke up my friend and his girlfriend and told them. There was ten minutes, maybe less, of fraught conversation that quickly moved from them struggling to comprehend it -was it a mistake? Had he misinterpreted something I'd said or done? Was it the coke? It was probably the coke, no? To 'I should tell her', and then me saying nobody would ever believe me. It would cause group drama, people would know, and why would his fiancee believe a girl she just met over her guy? It would put our joint mate in a shitty position - and so on. There was no discussion of involving the police. In the end, I said that I never wanted to speak about it ever again and made them promise they would never bring it up. I only spoke again of this with them for the first time a few months ago, after twelve long years!
When I got home, I told myself repeatedly that I hadn't been raped - it wasn't the end of the world. I was moving to Bristol, funnily enough, in a few weeks’ time and it would be a fresh start. I tore into myself for not kicking XY out of bed when he got in, for being too lazy to get out of bed and find somewhere else to sleep when he put his arm round me, and for being so drunk that I couldn't wake up, essentially 'allowing him' to do that to me. I was angry, but with me. I should have known better. When I got home, I put the knickers, shorts and vest I'd been wearing into a plastic bag, left the house and found a public bin to dump them in. I couldn't even have them in the house. I felt dirty and took another shower.
When I moved to Bristol, I became exceptionally cautious about drinking. This really impacted my social life and integration actually, and in all honesty, that shaped the groups of friends that I made and in some ways how the rest of my life turned out. I blamed myself. It was my fault. For all the years I'd been raving, partying, clubbing, whatever weird and crap situations I'd got out of, I'd never put myself in a position like that. I'd got careless, sloppy. I should have known better. I blamed the alcohol for not waking sooner, society enforces that view anyway - and I suppose that way I made the world safer; if I didn't drink, it couldn't happen again. Soon, drinking started to make me anxious. Eventually, I stopped drinking altogether.
I buried it so deep that I had counselling for anxiety for 18 months and it never even occurred to me to bring it up with my counsellor (or that it might be contributing to my anxiety - which I assumed was part of getting a new job and moving to a new city). It was only after the #metoo starting to be discussed that I revisited it. As women discussed their experiences online, I felt compelled to defend them against the men saying ''why leave it until now to bring it up?” It became something I thought about day and night and completely overtook my life - what else did he do whilst I was asleep? How long had he been doing it? How could I have not woken up sooner? What if I hadn't woken up when I did? Did he just want a threesome? Did he want to just exert power or was he hoping to have sex? Was it just his fingers? What if he had a small cock (honestly, I went there!)? And so on, with all these questions. Mostly, the 'what did he do and how long for?' because I'll never know but quite clearly I had woken up 'late to the party', let’s say. Eventually I sought professional help and the insane questioning and self-blaming stopped - but not until I had hunted him down on twitter (for no purpose at all) and had endured a spell of agoraphobia during counselling. I came to realise that my panic, my all-encompassing urgent need to be home and safe, was the exact same feeling I had when I desperately texted my housemate hoping he'd come and get me.
I think there are a lot of deeply uncomfortable elements of sexual assault that are just never discussed and I found that really hard, really hard, to confront. And with blame comes the shame - it becomes a lot to carry. “I could have prevented it. I did it to myself.” It takes a lot of work to un-do those lines of thinking.
I still feel like a fraud for feeling the way, for my response, because I wasn't actually raped. It doesn't count. It wasn't that bad. In some ways, what I told myself afterwards was more damaging than what he actually did. And now with the highlight of sexual violence with Sabina Nessa and Sarah Everard, I feel guilt. What if XY's behaviour has escalated? What if, because I was/am, too gutless to report it, other women have or will suffer? I guess I'm not really ok about these last elements. We want a greater number of convictions apparently, says Boris Johnson. No, we want less sexual assault and rape and a society that doesn't breed it. Anyhooo, don't get me started on that!”
Other Comments on Male Violence Against Women
“With movements like this [MeToo], not many men jump onboard and share the things like us women do online, and even more so they have the #notallmen hashtag which is just taking away from the issue. But when it comes to issues with men, say for example their high suicide rates, us women are still supporting them through that!”
”It’s as if men have felt ‘attacked’ by us women being scared of them and sharing all these things against men being predators, when the irony is women are ACTUALLY being attacked by them and our voice still gets somewhat shrunk because they’re getting offended. Imagine if we had a # regarding the suicide rates, #notallwomen kill themselves. So, it’s not as big of an issue for us (ha). Some men just hate the power being taken away from them, when it’s their power that puts them there in the first place.”
“I split with my son’s mum. I was hurting but she lived in my house for 12 months until she found the right house. All my friends asked me “why don’t you just kick her out? She didn’t want you.” My response was: well, he’s going to grow up idolising his mum. If his dad kicks her out, what message does that send? You have to be bigger and make the right choice. Whilst he’ll grow up idolising his mum, the way he interacts with women and how he treats them will be taught by his dad. Things start at home. Everyone can slip up at times but respect isn’t something you’re born knowing about. It’s taught.”
“From a male perspective, the number of reports of male sexual violence against women is incredibly alarming and makes you wonder how many instances go unreported.”
