News

Iam 55 years old, and my first sexual experience, at the age of 16, was date rape.

While on a ski trip with my family I met a young man who was a couple of years older than me. We went out for supper, then to his place.

In his room we began to kiss. When he started to get carried away I asked him to stop, telling him I was a virgin and not ready for sex. He stayed on top of me.

Frightened and unsure of myself, I kept resisting. He continued to force himself upon me.

Later, after the rape, stunned and feeling alone, I found my way back to our hotel.

I never told anyone.

I wanted to erase the experience. I hoped if I pretended it hadn't happened, the complexity of feelings would dissolve.

My biggest fear was of being found out. Bad enough to have lost my virginity, but what would my parents think?

The first year following the rape I carried on as usual. I wondered if people could tell I was no longer a virgin. When my peers talked about their boyfriends and sexual encounters, I found a quick way out of the discussion.

In my mid-20s, out for an evening with friends, the conversation turned to date rape. I listened quietly before disclosing I thought this had happened to me. But I brushed the event off, not certain I had been the victim of rape since I "knew" the person, albeit not well. The trauma remained

unexplored.

There were profound psychological effects. The rape led to issues relating to trust, safety and intimacy. I developed patterns of trying to please, doing what I didn't want to do because I wanted to be liked, tolerating verbal and emotional abuse.

My confidence was shaken by not being heard and my self-

esteem took a blow. I had no sense of my own voice. After all, I had said nothing. I had hidden within myself, afraid to speak. Had I believed in myself enough to tell someone at the time, I could have received help to dissolve the trauma before it layered through my psyche.

There was no doubt in my mind that I was to blame. If I hadn't gone back to the boy's house, I would not have been compromised.

During my 40s, I noticed that certain situations of conflict triggered a "freeze" response in my body, similar to what had occurred on the night of the rape. I had been exploring bodywork, and for the first time since I was 16, I began the process of releasing what had been stored within for so many years.

I became able to speak up. I had been afraid to be myself in intimate relationships. This created difficulties in my marriage, but with support, counselling and time the issues eased.

When I finally spoke out 30 years later, friends were supportive. No one passed judgment or claimed that what I had experienced was not rape, as I had believed. "Rape is rape," they said.

I have read that a woman never recovers from being raped. Instead, she learns to integrate the experience into her life.

In retrospect, I see that my involvement with dance helped me restore my self-esteem. I began training in modern dance at 18. I channelled my emotions and energy into movement. The rhythm carried and comforted me and I felt safe in my body - uninhibited, tall, proud and unafraid to be open and vulnerable.

My teachers encouraged me with an optimism I had never known. Dance "saved me" by being my vehicle of expression and giving me the sense I had control of my body. It was also something I could do well.

Years of verbal therapy and healing practices including massage, therapeutic touch and seeing a shaman healer helped me come to terms with the rape. At the same time, at a core level I continue to carry a multifaceted range of feelings about the assault. While I understand no one asks to be raped, at times I experience feelings of humiliation, shame and guilt.

I wonder about other women who have struggled with being raped. Do they wish, as I do at times, that they could go back to the day of the rape and change the experience?

Recently, I came across a newspaper article by a woman who wrote about her date rape. I was heartened to know I am not alone. This crime is rarely reported and often unseen, trapping us within our silenced voices. But we are beginning to speak, and by doing so we are alerting women to the burden of carrying their pain.

I have learned the healing process begins with finding our voices and developing our inner resources. This helps ease the pain of living with the wounds that may remain.

The sense of isolation I used to live with arises less frequently now. I can better focus on my positive attributes rather than on the distressing memory of having been raped.

I am the woman I am because of my experience: compassionate, artistic, expressive, strong and empathetic. My appreciation of this continues to grow.

Janet Goldblatt lives in Toronto.

Tomorrow: A young woman's struggle with reporting a sexual

assault.