First, it occurs to me now that the more we allow Disbelievers to control whether we voice our stories, the more they control the outcomes. It’s scary as hell to tell a story like this, to open yourself up to the judgement that may come. This happened about 1/2 my life ago and my parents don’t know (until now). For some reason, unknown to me for a long time, I have carried shame for this. Even though that doesn’t make sense, it’s true. The psychology of victimhood doesn’t always follow “common sense”. Now I know that the shame I have carried about this reflects more about society’s views of these incidents and how our system first attempts to blame women, than it ever has reflected about me personally.
