Content warning: This article contains sensitive information about sexual assault. You can find the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673.
Consent, as defined by Oxford Languages, is the “permission for something to happen or agreement to do something.”
Pretty simple, right? You just have to ask first and then base your action off the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer you receive.
Unfortunately, this concept isn’t as simple as we would like it to be. Too often, the desire for power or the desire to fulfill a sexual urge takes over and consent is not considered, which leads to a plethora of sexual assaults.
I was assaulted for the first time around seventh or eighth grade, but I had been the victim of harassment and catcalls even earlier than that.
To put what I am about to say into perspective, I had a very toxic group of male friends in middle and high school, but I wanted so desperately to fit in that I would do whatever my female friends would.
It didn’t help that I went to a school where my male peers hypersexualized females to the point that it became normalized. It happened so often that I was almost led to believe I was doing something “wrong” if the boys weren’t talking about me in their locker room.
Then came the infamous basement incident.
My female friends and I were locked in one of my male “friends’’’ basement, and two of the guys I had known since elementary school decided to play “slap ass” — i.e. we were all locked in the basement getting our butts groped and slapped despite our obvious lack of enthusiasm in this so-called game.
Fast forward to my first week of high school. At 14 years old, a senior had walked up to me, palmed my butt and walked away. For the next couple of months, I made sure to never walk around without a bag or a binder covering my butt, so I wouldn’t have to relive that experience.
I’ve gone to too many concerts where men have followed me around and claimed they would stop if I just made out with them. This is coercion at its finest, but I’ve taken the bait a couple of times just so they would leave me alone.
Then there was the time I screamed “NO” as my arms clenched my chest as hard as possible so he couldn’t get in — but I wasn’t strong enough. Despite the clear ‘no,’ he shoved his hand down my shirt, grabbed my boobs and walked away laughing as if his ego had just doubled.
I am not telling you all of this to spark a pity party — I’m telling you this so other survivors know they are not alone and that they are strong enough to overcome the internal wounds that were unwillingly inflicted upon them. I’m writing this to let the world know I’m a survivor and I won’t be silenced.
These instances of assault follow me around like a shadow, even when I try to suppress the memory.
I will never be able to erase the feeling of having my wrist clenched and body dragged into the woods. I will never be able to forget the feeling of being kicked awake and having you-know-what shoved down my throat.
I will never be able to eliminate the shame and guilt that consumed me when I had to pretend I was OK because the perpetrator was in my so-called friend group. The discomfort ran so strong that I began to struggle in classes and transferred to a private school — though no one knew that was the reason I had to escape those forbidding walls.
And, I will certainly never be able to erase the depression and rage that filled my lungs when I tried to come forward two years later, only to be told, “You were drinking, what did you expect?”
Here’s what I expect:
I expect people to know what consent is — to understand the difference behind ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ I expect people to accept our answers without coercion, whether they like it or not. I expect people to be there for their friends, instead of giving them dirty looks and making jokes when they are just trying to find peace after an assault.
I expect people to believe others when they come forward. We live in a society that sees an American raped every 68 seconds and where one out of every six women are the victims of an attempted or completed rape.
I’ve said it before and I will say it as many times as needed: believe survivors and put yourself in their shoes. What if that was your mother, brother, sister or cousin?
It is time we embrace the courage and strength shown by those who come forward.
#MeToo.
Kayla Sterner is an assistant sports editor and can be reached at kayla.sterner@ubspectrum.com
Kayla Sterner is an assistant sports editor at The Spectrum. She is studying communications with the hopes of being a sideline reporter. In her spare time, she can be found in the gym, watching football or vibing to Mac Miller. Kayla is on Twitter @kaylasterner.
