To one Jane Doe from another, with love

Editor’s note: The following contains descriptions of sexual assault which could be triggering to some readers. While the author’s identity has been confirmed by Saltwire Network, we are granting anonymity to protect the privacy of her children.

Dear Jane Doe,

Like you, I was raped. Not once, but twice. The first time was many years ago, on my high school graduation night. I will spare you the wretched details. Suffice it to say it was one of those high school parties where everyone was so drunk that no one knew what they were doing. It was in the day and age where that type of behaviour — “Come on, girl, you know you want to”; “That’s not fair, you’ve got me so excited.” — was the norm. A time when men believed women existed only for their pleasure, that women didn’t like sex, so it was something that had to be coaxed out of them, and if that coaxing went too far and tipped over the edge into rape, well that’s just the way it was. Another woman conquered. Another notch in the old belt. High fives all around the boys’ locker room the next day.

The second time was more recent, and a lot more violent. There was no booze involved. It was daylight. Hands were wrapped around my neck and I was sexually assaulted. “Tell me you like it. Tell me you want it.” I was 40-something. I disclosed to close family members and friends, but I did not report.

And here’s why: I knew what that process would entail and the impact it would have on me and my family. I was going through a divorce, had two toddlers to look after and had just moved cities and jobs. I was already at my limit, and did not have the emotional fortitude to take on another battle. Also, it was a he-said/she-said case, and I knew enough about our court system to know that I would be victimized all over again. So, I let it go. I was the victim once; I chose not to be again.

So why am I telling you all this, you ask? Because last Saturday, when the jury delivered its guilty verdict in the sexual assault trial of Carl Douglas Snelgrove, it was a watershed moment. Not just for me, but I think for every victim out there. For every woman who’s carried the guilt of being too drunk to consent and blaming herself instead of the guy who raped her. For the women who’ve gone on dates with “nice” guys who refused to take no for an answer, so they tell themselves it was their fault because they should have resisted more, fought harder. For every woman who has sat across from a police officer and been told “we don’t have enough evidence to pursue this”; or, “No one will believe you.” For every woman of a certain age who looks back and realizes, oh shit, I was raped — because back in our day, boys will be boys and girls were asking for it, and all that.

Jane Doe, you are my hero. You had the strength and courage and conviction to go after one of the good ol’ boys.

Not once, not twice, but three times.

You are the hero for all of us who didn’t. Snelgrove, by proxy, is every guy who’s walked away with a grin on his face and a swagger in his step, now brought to his knees by this thing called justice. So, Jane Doe, from all of us survivors out here, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of our guilt-laden hearts.

May this be the first of many victories, and a beginning to the end of the guilt and shame we all carry.

With much love and respect,