The Advocate

A little more than two weeks ago, a dear friend – a magnificent woman – was drugged, beaten, and raped.

I could not begin to tell you her story…it’s one for her to tell, if she chooses, when she’s ready.  Today, I’m writing my story, because she’s said it’s okay for me to claim a subplot to her story.  This is about the experience of learning that someone I love has been brutalized.

She and I have not been lovers for more than a year, but we remain friends and she came to me because I used to volunteer as a rape crisis advocate.  She knew that I would know what she should do.  

Rape crisis advocacy is not something one enters into lightly.  To be sure, it doesn’t require a master’s degree, but neither is it a “read this pamphlet, and we’ll call you when we need you” kind of volunteer position.  Even in the emergency room, the rape crisis advocate is nearly always the individual with the best understanding of how to handle the situation appropriately.  The training is intense and frightening, and still nowhere near enough to prepare you for the first time you walk into an emergency room and introduce yourself to someone whose life has just been irrevocably and involuntarily changed.  Quite honestly, nothing – not even experience – can prepare you for the tenth time, nor the twentieth time.  Every one is different.

And yet, every one is the same.  The rape victim is confused, disoriented by the experience, unable to focus, and has trouble making even simple decisions.  Not one will seek immediate medical attention voluntarily, and even though they will all admit that they need to be seen by a doctor, they quite understandably don’t want to be examined as closely as they know they’ll need to be.  They never want to deal with the police, no matter how sensitive the questioning may be.  They will all have to be convinced to submit to a forensic examination, mostly because there is no euphemism for it – rape kit: an ugly term if there ever was one – even though that exam nearly always makes them feel better because it’s the first thing they’re truly in control of after they’ve been assaulted.  Every single one will go through a cycle of disbelief and feelings of betrayal, crushing shame and self-blame.  And every one will just want to go home and be alone, to curl up in comfortable clothes and quietly find their solitary way out of the hollow place they’re in.

One in four women experiences this.  Believe it or not, so do at least one in ten men.  In spite of the classic image of knife-wielding strangers lurking in the shadows, three quarters of all rapes are perpetrated by someone the victim knows.  Most never report it.  

I know this last part very well; it took me 20 years to come to terms with being raped, myself.  I know the cost of not addressing it right away.  Left to themselves, most rape victims will never find their way out of that hollow place.

I received the news with no small amount of shock.  Why would anyone do this to such a sweet, wonderful woman?

It’s been a year or so since I’ve needed my “Go Binder”, the green notebook containing all the materials I’d generally need when I got the call – flyers, pamphlets, phone numbers, pens, note paper, a copy of an old San Diego PD PowerPoint brief  entitled, “Drug-Facilitated Sexual Assaults”.  The binder was right where I left it, in the trunk of my car, a habit I’d acquired because the director of the advocacy program thought I was good at it, and she would often call me when I was not on call.  

My friend was right; I knew exactly what to do.  I answered her questions, gave her phone numbers and addresses and recommendations.  “I’ll come get you, if you want.  I’ll take you to the ER and stay with you, right there, through it all.  I know what they’ll need to do, and what they’ll want to do, and if you don’t understand something, I can explain it.  I’ll make sure the police are nice to you.  They’re going to tell you that you should have a forensic exam done even if you don’t think you’re going to press charges, because if you have it done, then you still have a choice about pressing charges, but if you don’t have it done and you change your mind, there’s nothing you can do.  If you’re sure you won’t want to press charges, I’ll stop them from trying to talk you into it.  I’ll make sure that the ER staff doesn’t forget about you.  I’ll ask the questions you won’t think of until much later, and I’ll hold your hand and remind you that you’re going to be okay, that this wasn’t your fault, and we’ll get through this because you’re amazing and wonderfully strong, even if you don’t feel like it right now.”  And oh, by the way, I love you, and why the hell would anyone do this to YOU?

She very sweetly declined, not wanting to go to the ER, not wanting to be poked and prodded, not wanting to tell her story over and over again to strangers, or for that matter, to anybody.  

I wanted to scoop her up like a little girl, to hold her without a word until she felt better, to do something, anything to take away her pain, or at least see her safely through it.  In the end, I could only tell her that I understood and remind her that if she needed anything at all, she could call any time.

When we hung up the phone, I felt empty.  Drained.  Hollow-by-proxy.

I have sat with the loved ones of rape victims, quietly listening as they wrestled with their own shock and disbelief and anger, but I never related to them as well as I did with the victims themselves; I had no frame of reference.  In answer to their fears and questions, I have only been able to tell them a little of what their friend or fiancée or wife may be feeling, and to expect changes in the future.  The things I said at those times offered little in the way of consolation: things are different now, she needs your unconditional love and support, he needs your understanding while he comes to terms with this.

That afternoon, I was both advocate and friend.  I knew all the things I should do to help her though her crisis, but my love for my friend made the right choices more difficult.  I trust her completely, but I also know that, very often, those who have been raped have difficulty making appropriate choices.  Shock and shame cloud their judgment.

As her friend, I wanted to shield her from making the wrong choices, to prove to her that what happened to her was not her fault.  In short, I wanted to rescue her.  

But as an experienced advocate, I knew that the most important thing I could do for her was to give her control, to present her with options and honor the choices she makes.  It’s a course that runs entirely against my instincts, but I chose it anyway.  In the end, it probably makes me a better friend.

I’ve checked in with her every couple of days since then, just to see how she’s doing.  I haven’t pressed her to talk.  Until today, I haven’t reminded her that she needs to seek counseling.  She says she’s doing better, so well that she feels guilty about not feeling worse, which is perfectly natural.  

As for me, I’ve been taking advantage of the opportunity to look at my “rescuer instincts” up close, and struggling to find the words to write this post.  It’s an important post; a keyword search that leads to this post ought to be rewarded with a useful take-away.   For that reason, I hope you’ll forgive me if I close with a bit of a public service message…

If you know someone who has been raped:

• Remain calm and be sensitive


• Don’t ask unnecessary questions like, “Why were you there? Did you fight back?”  Sexual assault is neither sought nor caused by the victim


• Find out what she or he would like you to do, then do it


• Remind them how courageous they are for sharing this with you


• Respect their privacy, and maintain strict confidentiality


• Don’t joke about the trauma; you will only increase the victim’s feeling of isolation


• Offer to help them get medical treatment and counseling

Never forget the most important thing you can do for a person who has been raped: Let them make their own choices about what’s best for them.