The Lies That Trauma Tells
TRIGGER ALERT: This post contains details about a traumatic event relating to sexual assault.
On December 29, 1999, I was attacked outside my apartment in the Bronx by a 15-year-old serial rapist. It was a Wednesday. I don't remember the exact time, but I know it was getting dark, so it must have been in the evening. The day started like any other. I woke up, had breakfast, and headed to work. I was excited because I knew I only going to be at work for a half-day. I worked at a non-profit and it was customary to close early for the holidays.
When I got to work something felt off. I couldn't explain it, but I was feeling anxious almost fearful. At closing time, I stayed later than everyone else before finally leaving with a student who stopped by for some paperwork. I wanted to go home but the thought of going home filled me with dread. It didn't make sense, but the feeling was strong enough to make me linger in Manhattan a little longer. After a few hours, I got on the train and headed home.
When I arrived in the Bronx, I ran some errands most of which had to do with the irrational fear that all the computer systems would simultaneously crash at midnight on December 31, 1999. Seems stupid now but believe me it was a BIG deal in 1999. I picked up some food, withdrew some money from the bank and went to the supermarket.
I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed just in case the banking system went haywire. It was when I was the supermarket that I saw him. A tall slim figure with dark brown eyes. Actually, I felt his presence before I saw his face. I was walking towards my apartment when my girly-gut started tingling. A voice in my head said slow down. It kept repeating itself until I did. Then it said, "stop walking." So, I stopped and when I did, he walked right past me. I turned my head to the right for a brief second and we locked eyes.
My girly-gut said something isn't right, but as I looked at the scrawny boy in front of me the Marine in me said, "he's a kid, you could take him." While I stood there trying to decide, the boy continued walking. He disappeared for a moment. The next time he reappeared was as the entrance of my apartment building. I was pulling my shopping cart up the front steps and he was insisting on helping me. I said no thank, you but he grabbed the cart anyway and began lifting it up the flight of stairs leading to my apartment. I was irritated but assumed he was trying to earn some holiday money.
When we got to the top of the stairs he just stood there. My girly-gut was going off again. Was he trying to rob me? Did he know I had just withdrawn money from the bank? I decided I wasn't going to risk reaching into my pocket for the money. Why should I pay him when I didn't ask for his help. I told him I don't have any money. He replied, "It's okay I'm waiting for my friend."
That's when the voice started screaming, "You need to leave now!" I knew he was lying. I had only one neighbor, a couple, and they didn't have any kids. My mind searched for a way out. I'll pretend I left something at the store. That's it. Then I'll go back to the supermarket. I know the manager there.
I turned towards my door and put my hand in my pocket, intending to pretend I lost my keys. That's when he attacked. He came up behind me, pulled out a knife, and held it to my throat. As his hands groped my body he leaned into my ear and said, "If you scream, I will cut you." He pressed the knife against my throat for emphasis.
My mind was racing. I didn't want to die at my front door. I also didn't want him to find my keys, use them to enter my home, and rape me in my apartment. I took a chance and tried to pry the knife from my throat. I felt the knife cut into my thumb as it connected with the blade. After a few moments, I was able to pry his arm from around my throat. In the process, I spun around and was once again facing my attacker. He turned and fled down the stairs. In shock, I ran after him before realizing we were headed in the same direction.
As he fled down the path leading away from my apartment complex, I turned and ran back to my apartment to call the police. The police arrived quickly. They had already been in the area investigating another rape attempt. They were able to successfully apprehend my attacker. He had not left the complex. In fact, when they caught him, he was standing by the back gate waiting to find another victim. Turns out I was his third rape attempt. The week before he had raped a young woman in her twenties, and he had attacked a woman in my apartment complex a half hour before he attacked me. If they hadn't caught him, he would have raped again.
I recognized the Marine who attacked me. As soon as I saw his face in the mirror, it clicked. He was a sergeant, the same guy that had tried to push up on me when I first arrived. I was shocked because I knew he knew I was a lowly lance corporal. He had to, I was in uniform at the time. Brooklyn "me" might have screamed on him, Marine me recognized and respected the rank structure even if he didn't. I brushed him off and hurried to my room. I thought our encounter was over, but clearly, it wasn't.
Thankfully my roommate came in a less than a minute later. She yelled at him and asked him what he was doing. He stood up and calmly walked away. After my roommate rescued me I stood there trembling. I never reported the incident. Chalk it up to fear or foolishness. I blamed myself. Why did I leave the door open? He could always claim I invited him to my room. Even if he got in trouble, which I doubted, he'd get props and I'd be labeled a slut. No one would take the word of a boot lance corporal over a sergeant.
One of my major struggles after both attacks was reconciling my identity of being a Marine with the fact that I was attacked. Even though I had been a Marine for less a hot minute when I was assaulted in my room, the Marine in me was deeply ashamed and angry. I was also angry at myself for not being more alert, not having situational awareness. When I was attacked in the Bronx I wondered if I seemed like an ideal target. I wondered what it was about me that made men want to attack me.
I don't know what my Bronx attacker's profile for a perfect rape victim was. We were all very different women in weight, height, and even ethnicity. The woman he attacked before he attacked me was a Latina in her late 20’s. She escaped by screaming when he told her to take off her pants. The woman he raped a week earlier was a young white mother in her early 20’s. She had just gotten out of the car with her boyfriend when he forced her to the roof and raped her. She told the police she complied because she wanted to protect her son who was in the apartment with a sitter.
I rationalized that my attacker must have somehow perceived me as weak. Why else would he attack me? I also rationed that I obviously was not as strong as I thought I was if I was attacked by a 15-year-old boy who looked like he weighed 125 pounds at best. Truth is only one of us was prepared for the attack. That night my attacker acted with intention and I responded in an effort to survive the encounter. He was small but he was also prepared to engage violently. He also had a weapon. Even if he didn't there was no guarantee he wouldn't have bested me.
Both my attacks, in the Marines and in the Bronx, were crimes of opportunity. My attackers were predators and like all predators, they made swift and immediate calculations about his odds of taking down their prey. The decision to target me and other women had more to do with them that it had to do with us. The most important thing was that I survived. I was injured, my ego was bruised, but I lived to tell. In the end, that's what matters most.
Let me reiterate. These are STUPID questions that show a very limited understanding of how rape and sexual assault work. Sexual violence is about power, not sex. Children get raped, old people get raped, nuns get raped. What a woman has on has nothing to do with it. Women walk the streets and beaches in all manner of attire and not all get raped. The argument that somehow a woman is responsible for a man raping her is preposterous and insulting to men because it assumes men are incapable of refraining from rape. I know plenty of guys who go to clubs surrounded by women in little or no clothing and somehow, they manage to make it home without raping anyone...imagine that.
I wish I could say that knowing the answers to these questions was enough to help me process and recover from my Bronx attack, but as much as I wanted to just be okay, I wasn't. Though I didn't know it at the time the trauma, both attacks had after effects. Recovery was possible but it would be a journey. I'll share more about that journey in my next two posts: Sis, Your Trauma is Showing and It's Okay to Not Be Okay.
Here is a cool video explaining why we sometimes freeze during a traumatic encounter:
The Body’s Adaptive Response to Trauma with Stephen Porges - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WHqO6wCCEs
On December 29, 1999, I was attacked outside my apartment in the Bronx by a 15-year-old serial rapist. It was a Wednesday. I don't remember the exact time, but I know it was getting dark, so it must have been in the evening. The day started like any other. I woke up, had breakfast, and headed to work. I was excited because I knew I only going to be at work for a half-day. I worked at a non-profit and it was customary to close early for the holidays.
When I got to work something felt off. I couldn't explain it, but I was feeling anxious almost fearful. At closing time, I stayed later than everyone else before finally leaving with a student who stopped by for some paperwork. I wanted to go home but the thought of going home filled me with dread. It didn't make sense, but the feeling was strong enough to make me linger in Manhattan a little longer. After a few hours, I got on the train and headed home.
When I arrived in the Bronx, I ran some errands most of which had to do with the irrational fear that all the computer systems would simultaneously crash at midnight on December 31, 1999. Seems stupid now but believe me it was a BIG deal in 1999. I picked up some food, withdrew some money from the bank and went to the supermarket.
I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed just in case the banking system went haywire. It was when I was the supermarket that I saw him. A tall slim figure with dark brown eyes. Actually, I felt his presence before I saw his face. I was walking towards my apartment when my girly-gut started tingling. A voice in my head said slow down. It kept repeating itself until I did. Then it said, "stop walking." So, I stopped and when I did, he walked right past me. I turned my head to the right for a brief second and we locked eyes.
My girly-gut said something isn't right, but as I looked at the scrawny boy in front of me the Marine in me said, "he's a kid, you could take him." While I stood there trying to decide, the boy continued walking. He disappeared for a moment. The next time he reappeared was as the entrance of my apartment building. I was pulling my shopping cart up the front steps and he was insisting on helping me. I said no thank, you but he grabbed the cart anyway and began lifting it up the flight of stairs leading to my apartment. I was irritated but assumed he was trying to earn some holiday money.
When we got to the top of the stairs he just stood there. My girly-gut was going off again. Was he trying to rob me? Did he know I had just withdrawn money from the bank? I decided I wasn't going to risk reaching into my pocket for the money. Why should I pay him when I didn't ask for his help. I told him I don't have any money. He replied, "It's okay I'm waiting for my friend."
That's when the voice started screaming, "You need to leave now!" I knew he was lying. I had only one neighbor, a couple, and they didn't have any kids. My mind searched for a way out. I'll pretend I left something at the store. That's it. Then I'll go back to the supermarket. I know the manager there.
I turned towards my door and put my hand in my pocket, intending to pretend I lost my keys. That's when he attacked. He came up behind me, pulled out a knife, and held it to my throat. As his hands groped my body he leaned into my ear and said, "If you scream, I will cut you." He pressed the knife against my throat for emphasis.
My mind was racing. I didn't want to die at my front door. I also didn't want him to find my keys, use them to enter my home, and rape me in my apartment. I took a chance and tried to pry the knife from my throat. I felt the knife cut into my thumb as it connected with the blade. After a few moments, I was able to pry his arm from around my throat. In the process, I spun around and was once again facing my attacker. He turned and fled down the stairs. In shock, I ran after him before realizing we were headed in the same direction.
As he fled down the path leading away from my apartment complex, I turned and ran back to my apartment to call the police. The police arrived quickly. They had already been in the area investigating another rape attempt. They were able to successfully apprehend my attacker. He had not left the complex. In fact, when they caught him, he was standing by the back gate waiting to find another victim. Turns out I was his third rape attempt. The week before he had raped a young woman in her twenties, and he had attacked a woman in my apartment complex a half hour before he attacked me. If they hadn't caught him, he would have raped again.
Lessons Learned
I've shared this story with a few people, but I decided to share it on the Shield Maidens Institute blog because I wanted to talk about some of the things I learned from my attack. That evening as I sat in the hospital waiting room alone waiting to get my thumb stitched up, I wrestled with my thoughts. In the weeks following the attacks, I continued to have a lot of trouble processing what happened to me. Several questions loomed in the back of my mind.Why Me?
Did I seem like an easy target? This was not the first time I had been targeted by a predator. The first week I was in the Marines my roommate interrupted a Marine who had me pinned against the sink in my room. He had followed me to my room and let himself in. My roommate and I had a habit of leaving the door open for each other at lunchtime. He came up behind me and within seconds he was behind me, pinning me to the sink.I recognized the Marine who attacked me. As soon as I saw his face in the mirror, it clicked. He was a sergeant, the same guy that had tried to push up on me when I first arrived. I was shocked because I knew he knew I was a lowly lance corporal. He had to, I was in uniform at the time. Brooklyn "me" might have screamed on him, Marine me recognized and respected the rank structure even if he didn't. I brushed him off and hurried to my room. I thought our encounter was over, but clearly, it wasn't.
Thankfully my roommate came in a less than a minute later. She yelled at him and asked him what he was doing. He stood up and calmly walked away. After my roommate rescued me I stood there trembling. I never reported the incident. Chalk it up to fear or foolishness. I blamed myself. Why did I leave the door open? He could always claim I invited him to my room. Even if he got in trouble, which I doubted, he'd get props and I'd be labeled a slut. No one would take the word of a boot lance corporal over a sergeant.
One of my major struggles after both attacks was reconciling my identity of being a Marine with the fact that I was attacked. Even though I had been a Marine for less a hot minute when I was assaulted in my room, the Marine in me was deeply ashamed and angry. I was also angry at myself for not being more alert, not having situational awareness. When I was attacked in the Bronx I wondered if I seemed like an ideal target. I wondered what it was about me that made men want to attack me.
I don't know what my Bronx attacker's profile for a perfect rape victim was. We were all very different women in weight, height, and even ethnicity. The woman he attacked before he attacked me was a Latina in her late 20’s. She escaped by screaming when he told her to take off her pants. The woman he raped a week earlier was a young white mother in her early 20’s. She had just gotten out of the car with her boyfriend when he forced her to the roof and raped her. She told the police she complied because she wanted to protect her son who was in the apartment with a sitter.
I rationalized that my attacker must have somehow perceived me as weak. Why else would he attack me? I also rationed that I obviously was not as strong as I thought I was if I was attacked by a 15-year-old boy who looked like he weighed 125 pounds at best. Truth is only one of us was prepared for the attack. That night my attacker acted with intention and I responded in an effort to survive the encounter. He was small but he was also prepared to engage violently. He also had a weapon. Even if he didn't there was no guarantee he wouldn't have bested me.
Both my attacks, in the Marines and in the Bronx, were crimes of opportunity. My attackers were predators and like all predators, they made swift and immediate calculations about his odds of taking down their prey. The decision to target me and other women had more to do with them that it had to do with us. The most important thing was that I survived. I was injured, my ego was bruised, but I lived to tell. In the end, that's what matters most.
Did I cause this to happen?
This was a big one. On the night of my attack, I was wearing blue yoga pants and a green hoodie sweater. My yoga pants were fitted, as most yoga pants were, and my build is closer to Serena Williams that Gwyneth Paltrow. After my attack, some people asked the same old stupid questions (e.g. What were you wearing? Why were you out by yourself? Did you fight back?).Let me reiterate. These are STUPID questions that show a very limited understanding of how rape and sexual assault work. Sexual violence is about power, not sex. Children get raped, old people get raped, nuns get raped. What a woman has on has nothing to do with it. Women walk the streets and beaches in all manner of attire and not all get raped. The argument that somehow a woman is responsible for a man raping her is preposterous and insulting to men because it assumes men are incapable of refraining from rape. I know plenty of guys who go to clubs surrounded by women in little or no clothing and somehow, they manage to make it home without raping anyone...imagine that.
Should I have fought back more?
This question reared its ugly head almost immediately after my Bronx attack. Why didn't I reject his offer of assistance more firmly? Why didn't I yell at him when I noticed him following me into my building? My brain kept reminding me I was lucky. He's the thing. We can't predict how our bodies will respond to a threat. It has three basic modes, Fight, Flight, Freeze, and all three modes have one basic purpose - survival. It doesn't matter which mode your body chooses in response to a threat. What matters is that you live. Survival is the ONLY thing that matters. Recovery is only possible if you survive.I wish I could say that knowing the answers to these questions was enough to help me process and recover from my Bronx attack, but as much as I wanted to just be okay, I wasn't. Though I didn't know it at the time the trauma, both attacks had after effects. Recovery was possible but it would be a journey. I'll share more about that journey in my next two posts: Sis, Your Trauma is Showing and It's Okay to Not Be Okay.
Here is a cool video explaining why we sometimes freeze during a traumatic encounter:
The Body’s Adaptive Response to Trauma with Stephen Porges - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WHqO6wCCEs
Here is a resource for anyone who has been the victim or knows someone who is a victim of SEXUAL ASSAULT - https://www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-telephone-hotline
This is a resource for anyone who is considering or knows someone who is considering SUICIDE -
Here is a link to FREE COUNSELING for Military service members and veterans -
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