to understand violation

It was the summer that I was 16 going on 17, though I can’t remember if it happened after my July birthday or before. I knew him, and had rejected all of his advances for months, would not give myself to him. He was not used to being told “no.”

There was none of the violence that I saw on television so I didn’t call it anything. The only language I had was to say that I didn’t enjoy it. Told myself that I would not choose him again, as if I had been operating in choice all along. Then me and my unmournable body just kept on living, and laughing, and being a strong Black woman. I called this victory. The world calls it resilience, or courage, or inspirational.

It wasn’t until years later while in a summer program counselor’s training that I got the language for what happened in my teens. We were watching videos to understand violation in order to support our students. “Wait a second. Have I been raped?” And that was the first time that the numbness started to melt away. That was the first time that I started to let a little of this glorious light in.