When I was 21, I wrecked a car. Fiddling with the radio and talking with my passenger, I wasn’t paying attention. I crashed into the center divider and came to a halt when a tire blew out.
During the crash, time seemed to warp. Although the Highway Patrol officer who came to my rescue told me the whole incident probably took mere seconds, it felt like minutes went by. I was simultaneously hyper-aware of circumstances and watching them as if through a haze.
As a brand-new driver, it was my first accident. Although no one was seriously injured, the trauma was compounded by the fact that the car involved was not mine, but rather my employer’s. I was young, inexperienced, and terrified.
For months afterward, I could conjure up the feeling of the plastic steering wheel beneath my palms, the sticky vinyl seat under my legs. The Highway Patrol officer’s words echoed in my head, “If you hadn’t been wearing seatbelts, you’d have most likely gone through the windshield and over the divider into oncoming traffic.” I compulsively buckled and rebuckled my safety belt, making sure it was fastened correctly. I glued my eyes to the road ahead with fanatical focus, determined not to repeat my error. Sometimes in dreams, I would hear the screech of tires, the startled shriek of my passenger, the gut-wrenching sound or metal slamming into concrete.
My passenger sustained more injuries than I did. Seeing her bloodied scalp and face terrified me and wracked me with guilt. Still, after a few stitches, she was back to her cheerful, bouncy self. The minute details which etched into my brain slid gently out of hers. Whenever we talked about the accident, she shrugged it off. “Maybe next time, you’ll pay more attention,” she’d laugh. She wasn’t angry at me, despite my carelessness, and apparently bore no lasting trauma.
We shared a minor trauma, but processed it differently. Trauma unfolds in each of us differently.
During the past few weeks, as the nation follows Judge Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearings, much attention has been given to how the brain reacts under trauma.
As Kavanaugh vies for a position on the Supreme Court, confronted by multiple accusations of sexual assault, the reaction of accuser Dr. Christine Blasey Ford has come under scrutiny. She described an attempted rape she experienced decades ago, while across the country people opined vociferously.
The very public analysis of what is deemed typical or appropriate behavior following sexual assault provoked pain and anger in survivors as the investigation unfolded. The day after Ford testified, RAINN (Rape, Incest, & Abuse National Network) reported a 201% increase in calls to its hotline. People began to tell their stories on social media, wrestling with their own reactions and the responses of others.
Did I respond correctly?
Why didn’t I fight harder?
Why didn’t I tell someone?
I told; why didn’t anyone listen?
Why do these memories haunt me years later?
Her testimony stirred up questions for doubters as well. Why didn’t she report the attack? Why does she recall some details but not others? Why doesn’t she remember exact dates and places? How can she be believed?
Even some victims of sexual assault debate the veracity of her testimony. Survivors who remember details of their assaults with excruciating clarity were quick to question her recall, positing that such a traumatic event would be indelible in Ford’s memory. Victims who promptly reported wondered why she stayed quiet for so long.
What was initially political became intensely personal for survivors of sexual abuse.
Sex crimes are intimate crimes. Security and confidence are stripped away, replaced with fear, shame, and anger. Abuse is imprinted on the skin and psyche in ways that are difficult to overcome.
Outside of a court of law, we aren’t responsible for analyzing the veracity of a victim’s story. Instead, we can choose to bolster victims by treating their recounting of experiences with respect and gentleness. Conversely, we can destroy them with scorn, mocking, or disbelief.
One manner in which we can extend grace to each other is to recognize that there are a variety of ways in which people process trauma. If two people in the same trivial fender-fender can store memories of the event differently, it’s reasonable to expect that survivors of sexual trauma have an even greater spectrum of reactions. Some people remember even minute details with startling accuracy; others have blurred memory, gaps in their memory, or no memory of the event at all. Some people tell friends or authorities immediately; others keep it secret for decades.
As the national discussion keeps its focus on sexual assault, a conversation that while painful, is long overdue, there are a lot of bruised people out there this week.
Be kind to one another.
