purity culture is an assault too
tw: sexual assault, consent, purity culture
Today is the anniversary of my assault (I think?); the title of this piece, obviously. And a fact. And something I have never spoken the words of out loud, or written, or told anyone in that way.
About a year ago today, I was assaulted by someone I trusted — if not to guard my deepest secrets, at least to not take advantage of me. But they couldn’t be trusted. It’s not about that person; it’s likely they don’t even know that they assaulted me. After all, I didn’t expressly say, “No, stop!” and slap them. I froze. I numbed.
If you’re at all familiar with the consent conversation, the sexual assault conversation, you know the excuses and the justifications: So many “grey areas,” after all, consent is such a difficult thing to obtain nowadays… how should we even act around women, anyways…the simplest advances are seen as harassment or assault… it’s a “he-said, she-said” situation… maybe she just felt guilty afterwards…how come she didn’t protest during the time? Why was she drinking? Why was she even talking to him or her or them? She was “asking for it.” She’s a slut. But it’s not about that conversation either, nor is it about the patriarchy, or rape culture, or the internalized shame of “this-shouldn’t-happen-to-me-I-have-amastersdegreeandI’mnotstupid-andwhydidIevengoanyway-anddidIdrinktoomuchand why, why, whydidithappentome-whycouldn’tIsayno-whydidIfreeze-andwhydidmybodyrespondandwhydidn’tmybodyshutitdown?”
It’s about how I felt guilty, ashamed, like I let it happen. Like when they pushed me against a wall, kissing me, and my body froze, unable to move, unable to protest. And later, I said no, softly, gently, afraid to be assertive — and they said, come on, come on, I want you, and I said I don’t think I want to, I really don’t want to, stop it. Stop! My body said stop. Why didn’t I do more? Is it my fault? Did I bring this upon myself? Did I actually want it to happen? Why did I keep thinking about it and trying to re-frame it as different from what it was? I felt guilty and ashamed for so long. I still do.
All those things we say to assault survivors (am I a “survivor? Do I even count? My life was never in danger. Is my experience big enough? Important enough? Bad enough?) All those things we say like, it’s not your fault, you don’t deserve this, nobody deserves this to happen to them, you are NOT guilty, shame is put upon you by a rape culture dominated by the idea that consent can be coerced, forced, persuaded.
I know, in my intellectual brain, that it’s not my fault, that I didn’t want it. That it was not consensual, in any way. That a frozen response, complete dissociation, silence, saying no and being badgered and pushed until silence is NOT consent. But why…why did my body respond? I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want to feel anything.
It’s fitting that I came across this twitter thread from @ms_elleanderson this past week, the anniversary of my assault. As a purity culture kid, I was always taught that hand-holding was the gateway. You start there, soon enough you’re kissing and then sex just happens. It’s unavoidable. Once you turn it on, you can’t turn it off.
My first boyfriend and I (18 and 17 years old) used to hold hands on walks outside the public library park where we were allowed to go. I remember about two months after starting to date, I had a panic attack (cleverly disguised as rational concern) over us holding hands. It was moving too fast, it was too tempting, I didn’t want him to lust after me, it was too sexual. Holding hands.
We kissed a month later. I was buried in shame. Sex seemed unavoidable then. When he touched my chest over six months later, it was without asking. Kissing, on the floor of his dorm room (the bed or couch would have been “too tempting”). My flannel shirt, tee shirt, and camisole tucked in like a good girl. Him unbuttoning my flannel. I never asked for that either. But it felt unavoidable. After all, we were kissing, horizontally, on a carpet. I was asking for my chest to be touched. After all, we were made to go from 0 to 100. Starting with the kiss, to sex every time. It’s what we were taught. Every kiss, every turn-on meant sex was bound to happen — and you had no control over if or when it would happen. You had no choice. It was a sin, a temptation you couldn’t resist. It just happened. What did it mean that I came away from that turned on? I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want him to touch me (whether or not it was out of shame — I didn’t want him to touch me. Full Stop.)
Why did my body betray me?
Purity culture “implies that if someone is sexually turned on they are also an interested and willing participant; consent is not necessary.” Purity culture told me that hand holding, kissing would pave the way to sex, and that I had no control over it. It would happen to me, no matter what, because I had done the gateway drug. It said, if something is happening and you get turned on, it’s because you’re created to go straight to sex every time. If your body responds with arousal signs, it doesn’t matter whether or not you WANT to have sex. You will end up having sex anyway. Your wants and needs don’t matter, your consent does not matter. And so every time, I froze.
But I’m not at fault. Not at all. No one deserves this. No one asks for this. No one wants this.
Rape culture is to blame. Purity culture is to blame. My assaulter and their beliefs and situation are to blame.
And today, about a year later, I can say I’m in a much better place. Hell, I just wrote about my assault for the first time (and on the internet). And I’m so thankful for what that progress means.
