By Isa Cournoyer

Women in general today have it hard. We’re constantly being sexualised, to a point where we aren’t allowed to wear anything showing ‘too much’ skin in high school classes because it might distract our male classmates and teachers. In any story of sexual assault, there are too many people who say it was ‘our fault’. We were the issue.

One in three women in the United States will experience sexual violence in their lifetime. One in four college women will be forced to have a sexual encounter. One in two Native American women face sexual violence in their lives. I am one of three sisters. It wasn’t that unlikely that I would fill a few of the statistics.

I often think about these stats and what we, as Native American women, did to deserve this kind of normal. It’s part of everyday life to constantly check my surroundings. Is that guy following me in the parking lot? Has that van been there too long? I live knowing that at any point in time, I could be assaulted. I could go missing. I could be killed.

This isn’t to say that it’s just Native women who live like this. You might have similar experiences! You might also be overly aware of who and what is around you at all times. No matter how much research I do to understand, no matter how much I look for answers, I can’t find a single reason for why I deserved to be overpowered besides simply... existing.

I don’t like to think of myself as a victim. When I thought about what happened to me, for the longest time I really did believe that it was my fault. I had gone out to the bars. I had too much to drink. I had wanted a glass of water. A glass of water. It was after the bar closed, so the bouncer wouldn’t let me back in. This man, who seemed generally nice, offered to let me come to his apartment. He said others were coming, and I believed that it was nothing more than me making new friends.

In the elevator up to his apartment, we began kissing. It was fine. I thought that I was fine. I don’t often make out with complete strangers. But as I said, I had way too much to drink.

I don’t remember everything that happened, but I remember not wanting to do more than make out, get the water that was offered to me and make it home to my bed. I never got my water. I remember being forced to do things that were unwanted, things that didn’t feel nice; I remember asking him to stop and finally gaining enough strength to push him back and run out. I remember not wanting to wait for the elevator. I remember basically tripping down the stairs and it feeling like hours. This had all happened within less than ten minutes.

For the longest time, I blamed myself. I thought about things that I could have done differently. I thought about how I was so stupid to think a random man just wanted to help me out. I remember being so embarrassed that I didn’t tell anyone. I haven’t told my mom, my sisters or even some of my closest friends. It took me months to realise what happened to me wasn’t all my fault. What happened to me was the result of a man wanting to assert his power over another human being. I happened to be an easy, available target for that.

This is one of the things that has changed me most. It changed my behaviour. I stopped going out to the bars in fear I’d have to face him. I started being so conscious of everyone around me that it was probably on the verge of paranoia. Any man I saw was, in my eyes, a possible threat to me and my safety. 

This wasn’t me. This was a result of what happened to me. I was raised to be strong. I was raised to not be afraid but instead to be aware and prepared. I was raised to be independent. Growing up, I was surrounded by beautiful Native people on a reservation where things weren’t perfect, but we made the best of it. I was proud of where I came from.

It took me a long time to accept what had happened to me and allow myself to feel those emotions. I don’t think I truly did until I started therapy this past spring and really spoke about it with someone. Thankfully, I’ve regained the strength in my spirit. Now, any man I see is, at most, an inconvenience.

While I was able to regain myself and finally feel in control of my experiences, some women aren’t that lucky. Many Native women struggle with depression, anxiety, and other issues caused by their trauma. It’s no surprise that suicide rates among Native women have skyrocketed. I know I can only tell my story, but there’s so many out there whose voices deserve to be heard. A lot of them won’t be, and for that, cantemasice – my heart hurts.