By Faye Alexandra Rose

It took under an hour to destroy what took twenty-seven years to build. 

I remember the moment he shut the hotel door behind him. I was left naked on the floor beside the bed, not yet crying – but completely numb. Hours passed before I had the courage to crawl to the bathroom. I turned on the light and saw a stranger looking back at me in the mirror. I had no idea how to navigate the world thereafter.

Sexual assault is becoming more spoken about and women are sharing their harrowing experiences. Something in the world is slowly shifting. However, nearly a year after my traumatic event taking place, I found myself googling how to navigate sex after sexual assault. I pressed enter; very few results came up. 

I got into men’s beds who I didn’t know the name of. I felt like my body was a commodity, so why did any type of connection matter, anyway? I didn’t allow myself to feel pleasure and let my needs fall to the wayside. My theory was that this was to not feel afraid of men’s bodies against mine. For the most part it worked, until one night a man’s hands felt like his did that night – I screamed, grabbed my clothes from the floor and ran. I blindly ran home at 3am, disgusted at myself for letting him touch me again. Turns out that I hadn’t healed like I thought I had. 

After that night, the fear of men resurfaced as if the event had only just taken place. I would flinch at my brother’s touch. I would spend many nights crying myself to sleep that my old ‘normality’ was seeping through my fingers. The fun that I had prior in my adult life had ground to a halt. 

I suffered in silence, ashamed to ask my mother and friends for guidance. I shut myself away and didn’t date for another year. I figured that to heal your wounds you must stop touching them, so I tried to focus on fulfilling my life in other aspects. Again, this worked, but only so far. 

When I was out in a supermarket or restaurant, I would be terrified at the fact that men were in my proximity. Extreme viewpoint, but hear me out: when you’ve been sexually assaulted and your perpetrator was of a certain sex, then they will trigger a fight or flight response thereafter. I would have panic attacks and leave wherever I was, and my life became much smaller. 

When I got back home from a failed attempt of going out with a friend, I googled ‘therapy in my local area’, filled out the form and pressed send. I was all out of options when dealing with it myself, so it would be no harm to ask for help. A few weeks later, I received a phone call. “What he did was not your fault,” the therapist reassured, “you will grow from this.”

A handful of appointments later, and the weight slowly began to shift from my chest. Talking to someone who was a stranger and impartial to my situation helped me to gain clarity. She helped me compartmentalise the event and what it means for me going forward. For the first time in over two years, I started to slowly build myself from the ground upwards. 

Whenever sex was initiated thereafter, I would be open with my needs. Sometimes, I would be in the moment and there would be a glimmer of normality. Other times, I would set boundaries. I don’t feel like it tonight, or can we just do this instead. Often these boundaries would be met with understanding, and the reassurance slowly allowed my confidence to grow. If my needs weren’t being met, then I would leave or tell them to leave. Setting boundaries became my armour. With time, sex didn’t feel as fearful anymore. 

It has now been three years since my assault. I am engaged to the kindest man, we have a healthy sex life, and I am living a life that I was too scared to ever envisage for myself prior to being sexually assaulted. For me, reaching rock bottom allowed me to rebuild my life in a way I had always wanted – most importantly, a life that he could never take from me again.