Editor’s Note: On the last Monday of each month, Lori Gottlieb answers a reader’s question about a problem, big or small. Have a question? Email her at dear.therapist@theatlantic.com.
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Dear Therapist,
Seven years ago, when I was a college freshman, I was sexually assaulted. This experience deeply traumatized me beyond what I could cope with at the time. I did not want to press charges or involve authorities, because I’d had a bad experience telling someone in power about a prior sexual assault. I eventually processed what happened through a lot of therapy and some medication.
I moved across the country and thought I’d never see the person who assaulted me again. But recently I moved back to where we both went to college. When a friend invited me to join a Spanish-practice group, I noticed that the meetup link said “organized by” and then it said his name. At the time, I assumed it was a different person because the name is common.
I showed up, and although the guy looked like my rapist, I still wasn’t sure it was him. I had mostly forgotten the details of that encounter years ago. After the meeting, I looked him up online to see if the details matched. I also asked my friend to send me his Facebook profile, which I couldn’t open: “content unavailable.” If it wasn’t him, why would I be blocked? It was him.
I immediately told another friend I’d made at the group about what had happened. That friend was stunned. Now I don’t know how to proceed—do I expose him to the group? Does he deserve to have a leadership role if he’s a rapist? Has he changed?
Dear Reader,
I’m very sorry that you were assaulted, and I’m glad you were able to process this trauma with the support of a therapist and medication. Sexual assault leaves many survivors with numerous psychological wounds, and although each person’s experience will be different, some common effects include anxiety, a sense of helplessness, depression, sleep disturbances, low self-esteem, withdrawal from social situations, flashbacks, amnesia (such as forgetting details of the encounter), difficulty concentrating, and a hesitance to trust in relationships. These effects can last for years if untreated, but even if treated, they can be triggered anew by something in the present—the scent of a particular cologne while walking through a department store, a song playing at a party, or, most obviously, running into the assaulter in person, as you did.
To figure out what to do, let’s consider how you feel, because clarifying your feelings will help you understand why you might take a certain action and whether doing so will contribute to your well-being.
[Read: The bad science behind campus response to sexual assault]
Let’s say, for example, that seeing this person again made you angry. Anger is a common reaction to a boundary violation (in this case, the assault itself) or a gross injustice (his “getting away” with the crime by becoming a well-liked leader of this group). If that’s your primary emotion, I imagine there’s a part of you that wishes to punish him by telling people what he did, which might lead to him being shamed and socially ostracized.
Although dealing with anger by hurting someone who hurt you is a natural impulse, the question is, if he were to be socially shunned by your disclosure, would that help you heal? Would you feel some relief because justice of sorts was served? Empowered because you were no longer silent? If so, that’s important information. But another possibility is that you could feel good in the moment for hurting him in some way—given how significantly he hurt you—but not feel any less angry, or experience any real sense of relief, in the long run. In that case, this might not be the action to take.
What I’m getting at is that whatever you decide to do should be viewed through the lens of this question: What outcome will be best for you going forward? And the corollary: What didn’t you get back then that might be helpful for your emotional well-being now?
As you reflect on these questions, let’s explore some other emotions besides anger that seeing him might have evoked. Did you feel afraid? If so, will you feel safer by choosing not to go to this group and finding another one like it? Will outing him to the group decrease your anxiety because doing so might protect both you and others he encounters from future harm? Here you’ll have to weigh your intent to warn others of this person’s potential to be a repeat offender with the fallout of his reaction. Will your anxiety increase if he denies what you tell others he did, sues you for defamation (if, say, there’s no “proof” of the rape), or decides to get retribution by ruining your reputation in this city you’ve just moved to? How will you feel if some people in the group continue to embrace him or doubt your credibility? These questions present another opportunity to anticipate the consequences of the various actions you’re considering and determine which would best support your well-being.
[Read: Abuser and survivor, face to face]
Given that he’s in the same city, you might also fear running into him again in another setting. In that case, you can reflect on how you would feel about talking with an attorney about the pros and cons of getting a restraining order, reporting him to the police, or filing charges. You say that telling someone in power about a prior sexual assault was a bad experience (I imagine it made you feel helpless and unheard), but given the therapy you’ve done since this assault, you might feel that doing so would be worth that risk now—or you might not. Sit with any anxiety you experience to determine what will make you feel calmer, safer, and more at peace.
Another feeling to explore in the aftermath of seeing him is that of isolation. Some people experience a profound sense of loneliness after a sexual assault. They hide what happened to them out of shame or confusion (“Did I somehow have a role in causing this?”), minimize the assault (“It wasn’t really that bad, so people might dismiss me if I tell them”), or avoid social situations because of depression or the worry that something similar might happen again, which isolates survivors further. Some people imagine that nobody will understand the impact the assault has had on them, or that friends will view them differently, so they try to go through their days as if everything is fine—then feel isolated from all the pretending. When the rape occurred in college, I don’t know whom you told besides your therapist, but it sounds like telling this new friend in the group felt validating. If you’ve felt isolated in your experience, sharing it with others you trust now could make you feel less alone as you take in this unexpected encounter with your rapist. You don’t say whether the friend who invited you to the group knows what happened in college, but perhaps confiding in her will also help you feel supported in whatever choices you make about how you handle this situation within the group.
Lastly, you asked if your rapist has changed, and I wonder again how the answer will affect you. If he has, do you hope that he will show remorse and offer a genuine, meaningful apology that would aid in your healing? In this case, you might gather some supportive friends for both emotional and physical safety to help you approach him. But if you do approach him and he can’t acknowledge what he did and how he hurt you, how will you feel after learning that perhaps he hasn’t changed at all? (While you don’t know whether he recognized you at the meeting—just as you weren’t sure it was him—if he did recognize you, I’m not hearing that he’s made any attempt to make amends.) With some self-reflection, you’ll be able to determine whether approaching him will give you a sense of agency (something stolen during a sexual assault) even if he denies what he did—or whether the question of who he is now doesn’t feel relevant to your well-being.
The beauty of taking a rigorous “feelings inventory” is that it offers the ultimate freedom that no one can take from you—the ability to choose for yourself what feels good to you. By being thoughtful about your emotional needs and anticipating which actions might get you closer to meeting them, you’re creating a way of being in the world that will help you figure out not only how to handle this upsetting situation but, just as important, how to show up in future relationships with a newfound sense of self-awareness and the confidence to act on it.
Dear Therapist is for informational purposes only, does not constitute medical advice, and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician, mental-health professional, or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it—in part or in full—and we may edit it for length and/or clarity.
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