Category: Sexual Violence

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Can Microdosing Help Heal Sexual Trauma?

— Sexual trauma poses unique challenges to clinical treatment. Psychedelic medicine can address healing from sexual trauma through a more holistic lens.

By Kiki Dy

A sexual assault at fifteen changed the contours of Australia-based artist Lydia’s* life. She blamed herself in a haze of adolescent confusion and hid the assault from her loved ones, even when they suspected something was amiss. The next ten years became a barbed loop of trying to forget and then remembering so vividly that she couldn’t sleep. Lydia tight-roped between extremes:— long periods of abstinence splintered by sprints of hypersexuality. In her early 20’s, she pursued therapy but ultimately found the experience “painful with no payoff.” She recognized she needed a spiritually profound route to recast her sense of self and shift the narrative of her assault–that’s when mushrooms entered the picture.

Psychedelics and Sexual Trauma: An Overview

On her podcast Inside Eyes–a series about using entheogens to ease the aberrations of sexual trauma–somatic psychotherapist Laura Mae Northrup describes sexual assault as a form of spiritual abuse. The impact of sexual violence on the survivor is subjective. However, many, like Northrup, would agree that experiencing sexual assault can change how we view humanity, making us question the morality of mankind and the meaning of our existence at large.

Objectively, sexual assault is unconscionable violence against humanity, resulting in feelings of dissociation and disembodiment that can last a lifetime (and even be passed down). As survivors grow up, they frequently learn to suppress the event and its aching emotions as a defense mechanism. But trauma can never truly be suppressed. Until trauma is addressed, one small trigger has the ability to open the gateway back to the grieving phase.

Given the prolonged spiritual distress sexual abuse spurs, western medicine and traditional therapy can often fall short. For some, exploring a more mystical method of healing provides better outcomes. After all, sexual assault is a complicating factor for mental wellness, with survivors displaying psychological responses such as depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)—all of which psilocybin is proven to positively benefit.

As a seasoned psychedelic researcher and professor at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, Roland Griffiths reports that over 70% of people who took magic mushrooms to treat depression, anxiety, or PTSD cited their psychedelic experience as being among the most impactful events in their lifetime. Additional research echoes these praises, suggesting that psilocybin often induces emotional breakthroughs and profound shifts in perspective for those who choose to use it–and for Lydia, that shift in perspective was life-saving.

“I felt stuck. All my relationships were failing, even the one with myself. I was ready to give up,” she tells us at Retreat. “It felt like one person had stolen my happiness, and I couldn’t get it back, even ten years later.”

Then, a psilocybin retreat changed everything.

Lydia, who lived in Berlin at the time, made a convenient pilgrimage to attend a magic mushroom ceremony in Amsterdam. “The trip cracked me wide open,” she shares, “I was outside my body looking at myself. Which was trippy, but more important is that the filter changed, and suddenly I saw myself with softness and empathy. I sobbed.”

Like Lydia’s anecdotal evidence suggests, psychedelics hold great promise and potential to help people reprocess their trauma in a meaningful manner. In the words of psychedelic integration therapist Dee Dee Goldpaugh, psilocybin allows us to experience a “compassionate recasting of ourselves in the story [of a traumatic event].” By introducing her mind to new ways to think, psilocybin helped Lydia unglue herself from the decade of anguish the assault catalyzed. With the muck cleared off her mind’s windshield, she began to see and accept the truth: it wasn’t her fault, and it doesn’t define her.

The Therapeutic Potential of Microdosing

The heroic dose helped Lydia forgive and reopen herself to pleasure, but microdosing helped her cement her newfound perspectives.

“I didn’t want the trip to be this epiphany that didn’t stick,” she shares. “I was so relieved but also a bit anxious that I was placing a flimsy bandaid over a bullet hole.” So, after research and casual coaching by a seasoned psychonaut friend, she started a new routine three times a week: spiking her morning matcha with psilocybin powder.

Lydia enhanced her microdosing journey with daily journaling, affirmations, and a focused effort to allow the soft voice that spoke to her during the trip to reshape her internal monologue. She insists that microdosing rewired her brain in a way SSRIs failed to achieve.

But does the science behind microdosing support her experience?

While the conclusion is clear on the therapeutic benefits of large doses of psychedelics, such as increased empathy, openness, mood, and life satisfaction—the developing research on microdosing doesn’t allow us to draw any one conclusion. Research suggests that microdosing may lead to a positive mood, increased presence, and enhanced well-being.

However, the findings do not come from controlled trials where one-half of the participants take a microdose, and the other half take a placebo.  Current knowledge is mostly from vocal success stories like Lydia’s and surveys of people who have used microdosing as a tool for mental health and personal growth. (That said, that is changing, with a number of microdosing studies in the works across the industry.)

The Bottom Line

Though universally painful, healing from sexual trauma is personal. Whether you leverage traditional talk therapy, small amounts of psilocybin, or a guided heroic trip that sends you to an alternate reality for eternity and returns you a new person–one fact remains: addressing trauma is a meaningful step toward a happier future.

As for the potential of psychedelics to facilitate healing more holistically, the science is promising. Individuals that have suffered sexual trauma often close down as fear, anxiety, and anger shrink them. In one famously-cited psilocybin study, 61 percent of participants demonstrated a lasting and measurable change in openness after just one dose of mushrooms–a significant finding because lasting personality change is often out of reach with just talk therapy alone.

However you choose to heal, and whoever you choose to help you heal, Retreat wishes you the best and is here to offer a little psychedelic support and a lot of empathy.

*Name has been changed to protect privacy.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Many survivors aren’t sure what to do after a sexual assault

– Here’s what you need to know

By

Millions of people have experienced sexual violence and abuse in England and Wales, but many do not know where to go, or who to turn to afterwards. Shame felt by victims and survivors of sexual violence can be reinforced by the responses of family members and others.

This means many find it difficult to get help, sometimes carrying the burden of abuse for years. As one survivor I spoke to put it: “My parents didn’t want to know when I spoke to them about it. I grew up in the age of where everything was hidden. So, I kept this totally from everybody until 2021.” Perpetrators count on survivors of abuse not being heard.

I’ve been researching the work of Sexual Assault Referral Centres (Sarcs) in England, and speaking to survivors who have used their services. The narratives people share are upsetting, but give me hope – there is a strong network of Sarcs and other sexual violence and abuse services providing support to people across England, whether people choose to involve the police or not.

Getting help as soon as possible is important for any injuries and to reduce risks of sexually transmitted infections (STIs) and pregnancy.

A person may prioritise contacting the police, especially if there is ongoing risk of harm to them or a third party. The police will check safety and refer victims and survivors to support agencies like Sarcs. A survivor can opt to provide a witness statement at the appropriate time.

The first Sarc opened in 1986. Today there are over 50 across England and Wales. Sarcs can be a first point of care for any survivor, no matter their age, gender or how long it has been since the abuse occurred. They can be reached 24/7, and offer crisis support, first aid, pregnancy and STI testing, emergency contraception, forensic care and referrals to other services like independent sexual violence advisers.

What happens when you seek help after sexual assault

Sarcs offer the choice to have a forensic medical examination to collect evidence, which may be useful if the case goes to court. These samples, which include swabs of where physical contact took place, must usually be taken within a few days. Acting quickly gives the greatest chance of securing forensic evidence.

These exams were once undertaken in busy emergency departments and police stations, but Sarcs provide dedicated private spaces and a supportive environment. One survivor I interviewed referred to their experience as “a remarkably positive experience, considering the circumstances. I was impressed by [the forensic practitioner’s] professionalism and her knowledge, she was supportive in terms of me being a victim.”

Unless there are overriding safeguarding concerns, survivors have a choice about whether or not to involve the police. The staff at a Sarc can help a person decide the best course of action for their situation. This could include storing samples for reporting in the future, and anonymous reporting.

A circle of people sitting in chairs in a support group, focus is on one young woman with peers comforting her
Sarcs help survivors access other services like counselling and support for domestic abuse.

Sarcs are not the same as Rape Crisis centres, which are run by the voluntary sector. Rape Crisis England and Wales provides a 24/7 helpline, with around 40 centres offering outreach, advocacy, pre-trial therapy, peer support and counselling. Many also provide specialist advocates who can help survivors navigate the justice system.

Rape Crisis is struggling to keep up with the high demand for its services, in response to record numbers of survivors coming forward for help. A backlog of cases in the courts due to the pandemic, delayed trials and lack of resources in the judicial system, means there are now nearly 10,000 cases waiting, each taking an average of two years to be heard. This places further pressure on voluntary sector services to support people for longer.

What do survivors say about Sarcs?

Through our research, my colleagues and I have spoken to hundreds of survivors between the ages of 18 and 75 about their experiences of Sarcs. We have found that these services are safe and effective, with around 1% of participants feeling they had been adversely affected by the care they received.

On joining our research (around 100 days after contacting the Sarc), 70% of participants had symptoms consistent with PTSD. After one year and contact with many different services, this had fallen to 55%. As one man shared: “I feel that the support I’ve had … has given me a better outlook on life.”

People said they felt safe, believed and understood at Sarcs, and they received accurate and accessible information. Traditionally, the voluntary sector has been the benchmark for survivor-centred, trauma-informed care. But participants in our research rated Sarc care at least as positively as support from the voluntary sector. These results are heartening.

But there is still work to be done to ensure people understand their options after sexual violence. Only around one in 10 eligible people ever access a Sarc’s services. In particular, survivors from ethnic minorities, those experiencing concurrent domestic abuse and those with mental health problems struggle to access help.

Giving survivors choices and control over decisions is crucial in the aftermath of sexual violence. Aside from Sarcs, survivors can talk to a health professional like their GP, sexual health or antenatal care provider, or get in touch with Rape Crisis or The Survivors Trust. No one should have to carry the burden of sexual violence and abuse alone.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Consent Culture

— What Consent Means and How to Set Personal Boundaries

By Peyton Nguyen

What is consent? Consent is a key component of all healthy relationships. What you are or are not comfortable with in a sexual experience can change over time. Thus, it’s important to communicate your needs to your partner while also checking to see what their needs are.

Consent culture, where people in a community feel empowered to freely make decisions regarding their own comfort as it pertains to their sexual experiences, is created through open dialogue about sex.

As part of a continuous effort to bring that conversation to the BU community, Student Health Services hosted an event for incoming students at Orientation called Cones for Consent. The event was originally established by SHS’ Sexual Assault Response & Prevention Center (SARP). Students completed a quick survey and got free ice cream in exchange! As a Student Health Ambassador, talking with students about such an important topic at a fun event like this was nice. Being able to chat with such a large portion of the student body over a popsicle was a great way to close out the summer. Our discussions and the array of anonymous survey responses helped us better understand how BU students think about consent.

Here’s What Students Responded With:

“Consent culture means having respect for others’ boundaries.”

Defining boundaries is an important part of establishing a healthy relationship, and respecting them ensures that everyone feels safe and comfortable.

“It means that you openly communicate with your partner.”

Open communication empowers partners to discuss what they like, dislike, and everything in between.

“Creating consent culture lets us feel safe and empowered on campus.”

Consent culture makes the campus community a better place for us all!

“Consent is always an enthusiastic yes that can be taken back at any time.”

Consent should always be freely given. If a person feels uncomfortable or can’t give consent, stop what you’re doing.

Through the survey, students showed that consent culture is important to them as members of the BU community – so how can you encourage the development of consent culture in your own relationships?

Here are a few tips to help you get started!

Have a conversation with yourself:

  • It isn’t always easy to know what you want. That’s why it’s important to take time and reflect on what you’re comfortable with.
  • Consider what ideas you may have surrounding sex in general. These are often shaped by past experiences, but you’re the only one who can know what’s best for you!

Understand what boundaries are:

  • Boundaries are guidelines/limits that help you feel comfortable and safe. These boundaries should be respected.
  • Over time, boundaries can change. This is completely normal! It’s important to revisit them as time passes, just to check in and see if anything has changed.
  • Boundaries can be set regarding a large number of things. Examples include:
    • Using condoms when having sex
    • Getting screened for STIs before having sex
    • Types of sexual activities that you are comfortable (or not comfortable) with

How to have the conversation:

  • Clearly communicating your needs and wants will help everyone be on the same page.
  • Here are some fill-in-the-blank guides for communicating boundaries:
    • Before we have sex, I think it’s important for us to both get screened for STIs. It’s important to me, and will make me feel safe.
    • Just FYI, since we’re going out tonight, I don’t want to have sex if we’ve been drinking. It makes me feel ________.
    • I don’t feel comfortable with ______. If you’re not okay with that, we shouldn’t have sex.

Addressing Consent and boundaries in the moment:

  • You might think you’re okay with something, and then once you’re in the moment, it may not feel right. That’s okay, and you deserve to have your boundaries respected. Don’t be afraid to verbalize that.
  • “No” is a full sentence – you don’t need to give a reason or justification.
  • If you hear “no” during sex, stop what you’re doing and check in with your partner. Boundaries are not a one-and-done conversation. It can take time to fully discuss everyone’s boundaries, and that’s okay!

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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“Pleasure is Holy”

— How These Latinas Broke Free From Purity Culture

By Jessica Hoppe

The story of how I lost my virginity — a tale I long held onto — was a lie. A fiction as false as the construct itself, I fabricated the narrative to please my boyfriend. Before we got together, he expressed that my chastity was one of the most appealing qualities I possessed. His previous girlfriend had not been a virgin, and he resented not having been her first. Sloppy seconds, the boys called it. Although I became sexually active with him, I’d done it once before, a fact that I clearly needed to keep secret if I wanted him to pick me.

This double standard barely registered to me as a teen. Though premarital sex was not allowed, it was normal for men to have sex before marriage. Raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, a sect of US evangelical Christianity, my mother hoped the religion would safeguard her daughters against the violence she’d endured — a common response to abuse and gender discrimination. In reality, however, organized religion often uses fear to control our bodies, corrupting natural rites of passage through an anti-pleasure philosophy.

Over a decade of affiliation, I watched as the church judged and punished dozens of women for acting upon their desires. The men who did the same didn’t face any humiliation or consequences. Sequestered behind closed doors for hours, girls had no choice but to answer to a tribunal of elders — three or four self-appointed, middle-aged white men — who, through an intimately inappropriate line of questioning and based on the rumors they had heard about each girl’s behavior, assessed her level of repentance. From what I saw, the tribunal never believed any of the women or girls were contrite. 

“
“Raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, a sect of US evangelical Christianity, my mother hoped the religion would safeguard her daughters against the violence she’d endured — a common response to abuse and gender discrimination. In reality, however, organized religion often uses fear to control our bodies, corrupting natural rites of passage through an anti-pleasure philosophy.”
— jessica hoppe
”

When the elders deemed the victims guilty, everyone would find out. An appointed elder read their names aloud at the following service, publicly declaring their status to the congregation as disfellowshipped, which initiated a period of banishment. No one could speak to or acknowledge her for months — some for years — until the elders decided she was repentant and approved her reinstatement.

Through this indoctrination and the gravity of our family history, I began to think of my sexuality as separate from my body, aligning myself with the dictates of purity culture in order to be chosen. So I could feel safe. I had no idea I’d fallen prey to a favorite instrument of white supremacy.

Evangelists contextualize sex exclusively within a heteronormative framework and uphold the image of a thin, able-bodied, cis, straight, white woman as the epitome of purity, perpetuating colonial and Eurocentric values that systemically oppress women of color. The promise to wait for marriage seems universal, but what is the result when that aspiration is unattainable no matter your actions because it’s at odds with your identity?

As it turns out, it can wreak havoc on your mental health and familial relationships. A study conducted at University of Massachusetts Boston found that while the normalization of oppression — the restriction of sexual agency, the teaching of shame as a response to pleasure, and the perpetuation of rape culture — harms all, women of color were uniquely injured by the alienation of the rhetoric, expressing symptoms that “mimic that of posttraumatic stress disorder.”

“
“Specifically within the Latinx community, purity culture comes from marianismo, a deep devotion toward the Virgin Mary and a set of beliefs that encourage women to be pure, wait until marriage, respect patriarchal values, and self-sacrifice for the sake of the family.”
— Adriana Alejandre
”

“Specifically within the Latinx community, purity culture comes from marianismo, a deep devotion toward the Virgin Mary and a set of beliefs that encourage women to be pure, wait until marriage, respect patriarchal values, and self-sacrifice for the sake of the family, ” Adriana Alejandre, a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist and founder of Latinx Therapy tells Refinery29 Somos. “Whereas, the opposite is allowed for men. There is more forgiveness when men do not respect purity culture than for girls or women. When individuals outgrow this controlling perspective, it often creates estrangement among family members.”

Alejandre further explains that the effects from childhood are lifelong and require that we “unlearn harmful messages around sexuality and gender, such as virginity being a woman’s only worth and gift to husband upon marriage, being ashamed of sexual desires, [dressing] modestly, among many others.”

It is in regaining self-trust that healing can begin. Alejandre advises her clients to pay attention to the feeling of control and imposition. When is the message not coming from within you? “We can reject purity culture by embracing liberation, having open and developmentally appropriate conversations about sex to children, refraining from making statements such as, ‘sex is for marriage,’ and teaching all generations about body autonomy and consent,” she explains. “Lastly, I would recommend journaling about messages you received around sex, sexual education, consent, and sexual expression. Some questions to ask can include: How do these topics make me feel when I talk about them out loud to someone else? What are messages I grew up with? What are some beliefs I still carry even though I may not want to? How has my sexual expression changed over time?”

“
“It is my choice now to rebuke it and reclaim my own: Pleasure is holy; it is freedom, and it is my birthright.”
— JESSICA HOPPE
”

While I do not turn to scripture often in my recovery from religious and sexual trauma, I do take delight in knowing that the Bible muses erotically through the entire Book of Solomon: A sensual collection of poems depicting lustful, consensual encounters ripe with juicy metaphors for arousal, genitalia, oral sex, and a woman who is not cast to fall on her back and receive; she is the pursuant. It is the story of her sexual awakening, and she never suffers for her passion. The sex is triumphant.

In rereading these ancient texts, I am reminded that it is the church’s calculated interpretations that have perverted sex with shame, a toxic message perpetuated from pulpits all over the world and across generations. It is my choice now to rebuke it and reclaim my own: Pleasure is holy; it is freedom, and it is my birthright. Here, three Latinas from different religious backgrounds discuss how they liberated themselves from purity culture and what they found on the other side.

Joy Valerie Carrera

I grew up evangelical Christian. To me, purity culture was something that was about remaining pure for God, and how it manifested in my life was through unrealistic standards of perfectionism in my relationships, in my behavior, and in my ways of being to ensure that I would one day enter heaven and could not afford to mess up because of one tiny thing. It fed into this anxiety. As a neurodivergent child, it made me feel like I was constantly messing up and not fitting this mold of “perfect.” It contributed to masking so much of who I truly was.

As a teenager, I remember signing a pact with God that I would remain pure until marriage. I was given a key to symbolize my virginity, the key to my heart that on my wedding night I would give to my husband. When I was 16, I thought I was in love with my high school boyfriend. I was waiting for marriage, and we had been dating for a year. My hormonal teenage brain figured a “loophole” would be that it was fine if we had sex because we would eventually get married. I ended up leaving religion at 18, but the conditioning was there and something I would keep learning to rewire. I had been raised to believe that once you had sex, you were tied and bonded to the person for a lifetime, so I ended up staying in this relationship longer than I should have, even though it was unhealthy. I had this guilt and shame that I could not break my pact with God. 

“
“Purity culture was something that was about remaining pure for God, and how it manifested in my life was through unrealistic standards of perfectionism in my relationships, in my behavior, and in my ways of being to ensure that I would one day enter heaven.”
— Joy Valerie Carrera
”

I was assaulted at 21, and that was a huge turning point for me because I logically knew it was not my fault, but I had that deep ingrained belief that because I had betrayed God and left the church I was being punished. I transitioned into the complete opposite, exploring my sexuality fully and doing everything that I was told I was not supposed to, but still had this underlying guilt and shame.

It has taken me 10 years of therapy, coaching, deep reflection, so much exploration, and embracing self-love to unlearn the deep, old religious conditioning. I now feel more confident in who I am and realize when the shame pops up, those aren’t my beliefs. They are beliefs that are ready to be liberated. This next phase of my journey, I hope to keep letting go of those to enter into conscious, intimate, and healthy relationships free from the pressure that my religious upbringing put on me.

Margot Spindola

As a cis Latina woman who went to Catholic K-12 school in a small rural town, purity culture was communicated to me through a series of insidious signals and messages that brought about immense introspection, shame, and insecurity about my own body — something I still struggle with unlearning to this day.

I learned about purity in Catholic school. While in seventh grade, I took a sexual education course taught by one of the moms of the community who was also a registered nurse. Despite her background, I distinctly remember her standing at the front of the class, waving her hands in the air, and telling us, “Condoms are of the devil.”

When I was 14 or 15 years old, my immigrant mami slipped a “God’s Plan” brochure underneath my bedroom door.I was already on my way to having sex by then, so it’s maddening that other people felt like they had control over my body when I was barely even wrapping my head around my own relationship with it.

In my junior year of high school, I attended what they called a “Morality” class, where philosophical debate and scripture overlapped and we would spend hours listening to my teacher drone on about natural family planning and how having premarital sex would send me straight on the path to purgatory. Because I was already feeling the asphyxiating grasp of organized religion’s hands around my neck, I knew that this talk of being a virgin was likely to be a scam. I didn’t yet realize or understand the invisible script it had coded into my body as I grew older. For a short time, I wore a purity ring. At the time, I didn’t truly resonate with my body and felt numb. Following the scripts my community gave me felt like the only way forward

“
The most radical act of rejecting purity culture is acknowledging the harms it has perpetuated.”
— Margot Spindola
”

Fast-forward to today, I’m 27 years old, and I embrace pleasure. But this didn’t happen overnight. It was a gradual process of self-reflection, critical thinking, and having conversations about sex. My body is no longer someone else’s to dictate. Instead, it is the “practice ground for transformation,” as adrianne maree brown so thoughtfully affirms in her book, Pleasure Activism. I’m thankful for the ways I was taught, regardless of the harm caused, because for better or for worse, it became a catalyst for my reckoning with my body. Instead of ignoring my body’s signals for pleasure (sexual or not), I embrace the ups and downs of where it takes me.

It has taken, and will take me, a long time to get to a place of crafting my own pleasure practice. It’s not to say that shame doesn’t sneak up on me, or that sometimes sex with a man can feel pressuring or the need to serve comes up. But the most radical act of rejecting purity culture is acknowledging the harms it has perpetuated.

Cindy Luquin

From my earliest memories, the concept of purity culture was ingrained in me through my family’s religious beliefs, particularly within the context of Pentecostalism. As the first child born in my family, I witnessed how religious congregations often served as a sanctuary for immigrant families from Latin America when they first arrived in the US, providing a sense of belonging and practical support.

The strong influence of Pentecostalism, combined with my Guatemalan heritage, created a subtle denial of our Maya Indigenous roots within our religious practice. I vividly recall an incident when I was just 4 years old, dressing up in traditional Indigenous clothing for a church event, which stirred conflicting emotions of pride and unease.

These early encounters with purity culture and the erasure of our Maya heritage left a lasting impression, highlighting the complex interplay between religious teachings, cultural identity, and the need for acceptance within the community. As I grew older, the effects of purity culture manifested in a profound internal struggle. I felt wrong for questioning the belief system and witnessed a disturbing double standard regarding gender roles and abusive behaviors.

“
“Although remnants of my religious upbringing occasionally resurface, I have done the necessary work in therapy and through personal healing to reclaim my bodily autonomy and liberate myself from judgment.”
— Cindy Luquin
”

The impact of purity culture led me to suppress my true identity and creative expression as a queer bisexual person. It burdened me with shame and guilt, leading to physical manifestations and a strategy of “faking” illness to avoid attending church. Only later did I realize that these feelings were genuine, rooted in the anxiety I felt about the constraints imposed on me.

In my early 20s, the pivotal experience of moving away to college granted me the freedom to explore my true identity and embark on a journey of self-discovery. Today, I proudly identify as a spiritual queer person, reconnecting with my Maya heritage and embracing the wisdom of Maya cosmology, which values earth, medicine, and nature.

Although remnants of my religious upbringing occasionally resurface, I have done the necessary work in therapy and through personal healing to reclaim my bodily autonomy and liberate myself from judgment. This process has instilled in me a sense of responsibility to support and guide others as a queer elder and educator, free from judgment.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Sexual Assault

— How to Help Your Loved One

Each year, millions of men and women in the United States are affected by sexual violence. It is distressing to find out that someone you love has been a victim of sexual assault, but there are steps you can take to offer support.

By Natalie Evenson, MSN, BSN, RN, SANE-A

  • After a sexual assault, it may be easy to lose focus on what is most important; your primary focus should be on your loved one’s physical and emotional needs.
  • During this crisis, your loved one needs your unconditional support and care.
  • Following a sexual assault, victims face making difficult decisions; respecting your loved one’s decisions without question is essential.

How to respond

It is hard to know how to react after finding out a loved one has been a victim of sexual assault. It takes courage for someone to disclose what happened, and you may be at a loss for how to respond.

Each individual reacts and copes with traumatic events differently. Your loved one may be tearful, angry, withdrawn, or even laughing and joking. These are all normal responses to trauma; the best thing to do is be a supportive presence.

Personal and physical safety and well-being are of utmost importance. You can help create a safety plan to avoid contact with the person who assaulted your loved one. You should contact law enforcement if your loved one is receiving threats or is in imminent danger.

If your loved one wishes to seek medical attention, many hospitals have sexual assault nurse examiners available. These nurses can offer a sexual assault examination and collect forensic evidence several days after a sexual assault.

Ways you can offer support

It may be challenging to know how to comfort a loved one who has been a victim of sexual assault. The most important thing is to express your care and concern. Offering support can be done in a variety of ways.

  • Ask your loved one what you can do to help. Let your loved one express what you can do to help them feel comfortable and safe. It may be as simple as gathering their favorite comfort items, like their favorite fuzzy blanket and slippers.
  • Validate your loved one’s feelings. They may be overwhelmed by a wide range of confusing emotions. Listen and empathize with their feelings, fears, and concerns.
  • Ask for permission before giving physical touch. Your loved one has lost power and control over their own body. Letting your loved one tell you how they would like to be comforted puts them in control. You might be more valuable by providing kind words than physical affection.
  • Respect your loved one’s choices. It is up to your loved one to decide the next steps following a sexual assault. They must determine if they want to talk to law enforcement or seek medical attention. Whether or not you agree with the decisions your loved one has made, it is essential to respect their choices unconditionally.

Things you should avoid

Everyone copes with crises and trauma differently. There is no right way to react when hearing that someone you love has been a victim of sexual assault. Your loved one may have feelings of guilt or self-blame.

It takes great courage for someone to disclose they have been a victim of sexual assault. You must reassure your loved one that they are not at fault and that you support and believe them. You may have many questions about the incident, but you should let your loved one disclose the information if and when they feel ready.

You may be angry and have thoughts and opinions about the situation; however, you should put your feelings aside and focus on supporting your loved one.

How to support your loved one moving forward

Following a sexual assault, it is common to feel numb or anxious. Your loved one may experience difficulty sleeping or eating or experience flashbacks and panic attacks. Encouraging soothing and relaxing self-care exercises like breath work or meditation may be helpful.

Your loved one may benefit from seeing a therapist or counselor to help them cope and begin to heal from their trauma. Be aware of warning signs that your loved one may be having thoughts of self-harm. You can refer your loved one to mental health crisis resources as needed.

Hearing about someone else’s traumatic events can affect your mental health. You may have difficulty processing what happened to your loved one. Be kind to yourself and seek mental health resources for yourself if needed.

In this digital age, venting or sharing information online may be tempting. Remember to respect your loved one’s confidentiality. They may be ready to disclose to you, but you must respect their privacy.

There are many resources for survivors of sexual assault. If your loved one is interested, referring them to an advocacy or support group may be helpful.

When a loved one has been a victim of sexual assault, there are many things you can do to help them. Recovering after a sexual assault is a long-term process; your loved one needs empathy and unconditional support. The most important thing is to follow their cues and let your loved one tell you how you can help them through the process.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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How To Reclaim Your Sexuality After Sexual Assault

— According to Trauma-Informed Sex Educators Who Are Also Survivors

By Erica Sloan

If you think of the body like a circuit system, “sexual trauma has a way of rewiring things,” says trauma-informed sex educator Jimanekia Eborn, founder of Tending the Garden, a support organization for marginalized sexual-assault survivors that offers a quarterly subscription care package. In the aftermath of endured sexual trauma, things that once sparked pleasure or arousal, like a certain kind of touch or even the words of a loved one, might instead trigger pain, setting off a negative chain reaction circuit-wide, says Eborn. Rebuilding that circuit—not necessarily into what it was, but into a version that lights up just as brightly—can help survivors reclaim their sexuality after assault.

The circuit metaphor is particularly apt for describing the effects of sexual assault because of the ways in which the trauma can infiltrate your whole system. “It isn’t just something that happened to our bodies; it isn’t just something that happened to our brains,” says Eborn. “It is all-encompassing.”

“It’s not that you’re broken, but you have to navigate yourself in a new way.” —Jimanekia Eborn, trauma-informed sex educator

That reality can make it easy to feel like you’re broken. But the switchboard isn’t dead; it’s more accurate to say it needs some reconfiguring. “Sometimes, I have days where my body feels very disconnected from me, or I feel like I’m existing at an angle,” says Eborn, of healing from her own sexual trauma. “It’s not that you’re broken, but you have to navigate yourself in a new way.”

What that path looks like will be different for every survivor, says somatic coach and restorative-justice advocate Marlee Liss. “There’s no one-size-fits-all roadmap to reclaiming your sexuality and pleasure after assault, and it isn’t a linear process either,” she says, “but I think realizing that is a really big part of the healing.”

How sexual trauma can disconnect you from the experience of pleasure and your own sexuality

Though the body can respond to trauma in a number of ways, any response is “an attempt at protecting you and helping you to feel safe,” says Liss. (And it’s helpful to see it through that lens in order to find some self-compassion if your body’s response isn’t what you’d like it to be.)

In terms of a person’s relationship to sexuality, two opposite responses are the most common, says Liss: hyposexuality and hypersexuality. The former is an aversion or fear of sex that typically looks like shutting down desires, rejecting sexual feelings, or numbing out in sexual circumstances “often so that you can feel a greater sense of control over your body and your decisions,” says Liss. It’s the body’s way of compensating for a loss of that control in the past.

The latter, however, is a compulsion toward sex, when “someone hyper-sexualizes themselves more than their typical amount, perhaps because they’ve internalized sexual objectification that’s been imposed upon them or because they’re trying to deny or minimize the reality of the trauma they’ve experienced,” says Liss.

This hypersexualization response may make it seem, on the surface, as if the person has fully learned how to reclaim their sexuality after assault when, in reality, they’re sexualizing themselves purely as a result of trauma, and not because they’re in tune with their body or seeking pleasure.

It’s also possible for sexuality to ebb and flow post-trauma. “Perhaps, one day, all the switches on your circuit are off, and you just want to stay in bed all day, and the next, they’re all on, and you’re craving a sexual experience,” says Eborn. “I think there’s so much shame and blame placed on both sides [of that spectrum] that people struggle figuring out where they fall. But in a healing journey, there’s room for all of it.”

The key to reconnecting with an honest expression of your sexuality after trauma is to be able to observe the way your body responds to different sensory inputs and then listen to its cues.

The key to reconnecting with an honest expression of your sexuality after trauma is to be able to observe the way your body responds to different sensory inputs and then listen to its cues. “Our bodies are constantly telling us in many different ways whether we’re feeling safe, whether we’re feeling unsafe,” says Liss. But when you go into a hyposexual or hypersexual state, or enter another kind of trauma response, it’s easy to miss those cues, she says.

Learning how to turn back toward your own body’s senses and sensations, notice them, and value your right to feel however you feel is the core process of sexual reclamation.

5 strategies that can help you learn how to reclaim your sexuality after assault

1. Release yourself from shame and blame

While it may seem obvious that the survivor of sexual assault is never to blame, the reality is that trauma can get twisted in retrospect.

“There’s a lot of shame that can come with experiencing sexual assault,” says Eborn. And when you consider that the brain is our biggest sex organ, it’s no wonder that holding onto all that shame can distance you from sexual pleasure. “If you’re constantly thinking, ‘This is my fault,’ or ‘I could’ve prevented this,’ it’ll be very difficult to reclaim your sexuality,” says Eborn.

Her advice? Remember that shame is a feeling put upon you by other people, other things, or other circumstances. “Instead of owning that shame as yours, think about it like, ‘This feeling is not mine, and it’s not of my creation,’” says Eborn. Yes, you have to deal with it now, she qualifies, but the important thing to remember is, you didn’t ask for or deserve this.

2. Take yourself on pleasure-focused “self dates”

It’s essential to carve out solo time on your calendar that’s designated just for your pleasure while you’re on the journey of learning how to reclaim your sexuality after assault. Eborn and Liss both call these pockets of time “self dates.” They can be any length of time—whether three minutes or 60, depending on what you can swing—and the only rule is that you use the time to feel good.

Notably, that means you’re not going into these self dates with a particular goal to accomplish or sexual act to achieve. “I think that there can be this kind of capitalist, productive approach to healing from sexual trauma that’s like, ‘I need to be okay again, and I need to be like I was with sexuality, and I need to get there by tomorrow,’” says Liss. “But that kind of pressure can lead us to cross our boundaries and just put ourselves in re-traumatizing places.”

Instead, the point of the self-dates is to focus purely on pleasure—and not necessarily orgasm or masturbation or even anything sexual at all. While you certainly can use the time for a solo sex session, you might also use it to take a hot bath, dance with reckless abandon, or savor a piece of pizza.

“Ask yourself, ‘What would bring me pleasure right now?’ or, ‘What would allow me to connect with 1 percent more pleasure right now?'” —Marlee Liss, somatic coach and sex educator

To figure out which route to go, Liss says to ask yourself the deceivingly simple (yet often overlooked) question, “What would bring me pleasure right now?” Or, if that feels too inaccessible, even just, “What would allow me to connect with 1 percent more pleasure, or peace, or comfort right now?”

This practice can help increase your awareness of your own body and senses, allowing you to practice self-consent, says Liss: You’re asking yourself what would feel good, and then you’re acting upon that, which is a beautiful reclamation of power over your physical being.

Indeed, allowing yourself to answer the question honestly is a reminder of an essential truth: “You know yourself better than anyone else does, no matter what anyone tells you or tries to talk you out of or talk you into,” says Eborn.

3. Reimagine the physical or mental context you’ve created around sex

Simple changes to your environment or approach to sexual pleasure can make a world of difference in how you perceive it in the wake of trauma.

On the physical side of things, consider how you might rid your space from as many triggers as possible, says Liss. Toss any objects that take you to an uncomfortable space, remove triggering songs from playlists, adjust anxiety-provoking lighting, and the like. And at the same time, consider how you might add glimmers—aka the opposite of triggers—into your physical space. Perhaps these safety cues include a particularly calming sound or smell, or a comforting blanket.

When it comes to the mental context you’ve constructed around sex, Eborn also suggests dropping preconceived notions and starting fresh by taking the Erotic Blueprint quiz, which sexologist Jaiya Ma created. The five categories it includes—energetic, sensual, sexual, kinky, and shapeshifter—each encompasses unique sexual turn-ons (for example, soft and wispy touch for the sensual people and something that feels personally taboo for the kinky people).

“By taking the quiz, you can see what might feel connected to get you back in your body,” says Eborn. That answer certainly may have changed as a result of experiencing trauma—and that’s not a bad thing so much as something important to notice. “It’s okay if you no longer want or feel comfortable doing that one thing that was once a turn-on,” says Eborn. “There’s so much body, there are so many ways to touch it, and sex is about far more than penetration.”

4. Redefine your sexual boundaries

Part of learning how to reclaim your sexuality after assault is identifying and honoring your own sexual limits. One way to do this is by creating a Yes/No/Maybe list, says Eborn. Just like it sounds, this involves categorizing any number of different sex acts, fantasies, toys, and positions as “Yes,” “No,” or “Maybe,” based on your interest (or lack thereof) in trying them.

This way, you have a reference—“a cheat sheet of sorts,” says Eborn—for what you enjoy, what you don’t, and what you’re open to exploring, which you can also share with a current or future sexual partner, if relevant. Though it might seem like TMI to share it, it’s important to remember that “most people actually want to know how to have sex with you, rather than guessing,” says Eborn.

You can also explore where your sexual boundaries fall during one of your pleasure-focused self dates, above. If you’re tuned into what feels pleasurable, you’ll also be able to better identify what doesn’t (or when something stops feeling good). “A key piece that’s easy to miss is that sometimes, the most liberating breakthrough is you being like, ‘That’s enough for today,’ and knowing where to draw a boundary,” says Liss. “That, in and of itself, can be an experience of pleasure.”

5. Know that sexual reclamation post-trauma isn’t all or nothing

In the headspace—and body-space—of healing from sexual trauma, accessing pleasure of any sort can sometimes feel like a stretch. Which is why, Liss says it’s important to remember that two things can be true: You can feel grief or sadness or pain or anger (or all of the above) about the experience of sexual assault, and you can also reclaim pleasure. “Different feelings can coexist,” says Liss, “and the journey to healing is really about allowing that coexistence to happen without denial.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Abused gay men don’t see they are victims – study

— Gay and bisexual men being abused by romantic partners is the subject of a research brief being presented to the Scottish government

Gay and bisexual men being abused by romantic partners is the subject of a research brief being presented to the Scottish government

By Mary McCool

Gay and bisexual men are being abused by romantic partners but face multiple barriers to support, according to recent studies.

Research from Glasgow Caledonian University found that one in four men experienced violence in same-sex relationships.

It heard from victims who shared sometimes harrowing accounts of abuse including physical violence, rape and psychological abuse from both casual and longer-term partners.

Academics have called for more awareness around the subject and improvements to support services to help prevent “generations” of men facing the same problems.

Warning: This story contains details some readers may find upsetting

Dr Edgar Rodriguez-Dorans is a counsellor and lectures in counselling and psychotherapy at the University of Edinburgh.

Originally from Mexico, he has lived in Scotland since 2013 and has dealt with a number of gay and bisexual clients who have suffered a wide range of traumatic experiences in relationships.

Dr Edgar Rodrigez-Dorans of the University of Edinburgh
A common factor among those who have experienced sexual abuse, he said, is the issue of consent being understood by either victim or abuser.

One client told Dr Rodriguez-Dorans he repeatedly allowed his boyfriend to have sex with him when he did not want to because he felt “he needed to be available” to him.

Another man, he said, told of an experience at a “chemsex” party – where people use drugs such as methamphetamine, mephedrone (“meow meow”) or GHB (gammahydroxybutrate) to enhance sex.

“The drugs were too strong so he was unable to be fully conscious,” said Dr Rodriguez-Dorans. “He didn’t want to continue in the party.”

After refusing sex from the men present, the man was raped.

Dr Rodriguez-Dorans said because his client was an immigrant, he did not think police would believe him if he reported the incident.

“It’s something he has realised is part of his domestic life,” he said. “Partners have taken it as some sort of kink – like they say no, it’s a bit forceful, it’s fun.”

Part of the problem, according to the counsellor, is that the lives of gay men have been “hyper-sexualised” and they often relate to each other through sexual activity.

He said: “Feeling empowered by sexuality, that is fine, but it can create a dynamic where they are not sure whether they’re having sex when they want to.”

‘He was terrified to leave his home’

Another man told Dr Rodriguez-Dorans he reported his violent ex-boyfriend to police, but was told there was “not enough evidence to suggest he was in danger”.

The abuser initially refused to move out of the man’s flat and sent him threatening messages – which the man showed to officers.

He also repeatedly stood outside the victim’s flat, which Dr Rodriguez-Dorans described as “overt intimidation”.

“We were working on agoraphobia,” he said. “He would not be able to go out at night – he would be terrified and go back to the safety of his home. He was also dealing with panic attacks on a regular basis.

“We are still working on this and it’s been years since the client left the relationship – that’s very important, the relationship might have ended years ago but the effects continue.”

In terms of access to support services, Dr Rodriguez-Dorans said the barriers were complex.

Many are targeted towards women, which he said gives the narrative that women are “more prone to be victims” of abuse.

Meanwhile charities and mental health services for LGBT people are also overstretched.

But perhaps most pervasively, many of Dr Rodriguez-Dorans’ cases are affected by misconceptions on masculinity.

“Men don’t see themselves as objects of abuse,” he said. “People who have been victims of sexual abuse can take up to 20 years to actually seek help.”

On those perpetrating the abuse, he added: “Many might be dealing with internalised homophobia, shame, isolation from their families and emotional illiteracy – which is quite widespread among men regardless of their sexuality.

“Exercising power against their partner might put them in position where they feel like their masculinity is asserted.”

Prof Jamie Frankis and Dr Steven Maxwell
Prof Jamie Frankis (left) and Dr Steven Maxwell (right) will present their findings on abuse in LGBT relationships to the Scottish government

Similar experiences of abuse among gay and bisexual men have been demonstrated in two pieces of research by Glasgow Caledonian University, which will be presented to the Scottish government’s LGBTI+ cross-party group later this month.

The first, published in 2020, was a UK-wide survey which found one in four gay or bisexual men experienced intimate partner violence (IPV).

The second study, published last year, interviewed 10 men aged between 26 to 47 in Scotland on their experiences of domestic abuse.

It highlighted that the “absence of a rape narrative” for men in same-sex relationships made it difficult for some to recognise when they had been sexually assaulted.

It also said men with big muscular bodies worried that “appearing ‘acceptably’ masculine” might make others doubt that they were victims of IPV.

‘Change at a national level’

Lead academics Prof Jamie Frankis and Dr Steven Maxwell have called the problem an “urgent public health issue”.

Dr Maxwell said: “IPV experienced by GBM and wider LGBTQ+ folk is an issue that many are unaware of. Our research found that IPV has a detrimental impact on an individual’s health, both in the short and long term, and can cause mental ill health including anxiety, PTSD, depression and suicidality.

“We hope that this research will help bridge the knowledge gap, increase public awareness and lead to policy change at a national level.”

Dr Rodriguez-Dorans added that more training was needed to help police officers recognise signs of domestic abuse in same-sex relationships.

“If we don’t address these issues, it won’t change,” he said. “We’ll end up with generation after generation going down the same path.”

Det Ch Supt Sam Faulds of Police Scotland said tackling domestic abuse remains a “significant priority”.

She said the force responds to all reports, adding: “Whilst we recognise the disproportionate impact on women and girls, the definition of domestic abuse is not gender specific.

“It is a despicable and debilitating crime which affects all our communities and has no respect for ability, age, ethnicity, gender, race, religion or sexual orientation.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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28 Republicans Vote Against Bill to Protect Child Sex Abuse Victims

By

The bipartisan Respect for Child Survivors Act, a law that would aid victims of child sex abuse and their families, just passed the House in a 385-28 vote.

All 28 votes against the bill came from Republicans.

The bill would require the FBI to form multi-disciplinary teams to aid sex abuse victims and their families in order to prevent re-traumatization from investigation and any cases from being dropped. These teams would include “investigative personnel, mental health professionals, medical personnel, family advocacy workers, child advocacy workers, and prosecutors,” Newsweek reported.

U.S. Senators John Cornyn (R-TX), Chris Coons (D-DE), Lindsey Graham (R-SC), and Amy Klobuchar (D-MN) introduced the legislation.

“I applaud Senator Cornyn’s leadership on this issue to correct an egregious wrong committed by certain FBI agents regarding their treatment of victims of sexual abuse,” said Sen. Graham. “Requiring the FBI to use appropriate, tried and true methods to interview child victims will help ensure the FBI’s failure in the Nassar case doesn’t happen again. This legislation will make it clear that we expect better.”

However, not all Republicans expect better from the FBI, it seems.

The bill was opposed by the following GOP Representatives: Andy Biggs and Paul Gosar (Ariz.); Dan Bishop and Virginia Foxx (NC); Lauren Boebert (Colo.), Mo Brooks and Barry Moore (Ala.); Louie Gohmert, Ronny Jackson, Troy Nehls, Chip Roy, and Michael Cloud (Texas); Andrew Clyde, Jody Hice, Austin Scott, and Marjorie Taylor Greene (Ga.); James Comer and Thomas Massie (Ky.); Rick Crawford (Ark.); Byron Donalds and John Rutherford (Fla.); Bob Good (Va.), Clay Higgins (La.), Tom McClintock (Calif.), Ralph Norman (SC), Scott Perry (Pa.), Matt Rosendale (Mont.), and Jeff Van Drew (NJ).

Despite this, the bill is supported by the Rape Abuse & Incest National Network, the National District Attorneys Association, Army of Survivors, the National Children’s Alliance, Keep Kids Safe, Together for Girls, Darkness to Light, the Monique Burr Foundation for Children, the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests (SNAP), and the Brave Movement.

It is also expected to pass the Senate.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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I’m A Sex Coach & These Are The 4 Things I Always Teach Men About Consent

By Suzannah Weiss

There’s been a lot of awareness-raising done lately around women’s sexual empowerment, but not as much has been done for men. And based on my experience coaching men on their sex lives and teaching courses around pleasure and consent, efforts to sexually liberate men are very much needed.

Men come to me with questions about how to initiate sex and ask for consent, how to be sexually free and expressive without being perceived as threatening, and how to recover from their own sexual trauma. Based on their stories and concerns, it’s clear that our sex education system and wider culture fail men as much as women.

Men are taught from a young age that it’s their job to make sex happen, that they’ll miss out on opportunities if they aren’t aggressive enough, and that how many people they’ve slept with determines their worth. And yet they’re also taught that if they’re openly interested in sex, this makes them dirty, gross, or creepy.

I’ve seen these toxic messages hurt men’s self-esteem and their ability to form relationships. But I’ve also seen men learn how to safely embody their true sexual selves—and, in the process, see the light and good that were in their sexuality from the get-go.

To help men unlearn the damaging narratives they learn around their sexuality and replace them with healthier ideas, here are some things I like to teach men about consent—although they really apply to all of us:

1. Your consent matters, too.

Sex education, when it covers consent at all, often focuses on teaching men how to respect women’s boundaries and teaching women how to state and protect their own boundaries. There’s a major problem with this—and it’s not just the way it victim-blames women.

When men are only taught how to ask for consent from someone else, this misses the fact that their consent matters, too.

If you’re a man who’s been sexually assaulted—or experienced something that you’re not sure was completely consensual—this does not make you less of a man. On the contrary, it means you’ve had an experience that’s common among men. A 2005 study1

by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control found that one in six men had faced sexual abuse by the age of 18. In another survey, around one in 10 men said they’d experienced unwanted sexual contact during college. I’d venture to say that even more did but didn’t recognize it as such.

So, let’s be clear: The same things that are told to women also apply to men. You are never asking for sexual assault. You deserve to be taken seriously. If you say yes and then change your mind, you have the right to ask your partner to stop. Your partner needs to be honest with you about safer sex so that you can make an informed decision. It’s not OK for a partner to guilt you into sex.

And if you are assaulted, help is available. If you need someone to talk to, you can call the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network hotline or chat online with a counselor through the One in Six help line. These people are trained to take men’s (and everyone’s) reports seriously.

2. Consent can be felt in your body.

So often, men (and people of all genders, really) feel like they have to intellectualize consent. What I mean by this is they feel like they have to give a reason why they don’t want to do something. Or to justify why they do want something. 

Reasoning your way through consent can sound something like this:

  • “Of course I want sex; I’m a guy. Guys always want sex.”
  • “I might not get another opportunity if I don’t say ‘yes’ now.”
  • “I can’t think of a reason not to, so I guess I should.”

Someone may actually be feeling iffy about an encounter but enter into it anyway because, in their minds, the idea makes logical sense.

To figure out whether you truly consent—rather than just feeling like you should consent—I recommend tuning into your body and emotions. How are you feeling? Are you feeling excited by the prospect of engaging sexually with this person? Are you feeling uncomfortable? Scared? Confused? You might feel many things at once, and it’s a great idea to talk about these feelings with your partner.

If you’re not feeling completely comfortable with the encounter, it’s better to say no or suggest a different activity, then perhaps revisit the possibility again down the line. If there’s a connection with this person, there will probably still be one next week!

And remember, you don’t have to justify your boundaries to your partner or yourself. The feeling of a “no” in your body is enough to say no.

3. Asking for consent can be sexy.

All right, so now for the fun part.

Men often ask me how to ask for consent without ruining the mood or interrupting the flow. And there are plenty of ways to do that.

First, I recommend talking about your sexual desires and preferences before you reach the bedroom. This will make things go much more smoothly once things turn sexual. “How do you like to be kissed?” is a great question to ask a partner before things get physical, or right as they do. This gives them the opportunity to let you know what they enjoy, and you can gauge their interest based on how comfortable they are with the question.

A simple “can I kiss you?” by the way, isn’t at all unsexy. You can also initiate a kiss but rather than touching your lips to theirs, go halfway and see if they meet you.

Any straightforward question will work, really:

  • “Do you want my hand on your leg?” (“Do you want my ___ in/on your ____” is generally a good formula.)
  • “I’d like to stroke your hair; would you enjoy that?”

If the other person’s into it, describing what you’d like to do will be arousing for them, not awkward. And if they’re not aroused by it, you have your answer—and that was probably their answer before you asked.

When you start getting sexual with someone, another approach you can use is to make a game of asking for consent: “Do you want me to ___? Oh yeah? Beg for it.” “I’ll only do it if you ask nicely. So if you really want it, tell me ‘yes please.'” (Check out mbg’s full dirty talk guide.)

While you’re hooking up, a simple “You good?” or “Anything I can do to make it better?” will help ensure your partner’s consent is ongoing.

Don’t worry too much about how smooth your lines are. If someone’s into you and wants to sleep with you, they’re unlikely to turn you down just because you care about their consent.

4. Consent is not enough.

Even though I teach about consent, I believe we should have a higher standard for our sexual encounters.

Oxford Languages’ definition of consent is “permission for something to happen or agreement to do something.” Kind of weak, no? It doesn’t exactly sound like the state of someone who’s burning with passion and longing.

How about desire: “a strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen”? That, to me, is what we should expect from our sexual encounters.

In other words, make sure you’re doing what you desire, not what you’re just OK with. And make sure your partner is clearly desiring the same.

In healthy sexual encounters, both people actively want to engage in whatever’s taking place. When one person is desiring it and the other’s simply agreeing to it, there’s an imbalance.

Everyone deserves sexual partners who are concerned not just with getting what they want themselves but listening to their partner’s desires, wishes, likes, and dislikes.

That goes for any partner you’ll ever have, and it goes for you.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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How BDSM helped me deal with sexual trauma

BDSM is far from the tool of self-destruction that it’s often depicted as in the media.

By Megan Wallace

When we’re asked what looking after our mental health looks like, most of us recite the same answer by rote. Talking therapy, medication for those who need it, and then that nebulous concept of “self care,” which nowadays means anything from journaling to eating well to buying expensive candles. But the reality is that no one’s mental health journey is going to look the same. Each person’s brain, trauma, and way of navigating the world is different and, as a result, individuals have long adopted more personalised ways of staying on top of their mental health, whether it’s exercise for stress or ice cold baths for anxiety. But for some, mental healing can come from a more unexpected place: the latex and leather of BDSM.

While I never thought it would work out this way, this has even been the case for me. Following a sexual assault in 2018 which happened on a busy street, one I still often pass, I found myself withdrawing from sex – feeling hugely disconnected from my body and partners, swallowing down the feeling of not wanting to be touched, counting down the time until any sexual encounter would stop in my head and sometimes crying uncontrollably afterwards. Even now, there are still times when I find intimacy so tough that I dissociate. For anyone who’s not sure what “dissociation” means in this context, let me explain. Basically, when I’m supposed to be “enjoying the moment” something bizarre occurs in my brain – it feels like I’ve extricated myself from my body and am floating, passively watching everything happening from the foot of the bed.

At the time, I never really wanted to talk about my experience in a formal way, but it would often come out as a jagged, hot-teared confession after one too many drinks. Probably, therapy would have been the answer (isn’t it always?) but I started looking for alternative solutions. Inspired by teenage years spent on Tumblr and a summer spent living and working in Berlin, where sex clubs were everywhere, I thought BDSM might be worth a shot. It was a whole culture celebrating around sex, one where all shame was left at the door and pleasure reigned supreme – what if it could help me work through some of baggage, I wondered. And as you’ve probably worked out by the title of this article, it was.

It was the fact that BDSM often involves a lot of up-front negotiations where you talk through and agree upon specific scenes or acts.

But the bit that helped me? Well, it wasn’t even the sex. Instead, it was the fact that BDSM often involves a lot of up-front negotiations where you talk through and agree upon specific scenes or acts. In practice, this means that a) you spend a lot of time talking and b) you kind of know how everything is going to pan out before you even get started. This proved to be a major relief to me after the shock and trauma of what had happened to me previously. It was also a way to begin to slowly trust someone, knowing that we basically had a verbal contract in place, instead of having to dive-in to intimacy. According to my partners at the time, I could never “let go” during sex so it was a huge relief that BDSM presented a judgement-free space of calm and control – even if, as a sub, I was supposedly the one giving up control.

Stripping away BDSM misconceptions

Admittedly, it’s a stereotype that if you’ve suffered from trauma you might gravitate towards BDSM – particularly when you look at depictions of kink in pop culture. Whether it’s the sexual assault that dominatrix Tiffany experiences in Netflix’s Bonding or the childhood abuse that Christian Grey mentions in Fifty Shades of Grey, TV and film writers are more than a little complicit in spreading the preconception, via clunky dialogue, that you’ve got to have suffered trauma to be into kink. But does this have any rooting in real life? Well, away from our screens, research has found a link between child abuse and developing an interest in sadism or masochism later in life. It’s important to remember though that the research here is scant and the link is far from definitive. However, if it does exist, we need to interrogate the ways that we talk and think about this correlation. Rather than viewing a tendency towards BDSM as a “perversion” of “normal” sexuality, what if we saw BDSM rituals as a form of harm reduction, a coping mechanism, or even a type of therapy?

“While participating in BDSM, I was able to look deep within, learn about exactly what I enjoy and what I want, and communicate these things openly and frankly to my partners.”

And while BDSM might be particularly associated with people who have been through a specific type of trauma, it can be helpful to people of many varied experiences. This is the case of Prish, a 25-year-old non-binary person who gravitated towards kink after a childhood where their boundaries and needs weren’t listened to or respected. Having struggled with codependent relationships as a result, it was through BDSM that they were able to connect with their desires and learn how to communicate them. “While participating in BDSM, I was able to look deep within, learn about exactly what I enjoy and what I want, and communicate these things openly and frankly to my partners,” they explain. “When these needs were listened to and respected, and when my pleasure was centred by the people who were domming me, this was incredibly healing.” Ultimately, being able to express what they wanted sexually has had a much wider positive impact. “I felt more empowered than I’d ever felt in my whole life; like I finally had some control over getting what made me happy — and I was able to expand this into other aspects of my life.”

Here, we can see that BDSM is far from the tool of self-destruction that it’s often depicted as in the media. Instead, it can be a way of working through intimate struggles, both sexual and emotional, with people you trust. While for some, it can be a life-long practice, for others it can be something to dip in and out of or to only turn to in a time of need. And different scenes can have different emotional impacts. This is the case for 24-year-old Hannah who, reeling from a serious breakup, staged a life-changing kink encounter. After being involved in BDSM for several years, she began speaking to someone she knew from the scene – and they were able to act out a long-held fantasy of hers. “One thing he’d done and I’d always wanted to try was sexual hunting: think predator/prey play but IRL. We met up for a drink beforehand to discuss boundaries and then the date rolled around for us to do the deed,” Hannah explains.

On the day of the planned encounter, Hannah and her play partner met up in a forest and she was given a “head start” as part of the scenario. This, as she explains, was where an emotional transformation began. “I felt such an exhilarating rush from being chased, like I was running away from my problems,” she says. “It was like I was stepping out of my skin and my sadness.” As per their agreement, Hannah was then “caught” and they both had sex – leading her to an emotional breakthrough. “He asked me what my ex would think if he knew I was doing this and in that moment, I knew I didn’t care anymore. It was so cleansing and cathartic and it gave me the space and sexual confidence to move on with my life — I’ll always be grateful for it.”

Both Prish and Hananh’s experiences focus on the emotional aspect of BDSM, its use as a tool that allowed them to reframe negative experiences and mindsets and reclaim power. While this is their personal experience, there’s even a fledgling line of research that backs it up, looking at how individuals are using kink as a form of trauma recovery. And it’s not too much of a stretch to see how BDSM sometimes mimics techniques seen in talking therapy – Gestalt therapy may even include “role playing” sessions, after all. But while we know that BDSM might be helpful to some people, is there a way to seek it as part of a recognised mental health treatment plan?

How BDSM can be therapeutic

Well, we’re a long way off from seeing BDSM listed as a fully-funded alternative therapy on the NHS website. However, some work has actually already started among mental health professionals willing to explore kink and the role it plays in people’s lives and emotional states. There are more and more kink-positive and BDSM-informed therapists out there and, excitingly, there’s even a growing number of BDSM therapists who combine traditional talking therapy with BDSM sessions. Among these is the conscious kink facilitator and qualified counsellor Divine Theratrix, who offers potential clients the option of  integrative talking therapy, somatic healing sessions and animal play classes in order to allow individuals to “get out of their head and into their body in playful and tactile ways.”

The beauty of BDSM is that it’s always been about connecting our physical and emotional selves.

Also going by the name Lara, Divine Theratrix was first inspired to use BDSM as a tool in her work after thinking about how the mind impacts the body. “In addition to being trained as a traditional integrative therapist, I embarked on further studies into the relatively new field of somatic psychology and became convinced that touch could be a missing piece for some people on a journey of trauma healing,” she explains. Somatic psychology focuses on how the body impacts the mind, and has been explored practically through somatic therapies which focus on the body. These techniques focus on regulation of your nervous system (which can become stuck in fight or flight responses) and on creating bodily awareness, and are particularly useful for people with trauma or PTSD.

Obviously, there are plenty of different physical aspects to BDSM and you might not have thought before about how these might impact your brain, but they do. Take one of the most commonly known parts of BDSM: impact play, where your skin is hit with a hand, paddle or whip. While it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, scientists have shown that it has a positive impact on kinksters’ mental health – individuals may have lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol after a kink session.

But if we step aside from all this technical stuff, the beauty of BDSM is that it’s always been about connecting our physical and emotional selves. Whether it’s the feel of latex on the skin or the psychological thrill of power play, kink connects us to our bodies, our instincts and allows us to fully embody our emotions. As Lara puts it: “When the mind and body work together, the learning tends to be more impactful.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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‘Can we slow down?’

— What it’s like having sex again after sexual trauma

BY Nina Miyashita

It took me four years to realise that what I’d been through was sexual trauma. It was just under a year into my current relationship when I had the revelation.

I knew that my sexual past prior to our relationship was littered with deeply unpleasant experiences, but it took me a long time to be able to accept the whole truth, and its darkest parts – to recognise all the consent that wasn’t given, all the fear I’d chosen to forget, and all the pain I’d bottled up.

Up until that point, my partner and I had a very active and relatively uncomplicated sex life (well, I felt uncomplicated). But it turns out that trauma always has a way of catching up to you. The first sign that my relationship with sex was fractured was when my partner and I took a break from physical intimacy.

Life was busier than usual, so sex was momentarily off the table with our time and energy stretched so thin. The first night we tried to be intimate again after a couple of weeks of abstinence, I couldn’t stop laughing in discomfort.

Understandably, my partner was confused and a little crushed, but I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling. All I could manage was, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know why”.

Over the next few months, my response to sex eventually devolved into dissociation – I was there and not there at the same time, floating outside of my body, completely detached. After that came a strong physical aversion. In bed, blurry visions of my past started swimming around in my head. I was trying not to cry out when he went to touch me. Instead, I would just roll away from him and sob.

Starting to panic that we weren’t having ‘enough’ sex, I eventually tried to soldier past all that was holding me back mentally. But this time my body put up the fight, and everything my partner tried was physically excruciating. My body was clearly trying to tell me something, and finally, I surrendered and listened. Once I started listening, I couldn’t help but hear it in every bodily movement, across every inch of my skin: ‘You’re not okay, and we need help’.

Asking the experts

Selina Nguyen, a relationship therapist and sexologist at Good Vibes Clinic, affirms that these are all ways in which sexual trauma can arise for victims/survivors. “These all come under the umbrella of being in fight, flight or freeze mode, and being over your emotional threshold,” Selina says.

“Your rational brain shuts down and goes into survival mode. With all of this, there can also be a narrative in our minds about being broken, damaged or selfish even, and while absolutely none of them are true, the shame around it can make it all very overwhelming.”

Georgia Grace, a certified sex coach with specific training in sexual somatics, explains it further. “Often what will happen to someone with trauma is the nervous system thinking and feeling like the threat is still present,” she says. “They might say ‘I know my current partner is safe, I know that this is something that I want to engage with and experience, but there is something in my body that is telling me that this is unsafe.’”

Seeking help

When looking at what first steps we can take to heal the body and mind when it comes to sex, both Selina and Georgia are quick to recommend therapy. A therapist can guide you, at your own pace, to understand your triggers and relearn intimacy. If you can’t access therapy, free support groups and helplines are a great place to start.

Both professionals also stress the importance of physical practices such as meditation, dance, running or yoga, or self-regulation techniques such as holding comfort items or altering your body’s temperature, which can get you reconnected with your body and stabilise your nervous system. Working on somatic techniques, such as reading non-verbal cues or creating a sense of safety by just starting with lying naked with no touch, and doing this with your current partner/s can also be helpful, they note.

Ella, 22, also knows what the body’s responses to sexual trauma can be like. After leaving a sexually abusive relationship, she had to find a way back to not just sex, but relationships too. “When something like this is done by the person who is never supposed to hurt you, it is hard to imagine ever trusting someone in their position again,” she tells me.

“I have a new partner who is aware of the assault and is extremely conscious of it in our sexual relationship. However, there are still frequent periods where I will be unable to have sex without having a panic attack or becoming dissociative, and this can last for weeks on end. I spent a lot of time feeling guilty and weak, tearing myself down constantly for not being able to move on with my life.

“It felt as though the trauma had rearranged and rewritten my DNA. The advice I would give to anyone in that position is to completely let go of the pressure you have put on yourself to function at a normal level. You can’t. Listen to your body and what it needs. I made it my mission to give myself as much love and care as possible, and to only do things that made me feel joyful and at peace.”

Finding your own path

Learning to listen to your own body might just be the key to healing because there’s definitely no right or wrong way to go about it. In some instances, trauma survivors even seek sex more than ever as a way to amend their sexual attitudes. “There is never a one-size-fits-all for anything in the mental health or sexology space,” Selina says.

“Whether it happened twenty years ago or last month, there’s also no time limit or magic point where it just stops affecting you. We know the basics and the common approaches that have been shown to work – therapy, self-regulation techniques, leaning on your support system, communication – but everyone’s experience and sexuality are so incredibly individual and varied.

“It’s really well known that we need to work with the body with trauma,” Georgia explains. “But it’s also just as useful to acknowledge that safety and pleasure and intimacy and connection and joy are also experienced in the body. If you’re ready to start being intimate with your own body, or other people, know that there are many accessible and practical things you can do to feel safe in your body and good in your relationship/s.”

Coming to terms with what happened to me was horrifying, to say the least, but knowing I can experience pleasure I’ve never realised I’m able to have in my sex life gives me a renewed sense of hope. Being with a partner who is considerate, gentle and willing to take on his own set of responsibilities when it comes to my healing, and being armed with the courage and wisdom of other women around me, I’ve slowly begun to reclaim what was taken from me. I say it over and over again until I’m out of breath: ‘My body is my own’.

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual assault you can call national sexual assault counselling service 1800RESPECT, or head to its website for support and advice.

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Consensual Non-Consent

— The Misunderstood Paradox of the Kink World

By

The world of consensual non-consent (or ‘CNC’ for short) is one that has often been interpreted as a sphere of dangerous, immoral sexual practice. But is there more behind the kink than meets the eye?

As the name might suggest, CNC is a kink that falls under the umbrella of BDSM, in which two or more consenting parties agree to engage in sexual activities that mimic rape. While it may sound shocking to those who aren’t familiar with it, the r/CNC_Connect subreddit, designed for people with an interest in CNC to meet up IRL, has over 50,000 active users.

Some examples of common CNC activities (or ‘scenes’) include:

  • A pre-planned ‘kidnapping’ of the submissive by the dominant.
  • The use of restraints or bondage equipment.
  • Impact, pain, or choking during sex.

In an interview with Vice, an anonymous CNC enjoyer described the appeal of the experience in more detail:

“The point of CNC is a way to have those real feelings in a way that is conscious, intentional, and risk aware. It’s sexual extreme sports”

Likewise, another confided:

“I want to be manhandled, and pinned down, but not choked within an inch of my life. I want to be forced and held in position, but not punched until I bleed. I want to be violated… consensually”

But is there a real danger to be found in encouraging these behaviours? According to psychologists, it’s minimal. As all of these activities are carried out in safe, consensual, and controlled environments, the reality is much further from real instances of assault or rape than it might appear on the surface.

Dr. Leon Seltzer states:

“In such idealized “pretend scenarios,” a woman can experience her rawest, most unconstrained sexuality as fully, wondrously, even miraculously expressed — in no way impeded by any viscerally felt sense of peril. Diametrically opposed to actual rape, the fantasy really isn’t about losing control as such. It’s about willingly surrendering it.”

That being said, research on the topic is far from conclusive. There have been some studies that suggest the consumption of BDSM material can be harmful to long-term mental and sexual wellbeing.

But that still leaves the question: in a world where women are constantly subject to unwanted sexual advances, what is it about CNC that has such a broad appeal? There are a number of potential reasons.

Some speculate that it is a result of the guilt many women are made to feel by a society that only normalizes male sexual attraction. In a similar vein, it could be the opportunity for women, who are expected to appear presentable and pleasing at all times (even during intercourse), to finally let go.

CNC has proven to be beneficial to those who have suffered trauma as a result of sexual assault or rape. The re-enactment of such moments with a newfound sense of control allows victims to reemerge from the scenario in a different state of mind.

Whether CNC is your cup of tea or not, it seems that it’s much less uncommon than you think.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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What Exactly Defines ‘Active Consent’ in Sexual Activity?

by

Warning: This article contains discussions of sexual assault.

Healthy relationships start with feeling respected and safe which is why it is so important to understand how to go about seeking ‘active’ consent if you are about to engage in any kind of sexual activity. It is never okay for someone to do something to you without an enthusiastic and explicit ‘yes’.

If your decision-making powers are taken away and you are sexually assaulted it is important to know who to turn to and what to do next. Equally important is knowing that there is help out there to support survivors and their loved ones through these difficult times.

At ReachOut (where I work as CEO), we define sexual assault as any kind of sexual activity where you are forced, coerced or tricked into doing when you didn’t want to. It can be carried out by a romantic partner, by someone you know or by a total stranger and includes unwanted sexual behaviours such as forced, unwanted sex, sexual acts or touching, child sexual abuse or indecent assault.

It is a form of trauma that can show up in different ways including shock and denial, fear, silence, anxiety, depression or low self-esteem. If you think you may have been sexually assaulted, you might feel scared, overwhelmed and unsure where or who to turn to. There’s also a chance you might blame yourself for not recognising sooner that what happened to you was sexual assault. The most important thing to remember
is that if you have been sexually assaulted it is never your fault.

There are lots of support services available to support you through these difficult times, as well as a number of immediate steps you can take to help you feel physically and psychologically safe.

If you’ve been sexually assaulted recently, the first step you may want to take in order to feel safe is to call 000 to ask for the police or for an ambulance if you are injured. It can also be a good idea to talk to a trusted friend, family member or colleague or think about calling a confidential 24-hour helpline such as 1800 RESPECT.

Most towns have a free sexual assault clinic or service with trained professionals, like doctors, nurses or counsellors, who can help you with what to do next. They can guide you through your options and answer any questions about things like emergency contraception, rape kits, and sexual health checks, as well as provide emotional support. If there isn’t a sexual assault clinic available to you, you can also go speak to your GP or visit the hospital, and ask for somebody with experience in sexual assault.

If you feel like you might want to take action against your perpetrator it’s a great idea to talk to one of the options above about it and get support when you are ready. Most importantly, there is no ‘right’ way to respond to sexual assault and every survivor’s recovery from sexual assault will look different because there is no set timeline for coming to terms with sexual assault and no set schedule for healing.

This is why it’s so important that, even if you seek help or guidance from other people, you choose what happens next.

2021 Australian of the Year and sexual assault survivor Grace Tame believes that having support around you is so important, as is practicing forms of ‘self-care’ so that you can make sure you’re on a healthy path towards recovery.

“You need to make sure that you have support around you and that you have enough time to take care of yourself properly, and get back in touch with simple meaningful values, family time, downtime, nature, eating well, exercising and sleeping. You really want to get back to your true self,” Tame said.

Additionally, when engaging in sexual activities and seeking consent, it’s so important that you feel respected and safe. ‘Active consent’ means that you and your partner/s give each other an explicit ‘yes’ to the sexual activity you are about to be involved in.

Regardless of what you’re wearing, drinking or if you are flirting with another person, it’s never okay for someone to do something to you without your resounding consent. If the sexual activity is done without your consent, it is considered sexual assault or rape.

These guidelines can help with seeking ‘active’ consent if you are about to engage in any kind of sexual activity:

● Sexual consent must be explicit. There’s only one way to know if someone has given their explicit consent: if they clearly let you know they agree.

● You can always change your mind. You or your sexual partner can decide at any time that you don’t want to keep going. If this happens, both people should stop or it can be deemed sexual assault or rape.

● It’s good to check in with each other. Take notice of your sexual partner’s body language and if they seem tense or uncomfortable, pause and ask them how they’re feeling or tell them how you might be feeling too.

● It’s fine to slow things down or stop. There’s really no reason or rush to have sex or do
anything sexual if you’re not feeling it. It’s important that your partner always respects your feelings.

● Drink and drugs affect consent. If you’re intoxicated, your capacity to make decisions can be affected and your decision might be influenced by drugs and alcohol. This means that if you’re sexual in any way with someone who’s drunk or high and doesn’t know what’s going on and therefore can’t give informed consent, it’s equivalent to sexually assaulting or raping them.

Feeling respected and safe across all aspects of your life is so important to your mental health and wellbeing.

You might like to connect with other people who have gone through similar experiences to you in ReachOut’s Online Community. It is a safe space for young people that is anonymous and available 24/7. You can also check out ReachOut.com for more information and resources.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Advice I Wish I Did Not Have to Offer

An anonymous professor shares guidance on what to do for yourself if your child or another person close to you is sexually assaulted.

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By Dr. Anonymous

March 2020 was an awful month. In most places, it was the beginning of lockdowns in response to COVID-19. For me, it was also when my 17-year-old daughter told me she had been raped. As a gender, women’s and sexuality studies (GWSS) professor with years of experiences supporting my survivor students, I knew enough to tread lightly. But she was my precious baby girl, not my student. So when she told me, my heart shattered into a million pieces and landed in the pit of my stomach.

I woke up every day, from then on, with the rape the first thing I thought of. I knew enough to be able to envision a scenario, even though she shared very few details. She didn’t show any significant signs of PTSD for a long time. She went to college during COVID, so everything was already sideways. The PTSD kicked in, however, soon after she left. Fast-forward several months, and after many sob-filled phone calls, she eventually agreed to let me find a therapist for her when she came home. I found a trauma-informed woman who was taking patients, and I spent a rushed summer next to my daughter on bathroom floors as the trauma wreaked havoc on her precious body. We tried everything from art to yoga to meds to diet. We celebrated if we went 24 hours without either of us crying. We laughed when we could, often at our own fragility.

Rape used to be something that hurt and enraged me in the abstract. Given that I am a GWSS professor who has taught about sexual assault, violence and rape—and cared for survivors for decades—I had much intellectual insight with which to watch her pain. Eventually I realized that as she got better, which she absolutely did, I got worse. I needed a trauma therapist because I was broken. I wasn’t “on the verge”; I was on the floor in a puddle of my daughter’s PTSD and my pain, experiencing secondary trauma.

I am proud of what I did for my daughter. I believe my efforts helped to get her into a place where, two years in, she is generally thriving and her PTSD is mostly managed, although the bouts of deep sorrow and anxiety continue to punctuate her (and thus my) life. But I’m not writing to offer advice about my daughter. Instead, I write this essay as a GWSS professor to other professors, especially those who find yourselves in contact with students who frequently disclose their own sexual assaults, or who have had the horrific experience of a child or another person close to you personally being sexually assaulted or raped. I want to share some suggestions on what to do for yourself.

  • Know it wasn’t your fault. Sadly, rape culture is so pervasive that even GWSS professors who teach about it will often blame ourselves for our loved one’s rape. If you are a feminist like me, you started talking to your daughter quite young about slut shaming and all of the double standards for boys and girls in school. Your daughter has heard your rants. If you are like me, then, you may have thought she was raped because she respected your opinions so much that she was sexually liberated and that led her to the rapist. It took me talking to a therapist to be able to articulate she was raped by a boy/man who abused his power and disregarded her wishes, not because of my parenting.
  • Look into paid time off through sick leave. I didn’t know that I could be granted a sick leave. My doctor submitted a form that verified I could not work due to clinical depression and anxiety brought on by daughter’s sexual assault. This made me eligible for paid leave for the semester. I only learned of that option because a staffer had seen me crumbling and told me to look into it. No doubt, different campuses and people’s individual job statuses will allow for different accommodations. For the sake of anonymity, I cannot disclose more, but some options are federally guaranteed, some are provided through union membership and perhaps others your HR office can share with you.
  • Reach out for support. Find the right friends and colleagues to tell, with your daughter’s permission. Sadly, it’s possible they will be able to relate to your experience more than you expect.
  • Get a good, trauma-informed therapist. It took me at least three months to find a therapist who had the credentials and expertise I was looking for and who was taking new patients. Cognitive processing therapy is an amazing approach. You can get a sense of it from this podcast. Look for therapists who use it.
  • Establish boundaries with your students. One of the things that terrified me the most about going back to in-person classes was the unending flow of disclosures of sexual assault that GWSS professors get, compounded by basic emotional labor that women and/or minoritized faculty already do. I am working with my campus’s victim advocate on language that lets students know I hear them but I can’t be their entire support system.
  • Talk to your sons. Our high school and college boys need to be the ones to stop each other from assaulting their peers. I have spoken often with my son about consent and sexual assault and other key issues. It’s not enough, as I have written elsewhere, to say or know that “my son would never do that.” You need to talk to your son about preventing other boys from “doing that.” Don’t let him slut shame the girls or stay silent when he inevitably hears people slut shaming. Talk until he’s annoyed and rolls his eyes at you. And if you have Netflix, have him watch Sex Education.
  • Self-care. I wish I had a better word, because I really am over “self-care,” as the concept has been so commodified and feels so elite. But in addition to the big-picture stuff I have already suggested, carve out time every day to do something that you find mentally and emotionally nourishing. As professors, we’ve learned early how to cherish our regular writing time. Well, as Janet Alexander and Beth Kelch remind us, we must do the same with self-care. Block out 30 minutes (at least) on your calendar every day and use it for just for you.

Navigating my daughter’s rape is the hardest thing I have ever done from all perspectives—as a mother, wife, professor, daughter and person who needs to take care of herself. For those of you in similar situations, I hope this piece gives you a glimmer of stability and hope.

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Stealthing: What is it and why is it sexual assault?

BY COBY RENKIN

We’re all taught about sexual assault growing up and we all hear about it in the news when it unfortunately occurs. We hear about online and workplace harassment, inappropriate name-calling and touching, and we hear about rape.

But what many of us don’t hear about is the act of stealthing. Stealthing is a form of sexual assault punishable by the law in some parts of Australia, but many Australians have never even heard of it.

So what is stealthing? Senior lecturer in criminology and justice Dr Brianna Chesser describes stealthing as the “non-consensual condom removal during sex. In this case, the removal of a condom would require ‘fresh consent’, as it has legally changed the conditions of the sexual act”.

According to Dr Chesser, stealthing affects more members of our community than we might think. “A 2018 study by Monash University and the Melbourne Sexual Health Centre surveyed 2,000 people and found one in three women, and almost one in five men who have sex with men, had experienced stealthing.” Only one per cent of the victims who responded to this survey reported the incident to the police.

As Dr Chesser explains, stealthing is a sexual offence and could be punishable by law. “Committing a sexual offence in any jurisdiction in Australia is a very serious crime and could lead to a term of imprisonment.”

But unfortunately, not every state or territory in Australia reflects this. Laws in the ACT recently changed to outlaw stealthing; the amended Crimes Act now makes it illegal to remove a condom during sex or to not use one at all, if a previous agreement was made to use one.

While this is good news, they were the first jurisdiction in Australia to do so, meaning that there are no laws expressly criminalising the act in the rest of Australia. However, this doesn’t mean a person cannot be convicted for stealthing – a conviction is dependent on existing consent laws and can fall under the offences of rape or sexual assault.

A paper by Alexandra Brodsky in the Columbia Journal of Gender and Law describes stealthing as “rape-adjacent” and states it should be understood as a violation of consent. 

Like any violation of consent, stealthing presents a risk to the health of victims. “Stealthing poses a multitude of risks to both physical and psychological health, including the transmission of sexually transmitted infections and HIV, as well as unplanned pregnancies, depression, anxiety, and in some cases post-traumatic stress disorder,” Dr Chesser tells me. 

In the study by Monash University, eight per cent of women and five per cent of men who have sex with men reported that they believed they had acquired an STI following the incident. One per cent of women and two per cent of men who have sex with men believed they had acquired HIV as a consequence of being stealthed.

Brodsky’s paper describes being a victim of stealthing as “a disempowering, demeaning violation of a sexual agreement”. Like any other form of sexual assault, stealthing can result in devastating consequences for a victim’s mental health. Fear following the trauma of sexual assault can evolve into anxiety, depression, PTSD and suicidal ideation. 

Despite all the negativity here, important conversations about stealthing are growing and awareness is spreading. Incidents are being taken seriously, it’s being talked about in the news and it has even featured in pop culture.

In Michaela Coel’s acclaimed TV series I May Destroy You, the protagonist Arabella finds out a man she slept with secretly took off his condom during sex, and names and shames him. Here’s hoping with more awareness and harsher laws, stealthing becomes a thing of the past.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!