The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons. The feature image used is a stock photo.
This post deals with sexual assault and might be triggering for some readers.
I am one in five. However, a week after the women's marches, I wonder how my story fits in the narrative. Why? Because my abuser was a woman.
Like many, many victims my story has largely remained a secret. Perhaps like many other victims I have been afraid of being labelled, told I was asking for it.
Her name was Jess* and I knew that she liked me. I was 21, and she was 10 years older than me. I was flattered, and I was young and naïve.
Watch: Women and Violence, the hidden numbers. Post continues below.
I was then and am now a girls' girl.
I love female friendships, I’m always on the lookout to make more. Jess was in a relationship and I was dating my now husband. I had never experienced a sexual interest in another woman and I made it clear that any feelings were unrequited.
She asked if we could just be friends and I thought well, why not?
She asked me around to her house after work. It was mid-afternoon; I was sober; I was wearing a decidedly un-sexy work polo. Still, if she had have been a man, I would have declined the offer. I had declined similar offers from men before.
We have been socialised to think that being alone with a man that you don’t trust constitutes a risk. I didn’t think to apply those warnings to spending time alone with another woman. She invited me to pick out a DVD and then came up behind me and assaulted me.
I wasn’t sure what to do. She said it was a joke. She laughed. I texted my best friend and then sat on the couch and watched the movie. She held my hand. I let her. I was numb.