Talking about SA, the truth that terrifies me

 When I realized that my most-read blog post was the one about sexual assault, I felt a strange mix of emotions. I was glad that people cared enough to read and engage, but also deeply unsettled by the fact that this had to be the topic that got the most attention. In an ideal world, we wouldn’t still need to talk about sexual violence. We’d be living in a reality where these crimes are rare, not common. But the fact is, we are not there. We live in a world where rapists and pedophiles walk freely, often protected more than their victims.

What horrified me even more was something I saw during a public debate. A grown man, from a so-called progressive Western society, asked another speaker to prove why sexual assault is wrong. Yes, he actually asked that. I remember going completely silent, overwhelmed by a wave of anger and disbelief. How can someone even ask that? How is it possible that in 2025, we’re still having to explain this?

Victims are constantly asked: Why didn’t you fight back? Why didn’t you scream? Why didn’t you run? But these questions show a deep lack of understanding of trauma. Most victims freeze. They dissociate. They’re terrified. Their body shuts down. That’s a natural survival response. And in cases where victims do try to resist, the chances of being seriously harmed, or killed, increase drastically. It’s not as simple as choosing to run or scream. Most don’t get the chance.

One of the most chilling facts is that over half of all sexual assaults happen to minors. That statistic alone is enough to shake your faith in the world. Sometimes I find myself wondering: what kind of world is this? What kind of future are we building, where children are not even safe from this type of violence? It forces you to ask hard questions, even ones you never thought you’d ask, like whether bringing new life into this world is even ethical.

Rape is the only crime where people still try to look for excuses. There is no justification for it, and yet many continue to ask what the victim was wearing, what they said, if they were drinking, or if they “led someone on.” As if any of that matters. As if anything other than yes can ever mean yes.

People often ask, “At least, are they in jail?” And sometimes the answer is yes. But even then, what difference does it make? In many cases, perpetrators serve three to five years, maybe less. Then they’re released, free to continue their lives, while the victims are left to deal with the trauma, fear, and consequences. And what’s worse, in some cases, the offender comes out even more violent, more hateful, with a bruised ego and a desire for revenge. The thought that a victim might be targeted again by someone they helped put behind bars is terrifying, but also very real.

Nearly every country in the world has laws that, in one way or another, fail to protect victims of sexual violence. The systems in place, courts, governments, institutions, too often shield abusers and retraumatize survivors. That is the reality we live in. A reality where the brave ones who speak up are punished, and the ones who should be behind bars are given second chances.

Sometimes people think that survivors speak up for attention or sympathy. But the truth is, most of us would rather never have to speak about these things at all. We’re not sharing because it’s easy, we’re sharing because silence is what allows this cycle to keep repeating. It’s not brave, it’s exhausting. But it feels necessary, because no one else is protecting us.

What’s even more frustrating is how often the justice system seems designed to break victims down piece by piece. From the moment someone reports an assault, it’s like entering a second round of trauma. You’re asked to relive everything. You’re doubted. Judged. Accused. Treated like a problem instead of a person who survived one. Some trials feel more like interrogations than paths to justice.

The amount of cruelty survivors face, not just from their abuser, but from society, from media, even from their own communities, is unforgivable. People love to say “we believe survivors” until the survivor is someone they know, or someone accusing a person they admire. Suddenly, everything becomes “complicated.” Suddenly, it’s easier to doubt than to face the truth.

And yet, with all of that, we still talk. We still write. We still fight. Because if we stop, nothing will ever change. I wish I didn’t have to write posts like this. I wish this wasn’t the topic that brings the most attention.

To anyone who has survived, in silence or out loud, I see you. I believe you. You didn’t deserve it. You are not weak, you are not to blame, and you are not alone. Whatever your journey has looked like, whatever stage of healing you’re in, your story matters. And I hope, truly, that one day we won’t need posts like this at all, because the world will have finally learned to protect, not punish, the ones who’ve already endured too much.

Nena