Trigger Warning: This article discusses sexual assault and suicide. Please use caution when reading. If you need assistance, advocates at your local Rape Crisis and Recovery Centers are available 24 hours a day to provide support. Click here to find your local center. If you or someone you know is having suicidal thoughts please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255). If you or someone you know is thinking of hurting themselves, others, or attempting suicide call 911 or your local emergency number.
Audrie and Daisy, released on Netflix in 2016, follows the stories of two teenage girls who were publicly sexually assaulted and severely failed by their communities in the aftermath. Both girls experienced intense harassment, bullying, disbelief, and blame after enduring their assault, while their perpetrators eluded meaningful justice or accountability for their actions. Audrie Pott died by suicide days after her assault. Daisy Coleman died by suicide just this summer, nearly a decade later. Their stories are a painful reminder that our communities need to better service survivors both in the after math of a sexual assault and throughout their lifetime.
Our society gives mixed messages to victims. We pressure them to report sexual assaults quickly, but when they do report, they are often faced with blame, disbelief, or callousness. We then place expectations on those who have experienced harm to take responsibility for healing and moving on. Indeed, while many of those who experience an assault prefer the term “survivor” over “victim” (and advocates typically use this language), for others, it may create an unattainable image of someone who endured a trauma but fully healed and moved on with their life. Common phrases like “don’t be a victim,” and “playing the victim” further pathologize the ongoing trauma and harm. This messaging suggests an idea of the perfect victim: one who is assaulted, reports promptly to law enforcement, and then, after some time has passed, is able to “move on” with their life. However, as described in a recent Jezebel article from Emily Alford, “Grieving sexual assault isn’t a ladder, elevating the survivor until they overcome the horrible thing that’s happened. Grief born of sexual trauma is a ball of knots, the cycle beginning and ending afresh without warning, overlapping and intertwining so that the lines between emotions become difficult to parse and the edges begin to fray.”
It is the treatment of victims, in addition to the actual assault, that can lead to long-term negative outcomes for survivors of sexual violence. As another survivor featured in Audrie and Daisy explained, “The assault and the rape happened, but it was the aftereffect, I think, that was so much worse.” Every survivor’s journey is different, but studies consistently tell us that experiencing a sexual assault can increasing the likelihood of experiencing depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. Data is limited and some studies are dated, but one study found that almost a third of sexual assault victims develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), with 11% of victims actively experiencing PTSD at the time of the survey. Other research has found that around one-third of victims will experience at least one episode of Major Depressive Disorder, around one-third of victims will have thoughts of suicide, and 13% will attempt suicide.
Despite the prevalence of these long-term symptoms, there are major structural and cultural barriers to survivors. Mental healthcare in the United States is typically difficult to access and afford. According to the most recent estimates, over 27 million Americans are uninsured. Even if a survivor has health insurance and can afford copays, they still face the challenge of finding a provider that is in-network, has open appointments, is geographically reachable, and has training in working with sexual assault survivors. Rape Crisis and Recovery Centers are be excellent resources for trauma-informed, affordable therapy, but their funding is often threatened or limited, and they can struggle to meet the needs of their community. Culturally, we still stigmatize receiving mental health care and downplay the trauma that survivors often face. For example, efforts to create safer spaces for survivors, such as incorporating trigger warnings into media, curriculum, etc., are often mocked or made into a joke. Accessible mental health care is as critical now as ever; the ongoing stress and trauma of living through a prolonged pandemic,the continued state violence inflicted on black communities, and other forms of violence and oppression across the country can have a compounding impact on sexual assault survivor mental health.
As communities, we can do better for victims of sexual assault. As Alford states, “Even as we culturally elevate people like Daisy Coleman, applauding her courage while making her rape a highly visible representation of a greater problem, we erase the reality of rape survivors—rendering their long-term suffering invisible, even in a national conversation about their rapes.” Culturally, we like seeing happy endings; we feel hopeful and inspired when we see someone seemingly overcome and move past devastating trauma. But survival is not an endpoint; but an ongoing, ever-evolving journey. We can prevent sexual assault, but we can also prevent the compounded trauma and mistreatment victims experience in the aftermath.
We can honor survivors for their resilience while honoring and acknowledging their pain.
We can advocate for increased, accessible services for survivors, including mental health care, to address ongoing harm.
We can normalize looking out for each other and supporting each other, not just in the moment of crisis, but in the path that follows.
We can mourn those victims of sexual violence who did not survive.
