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“The Weight of Not Knowing: How Lack of Education on Rape Destroyed My Chance for Justice”


It’s hard to articulate the devastation that comes with realizing that your own actions—born out of shock, fear, and trauma—may have sealed the doors to justice. No one prepares you for the aftermath of being raped. No one tells you what to do, how to act, or what steps to take when your body and soul have been violated. Again. And I certainly wasn’t prepared. And because of that, I made choices in those raw, disorienting hours after that assault that haunt me to this day.


The moments immediately after it happened were a blur. I didn’t understand what to do or who to turn to. All I knew was that I felt dirty—dirty in a way I couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit with, couldn’t live with. So I did what my traumatized self thought was best: I showered. It was instinctive, a desperate attempt to reclaim my body from the violence it had just endured. I scrubbed myself over and over, hoping to wash away the horror, the shame, the sense of powerlessness. But in doing so, I unknowingly destroyed evidence—evidence that could have sent him to prison.


At the time, it never crossed my mind that my shower could be viewed as a crime scene cleanup. It wasn’t about evidence. It was about survival. I was trying to feel human again, trying to stop my skin from crawling. But in the eyes of the justice system, that shower meant I’d destroyed the DNA that could have proved what happened. And because of that, justice has eluded me.


Looking back now, I wish someone had told me what to do if I were ever raped. I wish I had known to go straight to a hospital, to demand a rape kit, to call the police immediately—even if I didn’t feel ready to talk. But no one ever taught me these things. I grew up in a society that shied away from talking about sexual violence, leaving people like me woefully unprepared for the reality of it.


What’s worse is the way this lack of education has compounded the injustice. Not only did he get away with it, but I’ve also been left vulnerable. Without evidence, my word against his feels hollow in the eyes of others. I carry the weight of what happened, but the system doesn’t seem to care. And because he wasn’t held accountable, he remains free to harm others—a reality that cuts deeply.


It’s taken years to forgive myself for that shower. For the longest time, I thought it was my fault that justice was out of reach. But the truth is, it’s not my fault. It’s the fault of a society that doesn’t teach us what to do if we’re assaulted. It’s the fault of a culture that tells survivors to stay silent, to clean themselves up and move on, rather than giving them the tools they need to fight back.


This is why education on sexual violence is so vital. Everyone—men, women, and children—needs to know what to do if the unthinkable happens. We need to teach people to preserve evidence, to seek medical attention, to reach out to trained advocates and resources. We need to create a culture where survivors feel supported and empowered to pursue justice, rather than shamed into silence.


If you’re reading this and you’ve been through something similar, please know this: You are not alone, and it is not your fault. You did the best you could with the knowledge and tools you had at the time. And if, like me, you’ve been left without justice, know that your worth and your story go far beyond the failures of the system. Your voice matters, and speaking out can be a powerful step toward healing—not just for you, but for others who need to hear they are not alone.


Let’s create a world where no one is left in the dark about what to do in the aftermath of assault. Let’s make sure no one else has to carry the burden of not knowing. Because justice, safety, and healing should never be out of reach for those who have suffered the unimaginable.


Check out my resources section for further assistance.

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