I’ve been sitting for a while now, trying to focus on writing this letter. I know you know what that is like. I remember you starting laundry, making dinner, and drinking two travel mugs of coffee every Friday night just to sit down and do your homework. There was something about how you couldn’t relax until the heat of the oven and dryer warmed the place, the smell of dinner made it feel familiar, and the coffee gave you a reason or excuse to sit down.

When that person came into your life, it was as if the simple comforts were no longer necessary. They made life fun. They made you feel cared about. Someone was finally paying attention; someone wanted to help make your life a little easier. You felt close to someone. You felt like you were experiencing life the way you only ever dreamed of. You had so much going for you with them.

But it was so confusing. They slept with someone you said was off-limits. Each “gift” from them seemed to have a string attached. You felt like they cared but then would replace you with their own wants, love interests, or people more exciting than you. But you clung to what you had. I understand. It was more than what you had before. It was fun and exciting. It was worth hanging on for those little sparks of happiness you had wanted to experience.

But I also know it became even more confusing. I know you were afraid to lose all that when they started touching you. I know you were afraid of losing everything after they started sexualizing you, too. I know you were clinging to friendship, fun, and your future by staying quiet. I know your professor confirmed you could never speak up again if you wanted those things. And I know how trapped you felt, especially after the second time you were raped.

I hated you for letting things get that far, and I especially hated you for believing the only way to get through grad school was to continue a sexual relationship with that person. But I also know you felt set up and trapped. Not only could you not say anything after your professor made that clear, but you had to find a way to keep that person quiet too. They weren’t known for their secrecy. So, as much as I want to be angry, I know it was the best you could do. You complied when they asked to hold your hand, kiss, or have sex. And on occasions when you assumed they didn’t need you to fulfill their addiction, you initiated. It makes sense. You felt like the only way to keep yourself safe was to keep them hooked.

So, not only have I hated you for letting it happen and being a willing participant, but I was convinced you were pure evil for manipulating them into using the very thing they couldn’t live without. I know now it wasn’t that simple. You were living in a constant state of fear, guilt, confusion, loneliness, and anger.

I’ve tried for years to understand why, if all of those things were true, you were so hurt that they walked away from you for a relationship with someone else. And why would you be hurt that they moved away with that person without you. But I know – and I’ve always known – how painful rejection is, even if it’s coming from someone you really shouldn’t care about.

It’s okay to have all those mixed emotions. I still have them. I know you’ve needed me to acknowledge them – for both of us. It’s terrible that someone who made you feel so happy and opened your life up to joy, adventure, and fun could also hurt you that badly. They made you feel afraid, lonely, angry, guilty, ashamed, and confused. And all that complexity was made worse by the feeling of relief and rejection at the same time. It’s okay to feel sad, lonely, and disappointed. It’s also okay to acknowledge that you had fun, miss them sometimes, and wish they hadn’t left. It’s not simple. I’m sorry I tried to make it that way. I recognize that every part of what you went through with them requires grieving. We, you and I, are allowed to grieve a lost friendship and the violation of our body. We’re allowed to be upset that when they wanted something, they’d take it. We’re allowed to be confused by the gifts. We’re allowed to feel violated without me blaming and attacking you. It was an impossible situation for you at the time. I need you to know that I know that, and I’m sorry I tried to make it so simple through blaming.

Let’s let it be confusing – let it be what it is – without hurling insults and blame. Let me help you out of the house so you can see what life is like without them in your life.

43-Year-Old Becks

There were two points in the above letter that required more time to sit with and discuss with Dr. C. The first was the rejection, and the second was the idea that I had become the perpetrator.

I have hated how rejected I felt for nearly 20 years. Who wants to feel rejection from someone who hurt them so severely? Certainly not me, but I couldn’t help feeling that way. Let’s be honest, that person made me feel special, important, needed, wanted, and so on, but then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t those things. A beautiful soul sent me a quote several weeks ago that said it’s okay to “grieve the people you had to protect yourself from.” That was the permission I needed. I had to grieve the loss of someone who both made me feel important and who hurt me. I had to keep reminding myself that it isn’t simple. Relationships aren’t simple. People aren’t simple. Life isn’t simple. I had to let the 25-year-old off the hook for being attached to someone who hurt her.

It’s one thing to feel confused about the relationship with someone who both made you feel special and who hurt you, but for years, I have also believed I was the perpetrator in the relationship. Or, maybe that was my way of having some semblance of control over the situation. I knew what that person did was wrong, but I was convinced I was in the wrong because I “tried to keep them hooked.” Again, it isn’t that simple. I was terrified of losing my housing, getting kicked out of school, and having no friends. And on top of that, I was just plain afraid. I was trying to protect what little I had, doing everything I could to hold on. All of that sounds like a good reason to believe I wasn’t the perpetrator, but what helped more than anything was to hear Dr. C. say something along the line of “a perpetrator is usually someone who has an intent to harm.” She then asked me if that was me. I can say with every ounce of who I am that I had no intention of hurting anyone. I only wanted to protect myself. I only wanted to feel safe. I NEEDED to feel safe.