The inciting incident
Origins and escalation of a multi-abuser survivor
Surviving multiple instances of abuse is far more common than you think.
I started to type that this was the worst thing I’d ever been through, but that unfortunately isn’t even close to true. It feels more like an inciting incident. The careless elbow knocking the car into neutral on a hill, starting it rolling down, down.
Any negative sexual encounter can, of course, have long-lasting effects, but a traumatic first experience can set the tone for what a person believes relationships and sex are supposed to look like. This is especially true in a society where children aren’t properly educated on sex, consent, and healthy relationships.
My only prior experience with the opposite sex had been one of my best friends, S. I was head over heels for years, but he didn’t reciprocate. While our hookups were steamy by my naive standards, they were also beautifully innocent.
I wasn’t ready to have sex, especially not with someone with whom I wasn’t in a relationship. He knew this and never pressured me. While we’d spend all night kissing and holding each other, that was as far as it went.
Near the end of high school, S started dating a girl from another school. By the time he and I began attending the same college, we’d had a pretty solid run of being “just friends”. The feelings were still there for me, but I was doing my best to be happy for him while enjoying the opportunity to meet new people.
Formal
It was the formal party for S’s fraternity (or whatever they’d decided to call it. Something sexist, probably). His girlfriend couldn’t make it, so he asked if I wanted to go with him.
I deflated a bit when I found out he’d also invited two of our other female friends. All as friends, of course. Of course.
Despite my pining, we were all having a really fun time. Three dates meant we all got to play beer pong at the same time, and we were running the table while talking smack over free mixed drinks.
I went to the bar for another round, where I got talking to C, a handsome senior with a sob story about his date standing him up. He perked up at the mention of S’s multiple dates and us being there as friends.
C asked if he could be my teammate for the next game of beer pong, which we won. I remember him wanting to “cheers” after each cup we made. I was relishing the attention of a cute older boy while secretly wondering if it was making S jealous. This was college, BABY!
At one point, C brought me a strong whiskey Coke, then goaded me into chugging it. Enjoying the attention, I obliged. He made us each another, then asked if I wanted to watch a show in his room upstairs.
Knowing what I know now, it’s ironic that he picked Louis CK’s1 standup.
The futon
His room was pretty typical of what you’d imagine of a fraternity house: lofted bunk beds, cheap wooden dressers, empty alcohol bottles as decor, big TV. C and I sat on his futon (of course there was a futon), and it wasn’t long before we were kissing.
I’d never hooked up with someone I’d just met, but at first, it was nice. He tried to take my dress off, but I didn’t want to.
He quickly relented in a disarming way that made me feel like I could trust him. He asked if I wanted to take off the spandex shorts I had under my dress instead.
I stumbled as I did, realizing at that moment I was too drunk. I was also highly embarrassed because he compared my shorts to shape wear, like the type his running coach made him wear.
His eyes watching me from the futon made me feel on display in a way that made me itch.
He became even more aggressive as he lay me down on the futon. He put his full weight on me, kissing too deeply with too much tongue. I felt like I was drowning, but trying to push his tongue out of my mouth with my own was being treated as a challenge.
Frat party toilet paper
I was a virgin, and the idea that he’d want to have sex minutes after meeting didn’t really enter my mind. I’d made out and messed around, but there had always been a line that needed permission to be crossed.
Any kind of permission.
A word.
A pause.
A nod.
Down.
Down.
He was still kissing too hard while fumbling to (I thought) play with me with one hand. Then suddenly I saw stars as he shoved painfully inside of me.
When had he taken his pants off? Had he even taken them off?
I’m sure to him my protests came out like moans as he continued to force-feed me his tongue.
When he finally broke away it was to ask if I’d “ever done anal”.
I whispered that I’d never done anything, failing to blink away tears from this foreign pain.
Why was I suddenly so embarrassed?
What had just happened?
Was that sex?
When he registered what I meant he was immediately angry, but he didn’t look panicked or sorry. He looked too calm. Like he was nervous I’d scream, but had already decided how he’d react if I did.
He let me go and I stood quickly, pulling my dress back down over my hips. There was blood on the futon. It ran down my legs and onto the floor.
I wanted to disappear.
So naturally, it was at that moment that S knocked on the door.
C told me to get cleaned up and threw me my shorts, but opened the door a second too soon. S’s eyes were on me, but I was too ashamed to meet them as I rushed into the bathroom to clean the blood off.
The giant, 1-ply (I’d guess 1/2 ply if that was a thing) toilet paper roll didn’t fit on the holder and had clearly been stolen from campus. Trying to wet it with water from the sink only created a hopelessly soggy, dissolving mess, so I got a corner of my white shorts wet to clean up the blood. I then had to put them back on, ruined, in the hopes they’d keep the blood from leaking down my legs until I could get back to my dorm.
While trying to compose myself, I overheard S saying one of our friends had too much to drink and that they were going back to our dorm. I texted him that I’d meet them out in the parking lot, hoping the darkness would hide my disheveled appearance and flaming skin.
When I reentered the bedroom a few minutes later it was empty, so I gathered my things and left.
Ponytail
As we got into the sober driver’s car, I put my sick friend’s hair up using the ponytail I always had around my wrist. I was thankful for any task that didn’t require meeting S’s eyes, which were boring into me from the rearview mirror.
I’d always found it easier to stay calm when I could focus on someone else who needed help. Looking back, I’m grateful our friend hadn’t been left alone while she was too drunk.
I lay in bed the whole next day, and the one after that. I pretended I was hungover or sick. I was still bleeding heavily and had horrible stomach cramps.
I saw C at a party a few weeks later. He drunkenly said he had a great time with me and tried to placate me with a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.
Then we never spoke of it again. Because we never spoke again. And I never spoke of it again. Not to anyone who believed me, anyway.
The catalyst
Research2 suggests that abuse survivors are at a significant risk for future re-victimization. Since this incident, I have survived two long-term abusive relationships3 featuring abuses of all categories. Each abuser has been more violent, extreme, and lasting in nature than the last.
Why does this happen so often to survivors?
One common explanation is that previous experiences and knowledge can affect one’s ability to recognize and avoid abusive behaviors. Survivors may be left with a distorted sense of what constitutes a healthy relationship. Like an immune system suppressed by a virus, unresolved trauma can leave one vulnerable to being victimized further.
This cycle of revictimization is not inevitable, however. There’s hope for breaking the cycle and healing from the trauma of abuse. Seeking support from a therapist or counselor, joining a support group, and learning about healthy relationships and boundaries4 are all ways to empower oneself and increase the likelihood of forming healthy relationships in the future.
I truly believe teaching the next generation these tools and spreading awareness can help potential victims of sexual assault and domestic abuse, which is the reason I’m speaking out now.
It takes strength and courage to confront the effects of abuse, but it is possible to heal and thrive together.
If you are currently in an abusive relationship, please know there can be an after. Reach out to a trusted friend or family member, call a helpline, or find a therapist who specializes in trauma. There are resources available online, such as the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence5.
You may feel isolated and hopeless right now, but you are not alone.
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- Coyle, J. (2023, Sept. 12). A new documentary reexamines the Louis CK scandal, 6 years later. AP News. https://apnews.com/article/louis-ck-documentary-tiff-sorry-not-sorry-4b27f0ba37fc75fdfa10460606581e68.
- Walker, H., Freud, J., Ellis, R., Fraine, S., & Wilson, L. (2019). The Prevalence of Sexual Revictimization: A Meta-Analytic Review. Trauma, Violence & Abuse. 20(1), 67–80. PubMed. https://doi.org/10.1177/1524838017692364.
- Wren, V. (2023, May 13). We Both Reached for the Gun: Fighting to stay alive in my own home [Substack]. Trauma Sucks. Recovery Shouldn’t. https://veronicawren.substack.com/p/we-both-reached-for-the-gun-5f5502f9beca. [Originally published on Medium.]
- Cleveland Clinic. (2022, Jul. 12). How To Set Healthy Boundaries In Relationships. Cleveland Clinic. https://health.clevelandclinic.org/how-to-set-boundaries
- The Hotline. (n.d.). National Domestic Violence Hotline. Retrieved Jul. 4, 2025, from https://www.thehotline.org.