I was 20. My best friend and I had just recently moved into our first apartment together. We were really enjoying the freedom of having our own place, and we frequently spent time having friends over, drinking, and cooking good food.

One night my best friend’s guy friend was visiting, and he brought a friend with him. I didn’t know his friend, but we all spent the night playing spades and drinking a concoction of cheap vodka and hawaiian punch. We were having a blast; the hangovers were looming and inevitable. This “friend” made a few subtle advances at me through the night, but none I was receptive to. I took pride in my virginity, and guys really weren’t my main concern at the time. After a few dozen hands of spades, we decided to call it a night. My best friend and her guy friend headed to her room and I headed to mine; but not before handing this “friend” a blanket and a pillow to sleep on our couch. I went into my room, closed my door, and got in my bed.

Before I lost consciousness, I heard him open my door. He stated “You’re really not going to let me sleep in here with you?” I didn’t know why he thought I would let him sleep in my bed. After all, I didn’t know him and the only boys that I’d ever shared a bed with were my brothers. I was confused, but instead of being rude, I simply stated “No.” He persisted, “If you let me sleep in here, I promise I won’t bother you. I just don’t want to sleep on the couch.” Tired, inebriated, and annoyed, I decided that I’d let him sleep in my room, but not before I sternly told him to keep his hands to himself. He laid in the bed, and naively, I rolled over and fell asleep.

Shortly after, I woke up and he was on top of me. He kissed and groped me. I still remember the taste of his disgusting mouth. His breath was a mixture of his gold grill, liquor, and bad oral hygiene. I told him “No.” He didn’t move. I told him “No” again, and again, and again, and again...

Lucky guess? It didn’t work.

Once he penetrated me, it was like he had broken the seal to my self-worth. It spilled out of me with his every thrust, until there was nothing left.

I didn’t have many things, but I had my virginity… Not anymore.

I laid there, frozen. I was so confused. I am a STRONG WOMAN. I am a feminist and a professional women’s football player, and I respect myself. Why am I not struggling? Why am I not pushing him off? Why am I not screaming?

When he finished, he slept in my bed. I rolled over and went to sleep, hoping that when I woke up it was all a dream. The next morning when he left, he complimented how “great” it was; I smiled. Surely a woman like ME couldn’t have just been raped. I was a warrior. Warriors don’t get raped. They fight, right? It had to be consensual.

So, I carried on, lying to myself, and told people it was consensual. I had lost so much pride in myself, nothing really mattered anymore. I dropped out of college and never told anyone but my Mom, my two best friends, and, later on, my Husband. Years 21-23 were a blur, really. I didn’t understand how I could wait all of those years to give my “gift” away to my Husband, all for it to just be ripped away in one horrible night. Luckily, at 23 I found the love of my life, and since, my self-worth has been restored tenfold. It didn’t come without a struggle, but, luckily, he was patient enough to stick around. 😉

I want people to understand that this movement doesn’t have a face. It happened to ME! I was SO embarrassed, and couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone like myself being raped, that the idea of calling the cops wasn’t even an option. I was convinced that the police, judges, and jury would probably nitpick my story, mock me about all the things I did wrong, and then he would probably get off. I was already empty. I didn’t have anything else to give.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the level of shame and depression that followed that incident. THERE IS NO TIME LIMIT ON WHEN A WOMAN SHOULD BE READY TO TELL PEOPLE THAT SHE LOST EVERYTHING. I haven’t reported because I know that rape culture exists, and I know that now, 8 years later, my every move and intention will still be questioned. They won’t understand that it took me years to stop blaming myself. They won’t understand that even though I could’ve fought him off, I didn’t because I was paralyzed with shame. They won’t understand that I am JUST NOW at a point where I am brave enough to admit that it even happened to #MeToo.

This was not easy, but I implore everyone to share their stories. Maybe then, we can transcend this ignorant culture that finds all of the wrong people to blame. #WhyIDidntReport #MeToo