SafeBAE Parent Blog

This blog is for parents and caregivers of young sexual assault survivors. We have partnered with the mother of a high school survivor who will be writing a blog for SafeBAE, specifically for parents of survivors. Entries and interviews with other parents will be shared here and across all SafeBAE platforms.  To request an interview, please email [email protected].

[safebaeparents-blog]

The Road Map

It will come. It will go. The outcome is beyond my control. Unless I say the wrong thing. Or wear the wrong thing. Or I cry too much. Or not enough. It will come. It will go. And I will survive regardless of what they say.

I am more than my assault. I am more than a guilty or not guilty verdict. I am the truth. My body will not allow me to forget. Ever. I will go. I will stand. I will share my truth. I will bask in the knowledge that every fiber of my being has witnessed and felt that truth. I will fight back against his words; like my body that morning, recoiling from the rough touch of his calloused hands. I will survive. I am neither solely a victim or survivor. I am both.

I see my victim and survivor reflected in the mirror; in the faces of my daughters. The contrast of strength and weakness, tugging and pulling my mind from darkness to light in the blink of an eye. I stand proud, while my inner self shutters in fear. I am both brave and terrified—empowered and enslaved by the violation of my being.

And despite the contradictions living within my own body, I will persist. There is no other choice. I am a woman. I am her mom-my example is her roadmap. I am her beacon.

Today, I got dates for my own sexual assault trial. In America someone is sexually assaulted every 92 seconds; I am a statistic. 💜

Keeper of The Farol

[safebaeparents-blog]

May

                         The month of May brings with it so many feelings; the freshness of spring, the innocence of prom, the crack of the softball bat. And the anniversary of my daughter's rape. I’ve been procrastinating writing this entry—I do not want to explore where these memories take me. But I know I can’t run forever. I don’t want to remember that I sat on the couch with my daughter for three hours the day after her rape, and didn’t notice a damn thing. I don’t want to think about the thoughts and feelings that raced through her mind and body. I don’t want to tell you that I was out of town the day she reported, and how she was compelled to endured that trauma alone. I don’t want to share that I was clueless about Title IX, and how my ignorance impacted her every single day after she reported. The guilt is real. It haunts me. I don’t want to remember the prom where her rapist stood in the crowd and watched as she walked across the stage, or the fact that we no longer wear the same softball uniform after being bullied from our hometown. I don’t want to remember any of it. And yet, memories are the diary we all carry. They symbolize the best and worst of our human experiences. They remind us of our past and often times drive our future. May is a month of grieving for me—honestly, I’ve never allowed myself the privilege to say that out loud. Some days I wonder if the grieving and remembering will ever end. Will the anniversary fade, will the tears dry up, will the guilt dissipate, will prom be light and fluffy, will softball ever just be a game? It’s been two years and fourteen days since my daughter told me she was raped. I am different. She is different too. Our lives have changed. I have good days, and really hard days. I have new skills, new knowledge, new passions. I hold a new vision for what my life work is. My diary is as full of pain as it is joy- and I’m learning to embrace the rain, for even in the darkest moments I trust that May will someday bloom anew. Keeper of The Farol

[safebaeparents-blog]

Someone once said, “The scars you share become lighthouses for other people who are headed to the same rocks you hit”. I have scars. My daughters have scars. I’m guessing you may have scars too.

Farol is a place, a lighthouse to be exact; a place where we can be free to stand naked in our existence—to shine a light on the pain we carry; a place where our stories can be shared, so others, feeling broken and without hope can find their way. 

Being the victim of sexual assault is a lot like being lost at sea in stormy weather. The darkness surrounds us. Isolation becomes our only safety—and yet we crave the comfort only our community can provide. But so often, these communities crumble under the weight of words like sexual assault and rape. We feel ostracized, like suddenly we have done something wrong, when in fact our families, our daughters, have made the ultimate sacrifice, in hopes of protecting others.

I am Ida, and I see you.

My name is Ida Lewis, it’s not really, but like many families fighting against the systems who oppress victims, my family’s safety requires anonymity. Ida Lewis was a noted American lighthouse keeper, renown for her heroism in rescuing people from the sea. While I cannot rescue you from the storms you are facing, I’m hopeful that shining some light on the rocky shoreline will aid you in your journey.

Welcome to Farol- Ida Lewis