How do you learn to be open to intimacy and to trust a significant other after you've been raped?

I eventually realized that he was the one with the problem,not me.
That is how I reclaimed my power,not by sleeping with a bunch of different men.
I did once have a “friend” make a comment about that situation.
That hurt more than the rape itself.

I haven’t been raped but have been molested by my brother and later another person. I’ve never analyzed my sexual relations afterwards, I didn’t have trouble trusting men but I did, for a couple of years, really yearned for their attention and was therefore not the kind of person I wanted to be.

I had one date-rape (someone I knew who spiked a drink and took advantage of me) type experience in college and once as a 15 year old in Okinawa a drunk old man chased me and pinned me against a fence – but I fought my way away from him.

Neither of these experiences affected my ability to be open to new relationships or have intimacy with future boyfriends..but together they did provide what I like to think of as my “wake up call” to not trust blindly and always have my own back.

First I grew wary of drunk old men or walking around at odd hours of the day by myself (duh!).. then in college I learned that even people I thought were trustworthy might not be..

So. I took kick boxing. I didn’t walk alone as much. I developed a “buddy system” with my friends if we were going to a party where there would be drinking. I’d literally take a girl friend aside and say: “You and me are walking home together.” We’d both make sure not to leave without the other – we’d both kinda visually keep tabs on the other the whole night.

Now many many many years later and in far less tip-top physical condition I’m even more wary if that makes sense. You could call it street smart, or aware of my surroundings…whatever.. I operate within my comfort level and I don’t apologize for it.

Perfect example from last night: our nearby bank has recently made the ATM cubicle only accessible by swiping your ATM card after bank hours. You’re then essentially locked into this narrow space with the ATM..and in my humble opinion there’s really only room for one.

Last night I went to the bank to deposit a check and a man who had followed my car into the bank parking lot jumped out of his truck and followed close behind me. After I swiped my card and walked in, I pulled the door shut behind myself INTENTIONALLY so he couldn’t piggy-back in behind me to enter the bank cubicle.

He ranted and raved calling me all sorts of terrible names through the locked glass doors that I was safely behind.. And at first I thought: “Well, I was here first..so it’s not like I line jumped..” and then I thought: “Well if he has a card he’s going to come in here and yell at me…” But then he slunk back into his pickup truck and peeled off. Then it hit me…He didn’t have a bank card to swipe!!! He had NO reason to follow behind me so closely—unless he planned to rob me or (shudder shudder) something else.

I wish I’d gotten a license plate. But I’ll settle for warning my daughters to be wary…

@lucillelucillelucille I trust you told that “friend” to go to hell!

It’s incredibly hard, after almost a decade and a half I still have major trust issues.

I don’t think it will be easy for any women and it takes a lot of courage to overcome the situation not to mention a lot of forgiveness.

For me, it didn’t really feel like a substantial rape. I was drunk and unintentionally gave the guy the wrong idea. It lasted all of five minutes and didn’t hurt. I told my SO what happened, and he was very supportive. My trust in men hasn’t changed. I just don’t put myself in that type of situations anymore. I don’t even know why I did in the first place. I definitely knew better. I always have and always will trust my SO. We still had sex regularly after that. My SO was concerned that I might be apprehensive, but I have no weird feelings about it. I think things would be different if I had had a different experience than I did.

When I first had sex I was 15. It was with one of the popular boys in school I had a crush on. I gave in to peer pressure, and he ended up ignoring me afterwards. Not too long after that a male friend of mine I had known for several years must have heard rumors that I would “put out” from that popular boy that took my virginity. This male friend and his cousin invited me over on a day we didn’t have school. I ended up being raped by the two of them.

Because of these two examples, I felt that boys only wanted me for sex. I never felt loved by anyone I was with after that. I didn’t seek out boys I didn’t like to reclaim power, but I did have sex with boys because I thought I had to do that for them to love me.

I was raped again when I was 19 and in college. I left a party and went home to my apartment and fell asleep. I was woken up by someone I knew who had also been at the party. I told him to get off of me and said no several times, but he didn’t.

It’s different for everyone, but for me it took finding that right man to treat me right before I could ever trust again. I held on to him tight and I haven’t let go.

As I mentioned on the other thread my first sexual experience was with a guy who offered to drive a very drunk me home when my designated driver refused to leave. She found him as I was trying hard not to throw up. He took me to some house raped me and then drove me home. Thankfully, I only remember bits and pieces of what happened. I was devastated and became a little less devastated by screwing around with the first guy who showed an interest in me after that. That lasted a couple of months and I broke up with him. I didn’t really date after that.

Then some six months later I had graduated and was working at union factory. I agreed to go out on a date with a fellow worker. I drove to his house and then we boarded a bus to a motor cross event. Fairly soon after we arrived he wanted to go get a beer from his buddy’s trailer and asked me to accompany him. While we were in the trailer he got his beer, had a gulp and then jumped me and started kissing me. I thought, at first, he could be dissuaded from what he was doing by telling him to stop and grabbing his hands but he kept ramping it up. He knocked me backwards onto a bed and as my protestations got louder he choked me and told me to shut the fuck up.

That situation rocked my world. I was in complete shock for days afterwards. I so desperately didn’t want it to be true I started to bury it. I didn’t tell anyone. I immediately quite that job and started a career.

Months later I started to fall apart. I started having panic attacks and sobbing at the most inconvenient times. I called a rape crisis centre and was told that because my situation happened months before I didn’t qualify for help. Somehow I managed to get the panic attacks under control.

Then I met my husband. He asked me out time and time again and I refused. After sitting with him at a corporate event and talking to him I agreed to go out on one date. That date turned into an engagement, marriage and having kids. In the midst of all that I finally did fall apart. I developed PTSD; I probably had developed it post-rape but I had enough control of it that it didn’t have massive effects on my life. I think I fell apart with my husband because I knew I could trust him.

I was in and out of hospitals; on every kind of medication. I started therapy and 13 years later I am finally getting to the point where I can deal with what happened. I’m in the process, currently, of putting feelings and emotions on that event. When it happened my emotions were divorced from what was going on which I believe protected me then. I still have to work at placing the blame on him and only him instead of thinking, “If I had only worn pants instead of a skirt”...and those sorts of thoughts.

It has been a long tough road. With the support of an amazing husband and a committed therapist I have been able to put the pieces of my life back together.

I was raped at knifepoint in my car by a strange black man who followed me into the parking lot in 1998.

I consider myself lucky that he was too much of a coward to kill me.

Right afterward, I met my current husband, who lived not far from where it happened (in downtown Charleston) for the first time and fell hopelessly in love with him at first sight. We dated for a bit, and I guess I got a little too intense, but soon for other reasons he left the city and moved with his best friend to Richmond, VA for a year.

I was heartbroken. After the rape, I didn’t think much about it. But the winter of 1998, I really put myself out there. I began to sleep with anyone who caught my eye. I would get drunk and/or high, and have sex in my car, in my bed while my parents were asleep at my house, in a park against a memorial statue of John C. Calhoun, at their apartment, in a graveyard from the 1700s on top of a tomb. I had semi-discriminate sex with at least 20 people that winter and spring.
In the beginning of the summer of ‘99, I met a 16-year-old girl (I was 19) who was punk-y and cute and was into Courtney Love and industrial music and she won me over. We started seeing each other (my first and last girl-girl relationship) and we had lots of fun together, having sex and getting drunk and reading books and watching movies in her room at her nice downtown apartment (I don’t think her mom was the wiser). Around August, a friend told me that Mike was back in town. My heart soared! I saw him and we locked eyes one night. I immediately felt like he was the one I wanted to be with forever, the one who could heal me. And we got back together right then and there, I had to explain to Sheah that he was my first real love, and she was crushed, but she understood eventually. Mike and I have been together ever since.

I never felt uncomfortable with him in any way. He has never made me feel threatened, quite the opposite.

I really had no idea that other women dealt with it the way I did. That I dealt with it by being promiscuous was not a conscious effort. It just happened that way. Normal brain processes were happening (“I am horny…I want to have sex!”), there were no other agendas. But it comforts me that I am not the only one who dealt with it that way. :) I had just chalked it up to being self-destructive, as i so often am.

@tranquilsea Oh, honey, I feel for you! I am enraged every time I hear of a man violating a woman like that! I am here if you ever need to talk.

@ladymia69 Thanks. I appreciate your offer and may take you up on it sometime :)

I lost my virginity via rape. I had major issues with life and coping, and I became promiscuous.

I think a part of it had to deal with I was 14, and did have my first boyfriend (he didn’t rape me.) He had been my friend for years so it was nothing serious but the boy who raped me told everyone he had sex with me…basically ruining my reputation in high school and my boyfriend broke up with me. I never told a soul. I felt no one would have respect for me, no one would believe me..not even my own parents. I thought “maybe it wasn’t really rape” since I didn’t yell out I was paralyzed with fear.
It took a suicide attempt, being hospitalized, off and on various antidepressants and antianxiety meds. I did so much therapy, some useful some just bullshit.
I had terrible relationships with falling in love easily and then realizing the guy was not in love with me…some truly cared about me some didn’t. I wish I could have figured out how severe my PTSD was. It consumed my life for my entire high school years and a little beyond. When I finally began talking about the rape, it was like a weight was lifted. I can freely talk about it and even though I still have to cope with the fact that it was still rape even though it wasn’t “text book” with me fighting back.

I met my husband when I was still coming to terms with it, still having major issues and I still did things I didn’t and do not respect about myself. I take full responsibility for those actions I took and do not “blame” it on the rape but I think I let being raped define me for a while and that was my biggest mistake.

I never felt men as a “thief”. I can see why some women would feel that way. I think my problem was thinking all men would want to be happy was sex and I do believe my husband showed me sex isn’t what makes a man happy, a lot more goes into a relationship besides sex…the companionship, the trust, the friendship….

Sorry, but this is going to be really long. It was a lot of different things that got me where I am.

I wasn’t raped (in the sense that I was never vaginally penetrated by a penis against my will), but I was sexually molested by an uncle for the first 13 years of my life (I’ve been told that the first time he was caught molesting me, I was 6 months old). On top of that, my entire family knew it was happening, and never called the cops or even kicked him out of the house. (That’s not to say it was ok with them, it wasn’t. They just never did enough to stop him or protect me.) In fact, I got in trouble the one time I told someone about it. So, I pretty much trusted no one, not just men. I’d learned early on in my life that no one would protect me. Almost all of my childhood memories relate to the abuse, or the aftermath of him being caught abusing me. Truly, a pretty horrific childhood.

When I was 13, I was essentially bedridden all summer due to illness, and was staying (alone) on my grandparent’s couch every work day, because their house was closer to where my mother worked than ours. The uncle had a key to his parent’s house, and discovered me there quite by accident one day. Naturally, he started coming there for lunch every day for a few days in a row. I was terrified, and of course, nobody told him he had to stop coming. I made sure all the curtains were open, and that I was in front of a window when he was there, thinking that would keep me safe. One day, in a quite lucid frame of mind, he apologized to me for what he’d put me through. He said he knew he’d hurt me, and that he was sorry for it. I accepted his apology. Then, he tried to kiss me… with tongue. I pushed him away, and he said if I wouldn’t give him one big kiss, he’d just have to take little ones. He started kissing me all over my face, while his hands held my head still. I freaked, and physically attacked him, which I’d never done before. I told him to leave me the hell alone, and that if he ever touched me again he’d regret it. For the first time, I was in control of the situation, and I protected myself. (That helped.) He was so angry. But he left, and never touched me again. I was certain, though, for an entire year, that he was going to literally kill me. I just accepted that as a fact, and carried a note in my pocket everywhere I went, naming him as my killer in case I was found dead. He moved to a different state when I was 14, and I finally knew a life without fear. (That helped.)

Happiest time of my life, and I went a little wild with the freedom. I roamed the streets alone in the middle of the night, had lots of sexual experiences (though no actual sex until I was 15), and was extremely cavalier with my life and with other people’s hearts. I guess, in my mind, nothing could happen to me that was worse than I’d already experienced. Once I started having sex, I had a lot of it, with no love involved at all. I wasn’t one of those girls who fell in love, with anyone. I wouldn’t even commit to a steady relationship, and ‘dated’ lots of guys at the same time. If a boy told me he loved me, I dropped him like a hot potato. From the ages of 15 to 19, I had sex with at least 35 different guys (plenty of them grown men who should have known better) before I stopped counting. I felt extremely powerful during that time, but never really connected it to my past experiences until much later. I just knew I was the shit, and I had total control over any guy I wanted (sick to feel that way, but I did.) (That helped.)

I fell in love, and got married at 19… too young for most people, but I think it was right for me, at that time. I’d lived an awful lot of life by then, and really needed that steadiness and predictability in my life. Even then, though, I wouldn’t say I trusted anyone fully. Actually, trust might not be the right word… I never relied on anyone, only myself. In fact, that was a point of contention in my first marriage… that I never felt like I needed him, the way he needed me. I loved him, but I knew I would be perfectly fine without him, you know?

My uncle came back to my state shortly after I married. I developed PTSD, and had flashbacks while involved in anything sexual with my husband. It was awful. Went to therapy for the first time, and figured out that I was an adult, and just because he was back didn’t mean I had to see him. I tried to have my mother tell my grandparents about my choice, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t. Once again, I had to take charge of the situation and sit my grandmother down to explain to her why I would no longer be coming to Easter/Thanksgiving/Christmas dinners. Very difficult decision, but it did get me back in control of my life. (That helped.) However, no one told him. He just thought it was a coincidence that we were never in the same place at the same time. He started sending me birthday and Christmas presents, via my mother (who, rather than doing the sensible thing and throwing them away, brought them to my house, so I could do it. How fucking thoughtful. ~) Once again, I had to do for myself, so I wrote him a long letter explaining that I didn’t want any contact with him, for any reason, and exactly why. I was very nice about it, but totally honest. (That helped.)

He went to jail (for a totally unrelated offense), and I found out he was on work release, working less than a mile from where I lived with my 1st husband and three daughters. I called the people in charge and explained why this was a problem. I had his work release revoked and he stayed in jail until his sentence was over. (That helped.)

I only saw him one more time, at my grandmother’s funeral. On a long trip in a huge RV on the way back from the wake, I noticed him getting way too cozy with some of the kids in the far back bedroom of the RV. One of those kids was another uncle’s son. That uncle saw it too, we locked eyes, but he made no move to intervene. So, I stood up and announced to the family “I’m going back there.” Not one of them offered to go in my place. I walked into the room, flipped on the light, and laid down on the bed in the middle of all the kids, claiming I had a headache and needed to lie down. Bad uncle left the room in a huff. (That helped.)

I got divorced, (and, predictably, knew I’d be fine on my own). Then I met my (now) husband. Somehow, he changed a lot of things for me. For the first time in my life, I feel protected by someone other than me. I feel safe. I know, without a doubt, that he would do everything in his power to stop someone from hurting me. (That helped.)

He also saw no reason to ‘make nice’ with my family, so he didn’t. He flat out told one of my other uncles that he (my husband) was doing a far better job taking care of me than they (my family) ever did. (That helped.)

Bad uncle died. I cried for me, and for him. I did not go to the funeral. (That helped.)

With a lot more therapy and total support from my husband, I finally found the courage to end my (really awful) relationship with my mother. (That helped. Probably most of all.)

God, that is a lot of words. Sorry, again!

Sorry ladies for all that happened ..

Good thing that you are overcoming it.

@augustlan – please don’t apologize for the large number of words in your incredibly helpful posting. We all stand to learn from your experience that sometimes the family we’re born into can be (at least somewhat) toxic, and sometimes we’re better off building our own family of people who come into our life and protect us, love us and take care of us better than our biological family ever did.
Sometimes it’s not possible to be succinct or pithy – sometimes whole tale needs to be told – so please accept my thanks for your post..no need to apologize about the length.

I just want to give everyone in this thread a hug.

I want to thank you all, too. I think it is very brave of you to tell your stories, and I, for one, like the longs ones and wish no one felt it necessary to apologize for them. You guys are amazing!

I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days. I’m at work, so I won’t post details now.

I think one of the biggest tragedies in this situation is the loss of ability to trust yourself. Somehow you let your guard down, you trusted the wrong person, you blamed yourself…

For me, I had to learn to trust myself. I had to stop being afraid that everyone was out to get me. I still glance over my shoulder and look for the alarm button in elevators, but I reached a point where I was open to trusting myself in choosing a partner. I critically analyzed the characteristics I needed, wanted and wouldn’t put up with. I recognized that my sex/virginity wasn’t the only thing I had to offer. I prayed. And I met him. I knew right away that he wouldn’t hurt me. I watched his actions and listened to his words, and they matched.

It hasn’t all been roses, and I knew it wouldn’t be. He was the first guy I really let in and was able to have a healthy relationship with… but I trust myself and I trust him.

Plus, I was 15–16 at the time… and now I’m in my early 30s. I’ve been able to do a lot of growing and maturing. Time helps, if you use it.

I posted something here but I had to delete it for self-preservation. Sorry.

I have been raped not once, but by two different people. The first time was when I was 17 and it was bloody and brutal. The next time was a few times in my ex-marriage. That was almost more damaging—to have someone who’s supposed to be a loving husband get off on doing that? He was just despicable.

Because of what I’ve been through in my life, I’m very able to compartmentalize— what I do is mentally put the bad memories in one place. I do not make connections between a memory and what I am experiencing in the present because every single condition is different. I’m a different age, in a different place, have a different mentality/maturity, people around me are different—I could go on, but the bottom line is that the bad moments will not repeat themselves the way that they happened.

IF I ever get raped again, it won’t be under the same circumstances. It would happen in a way I can’t predict, so why allow tendrils of that bad memory to color current memories that are their own brand new memories? If I allow those horrible moments into my life today, into my new relationship, into my psyche, I really believe I am allowing the rapists to win. I will be the one losing sleep, losing fun, losing wonderful intimate moments with someone who loves me and would never dream of causing me pain—

Nope. I can’t allow that, so I compartmentalize. Was it easy to get to the level where I am able to do that? No, it came with work, experience, lots of talking and thinking and… there ya go… the rapists are where they belong, in the past. That was what worked for me.