*****Trigger warning for Sexual Assault (SA)- If you need to talk to someone call Crisis Services Canada line at 1-833-456-4566 or Assaulted Women’s Helpline at 1-866-863-0511

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After.

After.

After.

There was no after. There was the next time. Then there was the next time. Then there was after. And aftermath.

Sexual assault started around four years old for me. It's hard to explain because it is hard to remember. I remember kissing and touching and confusion. I remember knowing it was wrong, but also absorbing the message that this is what men expected in a relationship. I was too young to understand that this wasn't a relationship. That real relationships formed later, and differently, and should feel nothing like this. I thought he loved me.

These experiences are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the messages that children and women receive about their bodies. When women are told things like "keep him happy at home so he doesn't find it somewhere else," that's abusive language as if what you’re offering isn’t good enough. And when that kind of messaging exists around children, or when adults talk about sex in ways that aren't age-appropriate, it creates profound confusion in a developing mind.

Then imagine being sexually assaulted at four, or at any age before adulthood, and the message that follows is that you are gross, dirty, used. "Who's going to buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" So now something horrible has happened to you, and somehow it is your fault. You must have done something to make them think it was okay.

And so you walk through the world believing you are lesser. Your freeze response becomes a default, which means saying no, or thinking clearly in sexual situations, becomes almost impossible.

The people you attract after that are often people who objectify women, because objectifying yourself is all you've been taught. You have no boundaries. You can't say no. You've been so deeply harmed by this point, and so starved for love and acceptance, that almost anything feels like it might be the thing that finally fills that. And this is all before becoming an adult.

People pass these messages on because these are the messages they received. Women whose brains were trained to measure their worth by how easy it is to find a husband, or how beautiful they are, rather than by the things that actually matter: self-confidence, healthy boundaries, self-love, reciprocal and respectful relationships. Deep vulnerable connections that teach safety over time. This is how the epidemic of sexual assault continues. Because we are still teaching both sexes to objectify women. And it is harming everyone.

I see wonderful, lonely men who want real partnership, someone to actually do life with. And women who want that too, but don't know how to hold someone to those standards, or keep finding themselves drawn to people who don't have them. The messaging does that. It distorts the compass.

Being neurodivergent makes all of this even more complex. Our bodies and brains don't respond the same way. With ADHD, impulsivity and sexual drive can lead to experiences that range from regrettable to genuinely dangerous, both consensual and not. The mind is so active and insecurity peaks hardest in vulnerable situations. And sex is not treated as sacred or vulnerable anymore. Somehow it has become a pastime.

This is not to say that sex can’t be fun, unattached or spontaneous. It can be all these things, but I truly believe at its energetic core, it’s sacred. It’s a place we can find release for the body and mind. It connects us to the sacred, the place where we manifest our lives. It’s some peoples main source of pleasure and place where they process. So I know a lot of what I say here will have a lot of nuance for a lot of people and I honour that as well.

With autism, the body freezes, twitches, and reacts in ways that can't always be controlled or predicted. For many of us, myself included, there is pain and tears with sex and release. It's a lot to navigate and not something to be taken lightly. It also changes over time. I used to joke that if we waited too long between, I became a virgin again, because my pelvic floor gets so tight and goes into spasm. Everything comes back to safety. The human body has to feel safe before it can do anything.

The touching and kissing, and whatever else, started at four for me and for my siblings. I wasn't alone in it. In my late teens I was date-raped. Treated like a prostitute. I showed up for a third date and was fed a date rape drug. I went in and out of consciousness while being assaulted. I remember stumbling to the bathroom with a used condom in my hand, completely disoriented, barely able to stand. I woke up and was ignored completely, as if I didn't exist. I told my college friends about the date afterward, said that we had ended up having sex and I hadn't wanted that to happen. One friend asked, quietly, "Like rape?" And I said no. I thought maybe he had misunderstood. That is how hard it is to accept, even when it is entirely clear.

Later, in my twenties, I was sexually assaulted by a massage therapist who believed certain internal work in both areas was within his scope of practice. It wasn't. I still don't fully understand how I was talked into it. I couldn't walk comfortably or sit down for a week afterwards. My body reacted that intensely.

All of it took time to process. It took three years and a compassionate acting teacher to accept that I had been raped. All he said was, "Some women go through rape and have a hard time accepting it. They don't even know it was rape until later." That was the beginning of acceptance for me. The assault by the massage therapist took about five years to fully name. And the grief of recognising how damaged my boundaries had become by then. It takes so much. The questions that circle: why didn't I say no? How did this happen? Why didn't I leave? What is wrong with me?

I have been told stories by hundreds of women at this point. Some in real time, someone reaching down their pants at a club, someone's child, someone's colleague, someone's client. I have held space for so many of these heartbreaking accounts. It doesn't get easier. It makes me more furious, because how are we still here? And it's not only women. Many men have spoken to me about their own assaults. So much of it comes back to the same root: some people believe they have the right to your body. Because they were never taught otherwise. Because sex was modelled as a transaction or a pastime rather than a deeply connected, mutual choice.

When you are sexually assaulted as a child, research consistently shows you are fifty percent more likely to be assaulted again as an adult. Not because of anything wrong with you. Because of what was broken in the messaging around you.

I did eventually get to acceptance. This happened. It is part of my story. It does not mean anything negative about me. And I keep asking: what messages can we put into the world so that people understand this is a sacred act? That pleasure comes from safety? That healthy people have more connected, more honest, more mutual experiences?

This is the most vulnerable post I have ever written. I didn't want to pull my punches about what this has done to my body, my mind, and my soul. But I also wanted to honour the extraordinary resilience of the human condition. People have been through everything and gotten through everything. That is genuinely beautiful to witness.

The aftermath of sexual assault is a lifelong process, because sex is sacred and vulnerable and the body remembers everything. My body finds sex deeply emotional. In our house we have a joke: the bigger the tears, the better the orgasms. My husband holds space for that so graciously. My response doesn't diminish his experience. He gets it. He allows for it.

There are no longer just tears. There is laughter now. There is joy. And that is what healing looks like.

Much love,

Kat