Untitled Submission
It took me five years to call it rape.
I imagined that my partner was merely selfish, or thoughtless, or cruel. I was probably overreacting, anyway. Wasn’t he always telling me not to overreact?
Though I tried to downplay the abuse, I could not hide the damage our relationship was doing to me. I had frequent panic attacks and hardly slept. My weight fluctuated and my emotions turned on a dime. I cried every single day through those years.
The first time I wrote the word “rape” it scared me so much that my handwriting shook. Afterwards I stuffed my journal away where I wouldn’t have to look at it – but it was too late. The terrifying truth had entered my head and heart and could not be hidden again.
At first I fought to save the relationship.* That didn’t work, so I fought to save myself – and that was where the door opened up for real healing to begin.
It hasn’t happened quickly, or easily, or painlessly. It hasn’t happened in tidy, linear stages. But over time, with hard work and counseling and the faithful support of my friends, I have witnessed seemingly impossible changes take place in my own life and being. I will never go back to who I was before the trauma, but that’s okay, because I really like the person I have become now.
I’ve also come to understand some of the outside forces that held me (and continue to hold so many others) in abusive relationships – like a culture that doesn’t see the need for consent in an established relationship. Or religious teachings that require women to submit to men. Or friends and family who minimize assault and abuse by saying, “Every relationship has trouble; I don’t want to take sides.”
As I’ve been more open about my own history of rape and abuse, various friends have gently asked me how these experiences would show up in my artwork. For a long time, I had no answer. And then last October, I started working on an ambitious project with the goal of honoring survivors of sexual violence.
It’s called Mere Objects, and it invites survivors to send tiny objects to add to an ever-growing art installation – a kind of group portrait of survivors. The debut exhibition is scheduled for late fall, after which it will begin traveling around to different locations. My hope is that it can help survivors to feel less isolated, and encourage our communities to become more aware of sexual violence.
Already I’ve experienced deep camaraderie with many survivors who’ve contacted me through the project. We’ve shared stories, laughed and cried together, validated feelings that are difficult to explain, and encouraged one another. Some have chosen to participate in the project while others have not; either way, our connections have been healing and life-affirming. I hope that healing power only grows as the project continues to develop.
And truly, my hope for every survivor is that they may arrive at the doorway that leads to healing and transformation, and to find the courage to step across that first threshold.
* If I had it to do over again, I would skip this first step. A relationship is not more valuable than the safety of the human beings involved. This seems obvious now, but years of abuse made it difficult to see at the time.
Sarah Jane is a survivor, writer, and the creator of 'Mere Objects.' She has served as a university professor, studio and gallery consultant, and art program manager. She is passionate about creating artwork that speaks across cultural, religious, or economic differences.
Sarah Jane’s Website: www.sarahjanesstudio.net
Mere Objects on Facebook: www.facebook.com/mereobjectsproject
Mere Objects on Instagram & Twitter: @mere_objects
Sarah Jane
MFA, 2008, University of Kentucky BA, 2004, Asbury College (now University)
