Home Insemination Kit Confessions: I Understand the Pain of Being Violated

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The card that accompanied the flowers read, “Let me take you to dinner.”

After a heartbreaking split, I spent months gathering the pieces of my emotional wreckage. On a whim, my well-meaning friends encouraged me to join them at a local bar. “It’s time to get back out there,” they insisted. As I stood at the bar, nursing a drink with my guard up, he caught my eye.

He had an inviting smile.

Approaching me, he unleashed a flurry of typical pickup lines while my friends cheered from across the bar. I should’ve sensed the red flags, but his smile and the stack of cash he brandished wore me down. He treated my friends to drinks all night, and his gaze remained fixed on me. Eventually, I gave in and shared my number as my friends cheered me on, excited about my new connection.

The next day, as the sweet scent of roses filled my dorm room, I was both flattered and confused. How had he found my address? Yet, I dismissed my doubts. I deserved a little happiness, right? “Let me take you to dinner” seemed harmless enough—a small step forward.

I should’ve known better.

In the weeks that followed, he showered me with gifts and meticulously planned every date. Each outing was more extravagant than the last, with spontaneous dinner reservations at rented restaurants and stunning jewelry that made my friends swoon. My roommates would gasp as large flower arrangements arrived, declaring, “He’s the one!” I couldn’t help but wonder if they were onto something.

Gradually, I let my defenses down, allowing myself to dream of him as my Prince Charming. But as he kissed me, often with more urgency than I was comfortable with, I pushed my uneasiness to the back of my mind. I was inexperienced and shy, wanting to take things slowly. “I won’t wait indefinitely,” he warned.

And he didn’t.

The night it happened was at his apartment. He had invited me over for a “private dinner.” As soon as I stepped inside, I was enveloped in the ambiance he’d created—candles, flowers, and soft music.

Barely through the door, he wrapped me in an embrace that felt suffocating. My resistance only seemed to fuel his desire. He whisked me to his bedroom, laid me down, and overwhelmed me with fervent kisses. “It’s time,” he insisted, “we’ve been together for a month.” I was 19 and still a virgin. I wasn’t ready.

I said NO.

But he didn’t listen.

“Come on, baby. It’s me. Let’s do this.” NO.

“Do you know how much I’ve spent on you?” NO.

And then it happened.

In a swift motion, my pants were unbuttoned, and he forced his fingers inside me. I screamed for him to stop. My pleas only enraged him further, and he grabbed me fiercely. “You’re mine,” echoed in my ears. “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll shove my whole fist up there,” he sneered.

I sobbed as he invaded my personal space, his breath hot against my neck while he uttered vile words. When he finished, he disregarded me and ordered me out of his apartment.

I had been there for a mere 20 minutes—a quick encounter that felt like an eternity. As I stumbled to my car, every painful step reminded me of my violation. Tears streamed down my face as I drove home, ashamed and confused.

I crept into my dorm room, careful not to wake my roommates, fearing I’d have to explain how my charming Prince had assaulted me. In the shower, I sobbed into my knees, vowing never to speak of my trauma again. The shame washed over me like an overwhelming tide, and I replayed that moment for months, years even.

I went to his apartment. I should’ve seen the signs.

And now, I do know.

I know what it’s like to be violated in a dark room, feeling powerless. I know how it feels to have someone invade your body with such force that it leaves you terrified. I know how it feels to lose your innocence and dignity in an instant. I know how it feels to have flashbacks with every new partner who truly loves me. I know how it feels to keep my secret hidden from the man who has cherished me for two decades.

I know how it feels to hear other women share their stories of sexual assault and to want desperately to respond, “Me too.” I understand the pain of being grabbed against your will, and it’s not as glamorous as some men might suggest. It hurts, and it’s a burden of shame I carry every single day.

It’s not “just words,” and it’s definitely not “locker room talk.” It’s sexual assault. It’s rape.

I couldn’t fight back in that darkened room all those years ago, but recent events have inspired me to speak out. I refuse to remain silent for the woman still too ashamed to admit she has been raped. I won’t stand idly by while rape culture allows men to believe they can take what they want. I will not let my daughter grow up in a world where such behavior is acceptable.

I will fight this battle because I never want to hear my daughter say, “Me too, Mom.”

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In summary, the experience of being violated is a harrowing journey that many women endure, and it’s essential to speak out against such injustices. Our voices are powerful, and together we can challenge the culture that allows these actions to persist.