Written for my Humans of UIWSOM blog post.
A couple of months ago, I watched an amazingly strong woman tell her story to the entire Council of Osteopathic Student Government Presidents. She stood in front of a large room, full of the leaders from each osteopathic medical school across the nation and showed an immense amount of strength by choosing to be vulnerable – to be vulnerable in order to empower others.
Over the next few weeks, I watched e v e r y s i n g l e testimony in the case against the monster called by Larry Nassar. I watched each young woman tell their story. And tell it loudly.
Recently, a friend of mine told me her story. And although her story was told behind closed doors, it was told with the same amount of strength and power as exemplified by all of the women who I watched share their stories with the nation.
And so finally, here I am. I am not nearly as brave, not nearly as strong, as I sit here behind my screen. But here I am, to finally (and very vaguely) tell my story.
I was in my final semester of college when I became a statistic – you know -- that one where 1 in 5 women are sexually assaulted while in college. What I thought was an innocent moment with a friend, turned into an opportunity for a boy to decide what he thought he could and couldn’t do with my body. To decide what he thought I meant and didn’t mean by “No,” and to brutally remind me that maybe I wasn’t exactly as physically or mentally strong as I thought I was.
I had never felt so powerless in my life. So weak. So disappointed that I had put myself in this situation. That I had let my guard down. That I let this happen to me. That I let him do this to me. I was supposed to be Sioned Kay Kirkpatrick. A strong, independent woman. A leader. An athlete. That person who had her entire life together. Who never wavered. Who was bright and smiley. Yet here I was. I was nothing that I was supposed to be.
I was weak. I was broken. I was lost. I had failed not only myself but the people who looked up to me. The people who loved me. And worst yet, I let my pride and fear keep me silent. I forced myself to pretend to be okay, while he walked around our school as if he had done absolutely nothing wrong. Reminding me every time we passed by that he couldn’t wait to “do it again” followed by a disgusting laugh with this nasty grin on his face – to which my response was only to just staring at him in silence. Letting him win again. Losing over and over again.
But I am so much more than a statistic. I am more than a victim. I am more than angry. I am Sioned Kay Kirkpatrick. I am a good daughter and a loving sister and a best friend. I am a future doctor, a servant leader, an advocate. I am strong. I am freaking fierce. I am powerful because others’ voices have empowered me. I am brave. And I am a survivor.
I absolutely hate the fact that #MeToo is recently such a normal phrase to hear or see. It is the norm for women to be constantly on guard. We are told to cover our shoulders in school to be careful not to distract the boys. We are told to never walk alone, especially at night, but sometimes even in the middle of the freaking day. To make sure our friendliness doesn’t come off as flirting. To stop asking for it. But when will this culture change? When can I stop blaming myself for letting my guard down? When will we stop calling it ‘non-consensual sex” and just call it what it is – “rape?” When will we stop using soft language in our legislation to protect those in power? When will we stop putting the responsibility on women to protect themselves rather than putting the responsibility on every human being to just treat each other with decency and respect?
So today, #MeToo means not that I am just another statistic, but that I am also strong enough to tell my story, even if it’s from behind my screen. That, like so many women before me, I am stronger than this. I am not defined by this. Because, like every other woman, I am so so much more.
Sioned Kay Kirkpatrick, OMS-I
A couple of months ago, I watched an amazingly strong woman tell her story to the entire Council of Osteopathic Student Government Presidents. She stood in front of a large room, full of the leaders from each osteopathic medical school across the nation and showed an immense amount of strength by choosing to be vulnerable – to be vulnerable in order to empower others.
Over the next few weeks, I watched e v e r y s i n g l e testimony in the case against the monster called by Larry Nassar. I watched each young woman tell their story. And tell it loudly.
Recently, a friend of mine told me her story. And although her story was told behind closed doors, it was told with the same amount of strength and power as exemplified by all of the women who I watched share their stories with the nation.
And so finally, here I am. I am not nearly as brave, not nearly as strong, as I sit here behind my screen. But here I am, to finally (and very vaguely) tell my story.
I was in my final semester of college when I became a statistic – you know -- that one where 1 in 5 women are sexually assaulted while in college. What I thought was an innocent moment with a friend, turned into an opportunity for a boy to decide what he thought he could and couldn’t do with my body. To decide what he thought I meant and didn’t mean by “No,” and to brutally remind me that maybe I wasn’t exactly as physically or mentally strong as I thought I was.
I had never felt so powerless in my life. So weak. So disappointed that I had put myself in this situation. That I had let my guard down. That I let this happen to me. That I let him do this to me. I was supposed to be Sioned Kay Kirkpatrick. A strong, independent woman. A leader. An athlete. That person who had her entire life together. Who never wavered. Who was bright and smiley. Yet here I was. I was nothing that I was supposed to be.
I was weak. I was broken. I was lost. I had failed not only myself but the people who looked up to me. The people who loved me. And worst yet, I let my pride and fear keep me silent. I forced myself to pretend to be okay, while he walked around our school as if he had done absolutely nothing wrong. Reminding me every time we passed by that he couldn’t wait to “do it again” followed by a disgusting laugh with this nasty grin on his face – to which my response was only to just staring at him in silence. Letting him win again. Losing over and over again.
But I am so much more than a statistic. I am more than a victim. I am more than angry. I am Sioned Kay Kirkpatrick. I am a good daughter and a loving sister and a best friend. I am a future doctor, a servant leader, an advocate. I am strong. I am freaking fierce. I am powerful because others’ voices have empowered me. I am brave. And I am a survivor.
I absolutely hate the fact that #MeToo is recently such a normal phrase to hear or see. It is the norm for women to be constantly on guard. We are told to cover our shoulders in school to be careful not to distract the boys. We are told to never walk alone, especially at night, but sometimes even in the middle of the freaking day. To make sure our friendliness doesn’t come off as flirting. To stop asking for it. But when will this culture change? When can I stop blaming myself for letting my guard down? When will we stop calling it ‘non-consensual sex” and just call it what it is – “rape?” When will we stop using soft language in our legislation to protect those in power? When will we stop putting the responsibility on women to protect themselves rather than putting the responsibility on every human being to just treat each other with decency and respect?
So today, #MeToo means not that I am just another statistic, but that I am also strong enough to tell my story, even if it’s from behind my screen. That, like so many women before me, I am stronger than this. I am not defined by this. Because, like every other woman, I am so so much more.
Sioned Kay Kirkpatrick, OMS-I
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