How Learning To Say “No” Helped Me Grieve a Doctor’s Sexual Assault
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Trigger warning: Sexual Assault, Trauma
I was taught to say “yes”, many, many times before I learned to say “no”. In fact, I probably didn’t even learn how to say “no” properly until I was 30 years old.
You see, in my family and culture, you never say no. In the Polish and Catholic framework, girls are meant to always be giving of themselves, always serving others and never questioning why. Even the thought of questioning why can be seen as dishonoring the long-held values that have been passed down for generations. Although I hold deep reverence for my cultural roots, I no longer subscribe to the notion of turning off my intuition — I’ve learned first-hand how dangerous of a move that can be.
You see, in my family and culture, you never say no. In the Polish and Catholic framework, girls are meant to always be giving of themselves, always serving others and never questioning why. Even the thought of questioning why can be seen as dishonoring the long-held values that have been passed down for generations. Although I hold deep reverence for my cultural roots, I no longer subscribe to the notion of turning off my intuition — I’ve learned first-hand how dangerous of a move that can be.
When I was younger, it was easier to dismiss the damage done by this self-sabotaging behavior because I truly didn’t believe I had any other option. I wanted to be what was expected of me: the nice, conforming “good girl”. But, based on a traumatic incident that happened just weeks after my 33rd birthday, I realized that the word “no” is one of the only self-defense mechanisms we have readily available in this unpredictable world.
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Last week, I found a well-respected doctor in the town I live in to help with neck pain I have acquired thanks to working at a desk. He had glowing reviews and I did my due diligence to ensure they seemed legitimate. As I stepped into the office on Tuesday, I was greeted by a space seemingly out of the 90’s, which ironically assured me that the business had been active for some time (it had been open for 20 years).
The first appointment was very casual and I felt some relief. The doctor had kind eyes and was all smiles, ensuring he could help me feel better. He was an immigrant just like me, something we bonded over. He asked me to come back on Friday. On the way out the door, I noticed a wall adorned with cards and photos of families with babies. He pointed out that his patients often send him cards after a healthy pregnancy. Again, my trust grew.
On Friday morning, I crafted my plans for the day and headed out for my visit, having zero indication that I’d have to clear them after what was waiting for me around the corner.
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I arrived to the appointment and was laying on my back, fully clothed. Everything proceeded like the prior visit, until I felt the doctor’s hand slowly trail down my neck to my chest area. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but given that A) he told me that it was necessary to “open me [my muscles] up”, B) his hand was not near my bra, and C) his smiling eyes assured me of his decent intentions, I went along with it. Suddenly though, his hand hovered near my bra until it went under it and I immediately stiffened.
As my mind began to run through hundreds of scenarios, my body just froze.
I could not make sense of what was happening. Was this a treatment that was supposed to help? Was my overreactive brain panicked for no reason? Would I offend him by speaking up? What was I supposed to do? He was the only doctor in the office. This can’t be happening, can it?
The strange chest massage ended before I was able to come out with a coherent statement. He moved away from the table and I got up quickly reaching for my backpack on the floor, when he told me to turn around. The next thing I knew was he laced his arms around me from behind so that my back was touching the front of his body. It looked almost like a Heimlich maneuver, but his hands were at my chest level. He continued to say calming phrases that insinuated that this was part of the treatment: “breathe”, “relax”, “I’m opening you up”. But all I really felt was terror and an older man’s hands squeezing my top section. He pushed me so close to him that I eventually felt something harden in his pants and at that moment I absolutely knew I was not safe.
But, I still couldn’t bring myself to say “no” or “stop”. I certainly thought it with the majority of my being, but a small part of me still whispered doubt in my ear: “This is a reputable doctor, there must be a reasonable explanation. Don’t make a scene.” My throat felt so dry that even these one syllable words were stuck in the recesses of my throat. I was silenced. Although it felt that I had lost the ability to use my voice, but I knew I had to do something. The only sound I finally had the power to muster was the word “okay”, but it was enough for my body to take over, instinctively taking a massive step to the side, signaling I was done with whatever he was doing. My body fought the fight that my mouth couldn’t.
As I walked to my car, all the emotions came to the surface, like a volcanic eruption. I felt nearly every emotion on the feeling wheel: shock, fear, anger, sadness, but also empowerment. A part of me still felt a tinge of doubt, questioning if I had just misinterpreted his actions… but then I caught myself. If his actions made a part of me feel unsafe, then it was not okay. That was all the evidence I needed. I marched straight to the police station to file my report, doubt, fears and all.
These recent events taught me that even though the world can feel scary and unpredictable, you can regain some amount of control over your experience when you learn how to listen to your intuition instead of overriding it. I truly felt that my empowerment to step out of his embrace saved me from spiraling into an even more challenging emotional state.
Note: I am in no way shaming victims of sexual assault that may not have been able to stand up for themselves during their own traumatic experiences. Rather, I deeply empathize with how insurmountable of a challenge standing up for yourself can feel like. It may come out messy, but it is a courageous act of self-love that can fiercely protect you.
So now, as I enter my 33rd year, I vow to distance myself from the subservient “yes” that has been an automatic and instinctual response for my whole life. I vow to be brave enough to bring injustices to someone’s attention (like the local police) to protect future victims. I vow to be authentic and share my story with friends and strangers in order to open up dialogue on taboo topics like this one. I hope my story will give you the courage to stand up for yourself even when you feel powerless, for that is the moment you can use your voice to step into your power.
“At any given moment, you have the power to say: this is not how the story is going to end.” — Christine Mason Miller
How Learning To Say “No” Helped Me Grieve A Doctor’s Sexual Assault was originally published in Mindful Mental Health on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.