Speaking out means being seen:

When I was 23 I was date raped by a friend.

And IT WASN'T MY FAULT.

Let's talk for a minute about how this all happened. This isn't something I talk about publicly, but that also seems wrong. 
He was a man who was friends with all of my friends. He took me out one night. We went to Sanctuary. Were there for a while. Got drunk. While he was in the bathroom another man tried to talk to me, to buy me a drink. When the dude came back he promptly got into a fistfight with the guy trying to say hi, just for saying hi to me, and so we were thrown out. I was scared. And 23. I'd never called a cab. Didn't know where I was. Didn't have a cell phone. No one offered to intervene. So I said I wanted him to take me home. Scared. Upset. He took me home. I said I just wanted to go to bed. He insisted on coming in. I didn't want him to come into my bedroom. So we sat on the couch. He said he didn't want to go home yet. So I put on a movie. Said he should go. That I was fine. I was scared. OF HIM. He said he wanted to stay. He said I should go to bed. He walked me into my room and locked the door. I had roommates at the time--two very nice and not very large young men who were younger than me and this was something we were, in many ways, all too young to deal with--and so, even though I said I didn't want to have sex, he made out with me. Had sex with me. I again said I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS. He didn't care. What happened next was what a lot of rape survivors do. We get VERY QUIET. Because survival involves shutting down. Emotionally. IntellectualIy. He finally left. IT WAS HORRIBLE. I woke up with bite marks and bruises, none of which were pleasurable, and made a trip to planned parenthood the next day. No, I didn't SCREAM. I didn't fight. BECAUSE A LOT OF RAPE IS ABOUT NEGATION. IT IS NOT ABOUT THE PERSON IT IS HAPPENING TO. IT IS ABOUT THE ASSHOLE OF A HUMAN NOT CARING THAT YOU, TOO, ARE A REAL HUMAN WHO MATTERS. 
This is why the Stanford woman speaking out matters. 
This is why I'm telling you. 
The aftermath was "fine." What the aftermath was was also years of then being in a relationship that was with a very physically gentle man who was also horrible to me, because it was so hard for me to figure out what being present was. Being present became REALLY FUCKING HARD in romantic relationships. 
This is why the Stanford woman speaking out matters. 
This is why I'm telling you.

(This story isn't about "sorry that happened to you." This story is about talking about what this all means.)

Much love y'all!

Sheila--from the backyard on a lawnchair in my underwear, which always feels like the best act of defiance.