Re-examining My Sexual Assault Through an Autism Lens

Content warning: Obviously sexual assault, somewhat graphic description of unwanted physical contact. If you require support or more information on sexual assault, I highly recommend RAINN.org.

This is my second “re-examining” post on a major, life-changing event (the first one was my suicide attempt). As a late-diagnosed autistic, I have of course experienced most of my life events from a different angle (receiving more/less/different data), not understanding that I was experiencing them differently from neurotypicals. The revelations I’ve experienced since my diagnosis and further research support my belief that autistic children should be diagnosed and informed as soon as possible. Understanding that your operating system is different–that most people are processing the same world in a very different way–can help prevent some unfortunate circumstances or at least help prevent us from internalizing or blaming ourselves for how we cope with those circumstances.

Also, before I dive in, let’s get this out of the way: Sexual assault is never the fault of the victim. We talk about people protecting themselves from rape or other forced contact or behavior, which is important, but no one should have to take on that responsibility. People need to stop raping other people, period. This requires a change in culture, I believe primarily in regard to gender-based expectations and inequality. And a little compassion never hurt anyone.

So here’s my story. It is mine and it happened 33 years ago, so you may not relate to it at all and may not agree with how I have lived with it. (And I’ve had other unwanted contact, coercion, and generally uncomfortable situations, but I really want to examine this one today.) I used to say it wasn’t so bad because it wasn’t actually rape, because until about a decade ago, it wasn’t. (The FBI updated its definition from an incredibly narrow one with incredibly outdated language.) Did you catch that? My autistic brain invalidated my own experience because a government agency’s rule told me to.

I was 17 and I’d agreed to go to a school dance with a boy-who’s-a-close-friend-not-a-boyfriend, who was 15. I didn’t want to go, but I knew he wanted to and wasn’t dating anyone, and other mutual friends were going with dates, so for most of the night we were just a big group of friends. At the dance, he asked if he could hold my hand at one point, which I OK’d, and we danced. I’m pretty sure there were no red flags, but as I’ve covered before with my flirting post, I miss out on social cues that could be sexual or otherwise romantic in nature. I know, you’re like, “holding hands is a pretty clear sign,” but it wasn’t to me. Holding hands was holding hands, not even as intimate as hugging, so while maybe weird and not necessarily something I was into, whatever, people like to hold hands.

The big group of friends left together to hang out at one girl’s house. We sat around in the basement and chatted like we did most nights. Nobody was making out, again, no amorous scene being set. At one point I was hungry and decided to go out for onion rings and root beer. My friend went with me. (Now every step is going to sound ominous, but pleeease, it was onion rings and root beer.) We then went to the park that we and our friends went to a bazillion times. We sat on rocks and monkey bars and talked and talked and talked like we had a bazillion times.

Then it was time to drop him off. When he was getting out of the car he asked for a kiss goodnight. It is 100% possible there was some facial expression or posturing that I missed before he asked, I don’t know. There was definitely a facial expression at this point, a playful “puppy dog eyes” thing, so I said, “Come here,” and kissed him. A very simple friend kiss, which I should have been allowed to do without what followed. The next thing I knew he was fully back in the car with his door closed and he was leaning on top of me and I was panicking. I remember the weight of him on my chest even though I was seated upright. I remember the straps of my dress cutting into my shoulders as he groped at me. I remember my leg trembling as I held my foot on the brake pedal while his hand went up my dress and into my tights–note, I did not put the car in “park,” as I did not plan on stopping to make out with my friend.

I don’t know how long it lasted. I don’t know how long I froze. I didn’t understand what was happening. I did try to make eye contact with him so he would realize it was me and realize what he was doing. When I did catch his eyes, he didn’t look like he was seeing me so I hit and pushed until he was off of me and out of my car.

I reported this to no one. I resumed my friendship with him for a bit. I honestly didn’t know how I felt about him or his actions for a long time. As I do have alexithymia, this is common, that I can’t identify emotions, so while I was feeling something big and bad, I didn’t know if it was anger or embarrassment or what. I think now that it was betrayal and anger. He was a friend and he hijacked my body. Maybe I would have made out with him if he’d asked or moved more slowly–that’s how I’ve ended up in all my relationships, accidentally making out with my friends–but he assaulted me. I didn’t understand why or how it happened. I still don’t really.

In true me fashion, I suppressed the trauma and years later I was convinced that I wasn’t bothered by it. When I was in my 30s, I caught a glimpse of him at an event and had a huge panic reaction, fleeing before he saw me. I wrote a fake letter (one of those letters you write to sort through your thoughts, not to actually send a person) but then sent it to him. His response was that he didn’t understand what happened that night either. He didn’t make excuses, and he said my description of the event made him sick, or rather that his own actions made him sick. He reminded me later that we actually had seen each other after graduation, that he shot my college ID photo and I was just a figure of fury…and I believe this because in that ID photo, my face is SO red and even more stern than usual. I gave him my forgiveness. It was something that had happened a lifetime ago and I put it down as “a different time,” and “could have been worse.”

The effects this had on me are probably similar to those of neurotypicals. I got tougher. I will probably forever be prepared for someone I trust to betray me. To this day, even with my partner of 26 years, I can’t handle pressure on my chest without experiencing anxiety and a need to escape.

Today I know that some of the nonconsensual touches I’ve received would have happened no matter what, but some I probably would have seen coming if I weren’t autistic. I miss cues all the time. I have spent most of my life assuming I’m processing things wrong, which fuels the people pleaser in me. I’ve grown up “sensitive” and “dramatic,” so I’ve kept my mouth shut when maybe I shouldn’t. I often freeze when I have a lot to process, and a lack of action can (in a twisted and not cool way) be seen as acquiescence. In light of all this, it’s not surprising that while one in six women have been sexually assaulted, it jumps to nearly nine in ten autistic women. (We know that many autistics are nonbinary or otherwise trans, but I’m not finding studies and statistics taking this into consideration–the key takeaway is that autism seems to increase the likelihood of assault.)

So what can be done about it? Well, I definitely don’t want the moral of this story to be “autistic people need to be more careful” or “parents of autistic people need to be more protective.” No, this is one of those issues in which everyone needs to pitch in. And it feels like we have begun. We are moving in the right direction to eliminate rape culture, albeit slowly. Children are taught about consent and bodily autonomy, and gender roles and rules are being wiped out a little more with each generation. That’s great for everyone. For autistics especially, though, better understanding of neurodivergent brains and better access to diagnosis is vital. Everyone (neurotypicals and neurodivergents) needs to know that brains are unique and therefore process and communicate differently, so we must foster plain, clear communication that rises above the vague and nonverbal cues we call flirting. We need to normalize discussing our wants and needs in real time–both saying what we want and need and also hearing what the other person wants and needs.

And I think I’m not going to get too into the reporting and prosecution part here–that is so in need of reform (for example, learn about the rape kit backlog here)–but I do want to say something about how we need to make even more space for autistic victims. Just using me as an example here: I am not good at confrontation. I am usually uncertain of my perception, again assuming I’m seeing/feeling “wrong,” so I seldom recount anything that might make people unnecessarily uncomfortable. I freeze. I hide. I break down. I feel pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things. I am often unaware of my precise emotions, so I can usually shelve them and not deal with them until they gang up with other emotions and then I break down. If my attacker were a stranger, I would be unable to describe their face, as I don’t have a great visual memory. I focus on weird details and miss out on ones that might actually be helpful. I do not like attention (the one time I had to do a deposition I had a meltdown–imagine me in the witness box). From what you know about sexual assault cases in real life or even on TV, it’s obvious I’m not a great victim. I’m very unlikely to engage in and follow through the process from timely reporting through a trial. Unfortunately, the process is not very accommodating, and I’m sure in some regions it’s so much worse than anything I would experience. Victimization is compounded by the very system that should be helping them.

This feels impossible to wrap up nicely and neatly, but I’m gonna try here. To the rapists: Knock it off, already. To absolutely everyone: Learn more and make space for autistics and other neurodivergent folks, as well as people with other disabilities. Our justice system (like our education and most other systems) are made for the normies. It’s cheaper, it’s easier, and the people it does not serve usually don’t complain. To my fellow autistics: Do not doubt what you experience. Learn about bodily autonomy and how to assert your rights now. Identify people you can trust. (I say this even though my story proves you don’t always know!) And if you experience something you don’t know how to deal with and don’t know where to turn, the internet likely has a nonprofit organization waiting to help you. Everyone needs help sometimes, and I promise someone out there wants to help you.