Every 68 seconds, someone in the United States is sexually assaulted. Every nine minutes, that victim is a child. And yet, despite how often it happens, so many survivors carry their pain in silence—unseen, unheard, and too often, unbelieved.
April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. It’s a time for education, prevention, and conversation. But for survivors, it can be a painful reminder: of what happened, of what was lost, of what the world didn’t protect them from. It’s a month that asks survivors to speak—but often fails to hold space when they do.
Sexual assault doesn’t always come with bruises. Sometimes it looks like someone you trusted. Sometimes it looks like a smile that felt safe until it didn’t. Sometimes it’s what happened when you were too afraid to say no—or when no one cared that you did.
For a long time, I stayed quiet.
There are moments I’ve buried so deep, I questioned whether they ever happened. I’ve smiled through the ache. I’ve heard people defend the very ones who hurt me. And I’ve learned that healing is not linear—it’s slow, and often invisible.
I know I’m not the only one.
You are not alone. If you’ve ever doubted yourself, replayed the memory, rewritten the scene—if you’ve ever questioned your right to be angry, to be healing, to be believed—you are part of a devastatingly large, devastatingly quiet community.
So often, we don’t see survivors because it’s not safe to be seen.
As Sarah Peterson, founder of the Love and Mine Foundation, puts it, “We’re not at the point where it’s safe enough to talk about it. That’s why you don’t hear about it. And that’s why it becomes invisible.”
Invisibility has consequences. When survivors feel unseen or silenced, they disappear—dropping out of school, withdrawing from their communities, losing access to the futures they once imagined.
“We’re losing people,” Peterson said. “Students who could have been incredible doctors, lawyers, nurses—they’re leaving college because they see their rapist in their classes, walking around campus, and being celebrated in the social circles that they occupy. Because they’re reminded of what happened every single day. And they can’t heal in that environment.”
This is the cost of silence. Not just emotional, but structural. Survivors are often forced to exist alongside their abusers in close-knit communities like college campuses. And when institutions refuse to intervene, survivors are the ones who leave.
“We act like these are isolated incidents, but they’re not,” Peterson said. “It’s not about ‘he said, she said’—it’s about a system that refuses to believe people unless there are bruises or photographs or receipts. And sexual assault doesn’t work like that.”
It’s true: sexual violence is one of the only crimes where the victim is expected to prove the harm. Survivors are asked to recall every detail, justify every action, account for every drink, outfit, breath. They’re asked for proof that doesn’t exist.
“With sexual assault, what is the proof?” Peterson asked. “Do you want a picture of a bruised body? Do you want to have been there? Because unless someone was watching, there is no evidence. And that’s what people don’t understand.”
And yet—it’s happening all the time.
Statistics don’t lie. What they do is offer context to what survivors have known all along: this is not rare. This is not isolated. This is not something that happens to other people. If you think you don’t know a survivor, it’s only because they haven’t told you.
“You know survivors,” Peterson said. “They just haven’t told you.”
So what can we do? What happens when awareness isn’t enough?
For Sarah Peterson, the answer starts small.
“We want to see large-scale change,” she said. “But it starts with your group chat. With your friend group. With the jokes you don’t laugh at. With the people you choose to walk away from.”
Creating safer environments doesn’t require confrontation, she explained—it requires consciousness. “You don’t have to be the fun police. You don’t have to lecture people. You just have to not laugh. You just have to not share that joke. That’s what makes space safe.”
And it’s in those spaces—those daily, unglamorous, deliberate acts of care—where real change begins.
This month, we honor every survivor. Not just the ones who speak publicly, but the ones who are still gathering the courage to whisper. The ones who have never told anyone. The ones who are just trying to make it through the day.
You are not too late.
You are not too broken.
You are not a burden.
You are not alone.
And if no one has said it to you yet—
I believe you.
You matter.
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to heal in your own time.
Resources for Survivors:
RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-HOPE or www.rainn.org
The National Sexual Violence Resource Center: www.nsvrc.org
Love and Mine Foundation: https://loveandmine.org