Journal Entry: When the Words Came Later

Content Note:

This piece reflects on an experience of sexual assault in a professional setting. My hope is to offer reflection and recognition, but please take care of yourself as you read — pause, breathe, or step away whenever needed.

I remember sitting at my desk, wondering what had just happened.

I had stayed late one night to help call referral leads. At the time, I worked in a bank and wanted more than anything to turn it into a career. One of the best ways to stand out was to be the teller who brought in the most sales leads, convincing customers that they could get more for their money.

I was twenty-four and eager to prove myself. When the opportunity came to stay late and work alongside our top loan banker, I volunteered without hesitation. I thought this was how you got noticed. I thought this was how you grew.

What I didn’t anticipate was that I’d be alone — or that what would be asked of me that night would go far beyond cold calls.

I knew, after what happened in that office, that I wasn’t comfortable. But I also knew this man could make or break my future. And in that moment, I convinced myself to stay quiet.

What I didn’t understand then was how much silence would be required of me in the years that followed not just by him, but by other men I’d encounter throughout my career.

At twenty-four, I didn’t have the language for what had happened. I told myself it was normal, that it was what women in male-dominated spaces had to tolerate to move forward.

It took me years to understand that what I experienced was not normal.

It was not my fault.

And it was not something I had to carry in silence.

I was sexually assaulted.

I know some of you reading this may recognize your own story in mine the quiet confusion, the rationalizing, the doubt. So let me say this: just because you couldn’t name it in the moment doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

You are allowed to take time to process. You are allowed to come to terms with it in your own way, in your own time.

It is your story.

It is your trauma.

And no one else gets to tell you how to own it.