I Am Jane Doe

Trigger Warning: Rape, Sexual Assault, and Nonconsensual Choking

This essay shares my personal experience of sexual violence and includes descriptions of fear, dissociation, and trauma responses such as freezing and fawning. Some details may be distressing, especially for survivors.

Please read at your own pace and give yourself permission to pause, skip sections, or step away entirely. You do not have to revisit your own pain to bear witness to mine. Your well-being matters more than finishing this story.

To fellow survivors: I see you. I believe you. What happened to you was not your fault. You deserve support, safety, and the space to decide when—and whether—to share your own story.

I met him on Facebook Dating.

He claimed he was a nurse’s assistant. He claimed to have a daughter. He was Mexican American. I’ve always had a soft spot for the culture and community; much of my teaching career was spent working with Title I students and families.

His skin was like honey. Dark eyes. Dark hair.

He love-bombed me, but I was enamored by his charm from the jump and didn’t recognize it for what it was.

He sent me pictures of himself at work. A man in scrubs. A man in uniform. A man smiling while helping other people.

It made me feel safe.

Someone who spent his days caring for others couldn’t possibly want to hurt someone, right?

We texted all day and all night, and I felt safe with him.

At one point, he sent me a picture of himself pushing his daughter on a swing late at night. Something about it felt strange. Maybe that should have been a red flag.

I ignored it.

He also became sexual almost immediately. He used pornographic language from the jump.

Another red flag.

I ignored that one, too.

We planned a date.

I trusted him.

I was going to be kid-free that evening, and he asked if he could pick me up.

You know—like a real date.

I agreed without really thinking through the safety implications.

I remember my son overhearing me talking to a girlfriend about the date. For some reason, he told me to put mace in my purse.

Looking back, I understand why.

At the time, though, I believed this man was completely safe.

He was a dad.

He worked in the medical field.

He seemed gentle.

And there was that honey-colored skin and charming smile.

The date was at 7 p.m. It would already be dark.

I wore jeans and a not-too-tight shirt intentionally because I didn’t want to “lead him on.”

You know—like a “good” girl.

I even wore a shitty bra. One of my old work bras. Almost like I could use it as a barrier to keep myself from going any further than maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

Women have been taught that we must be careful not to “lead a man on.”

It’s bullshit.

He arrived in a huge, loud, lifted black truck.

I opened the door and immediately realized the man standing in front of me didn’t quite match his pictures.

Cowboy boots.

Black T-shirt.

Blue jeans.

He was holding a small bouquet of roses.

I let him into my rental before really thinking it through.

I hugged him.

He squeezed me far too hard.

Not affectionate-hard.

Uncomfortable-hard.

My cats immediately started hissing at him.

That was strange. My cats don’t normally hiss at people.

The energy was off.

I knew it.

I felt it.

But instead of listening to myself, I started giving him a tour of the house to fill the awkward silence.

I didn’t want to go on the date anymore.

I took him through my bedroom toward the back patio because I was showing him the backyard.

Suddenly, he whipped me around and shoved his tongue down my throat.

I was completely caught off guard.

And my nervous system took over.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. Fawn.

These are automatic survival responses. They aren’t carefully considered decisions we sit down and make while danger is happening.

Fight: confronting or resisting the threat.

Flight: trying to escape the threat.

Freeze: becoming still, numb, disconnected, or unable to react.

Fawn: attempting to appease, please, cooperate with, or calm the person because your nervous system believes doing so may keep you safer.

Fawn.

Did I choose fawn?

Or did fawn choose me?

I kept walking.

I kissed him back until it was over.

I didn’t want to go any further.

I wanted him to leave.

I just didn’t know how to make that happen.

We left for the date.

I climbed into “Rattler,” his nickname for the truck.

We went to dinner at Twin Peaks.

Then, during dinner, he said something I will never forget:

“I like to kill things. I get a high from killing animals.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

He was talking to someone who loves animals.

My alarm bells were screaming.

I changed the subject.

Then I went to the bathroom even though I didn’t actually have to go.

I remember thinking:

How do I get out of here?

I rushed through the rest of dinner.

I just wanted to go home.

On the drive back, he reached for my hand.

I let him hold it.

Not because I wanted him to.

Because another question immediately entered my mind:

If I don’t let him, will he get mad?

I wanted the night to be over.

I wanted to run inside, slam the door, lock it, and pretend the conversation about killing animals had never happened.

My stomach hurt.

My head hurt.

My heart was racing.

My nervous system wasn’t calm.

It was anything but calm.

When we got back, he kissed me at the door and somehow made his way through it.

He led me toward the couch.

I froze.

Then came fawn.

Again.

Before I knew it, my shirt was coming off.

There was that ugly bra I had purposely worn because, in my mind, somehow an ugly bra was supposed to protect me from getting to this point.

I never wanted to get here.

Then my pants were coming off.

Freeze.

Fawn.

Dissociation.

My mind was screaming:

Why is he moving so fast?

Can’t he read the room?

I’m not interested.

He kept asking me whether I liked the way he looked.

Truthfully?

He didn’t even look like his pictures.

But I didn’t say that.

I didn’t call him out.

I didn’t know whether he had a knife.

A gun.

Some other weapon.

I didn’t know whether saying the wrong thing would make him angry.

This is probably the part where someone reading this thinks:

Why didn’t you just tell him to stop?

Why didn’t you ask him to leave?

Because I was scared.

Because I was a recovering people-pleaser.

Because part of my brain was still worrying that he would get mad at me.

That he would hate me.

Call me a tease.

Call me a bitch.

Say I led him on.

Call me a prude.

Say I wasted his time.

That is society talking inside my head.

Women are taught these messages long before we ever begin dating.

Be nice.

Don’t embarrass him.

Don’t lead him on.

Don’t make him angry.

Don’t be difficult.

And sometimes those messages follow us straight into dangerous situations.

He wanted more.

Pieces of what happened next are blurry.

I can’t clearly remember how intercourse began.

But it did.

I was at least able to insist on protection.

Then, in the middle of sex, he wrapped his hand around my throat.

And squeezed.

There had been no conversation about this.

No permission.

No consent.

No discussion suggesting this was something I would enjoy.

He wasn’t gentle.

My life flashed through my mind.

Three kids.

Two cats.

Twenty school-aged children waiting for their teacher.

Is he going to kill me?

I pulled his hand away.

I stopped.

I put my clothes back on.

Then he asked me if I liked it.

I nodded yes.

Outside, I nodded.

Inside, I was screaming:

How the fuck do I get this motherfucker out of my house as quickly as possible?

I told him it was late.

I told him I wanted to go to bed.

Much of the night exists in bits and pieces for me.

That’s what trauma can do.

You may remember moments in flashes rather than one neat chronological story.

You might fight.

You might run.

You might freeze.

Or you might do what I did.

You might fawn.

He finally left.

I locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the floor.

I cried.

What happened to me was sexual assault.

There was no screaming.

No clawing.

No punching.

No dramatic fight.

I didn’t physically battle him.

But lack of resistance is not the same thing as enthusiastic consent.

My body was trying to survive the situation.

I sat there and cried.

Then I showered.

I scrubbed myself with hot water and soap, trying to wash him off me.

I threw my sheets into the washing machine.

This was my home.

My safe place.

And I had been violated inside of it.

I took the flowers he had given me and threw them into the dumpster.

I threw my clothes away.

I didn’t want his smell anywhere near me.

I didn’t want anything that reminded me of him.

I deleted him.

Blocked him.

Then I got off Facebook Dating as soon as my fingers stopped shaking.

Here’s the deal:

It doesn’t matter what I was wearing.

It doesn’t matter whether I drank alcohol or how much.

It doesn’t matter whether I screamed.

It doesn’t matter whether I pushed him away.

It doesn’t matter that I let him inside.

It doesn’t matter that I accepted flowers.

It doesn’t matter that he bought dinner.

None of those things purchase access to another person’s body.

Did he think picking me up meant we were having sex?

Was that the invitation?

You bought me flowers. Do I owe you sex as a thank-you?

You bought me dinner. Does that earn you my body?

No.

I was afraid for my life.

I didn’t know whether he had a gun.

I didn’t know what would happen if I pushed him away.

Would he become violent?

Would he choke me harder?

Would he continue until my body went limp?

I didn’t know.

Because the truth was, I barely knew him.

What I Learned

1. Meet someone new in a public place.
2. Bring a personal-safety device that is legal where you live and know how to use it.
3. Tell someone where you’re going, who you’re meeting, and when you expect to return.
4. Drive yourself when possible so you control when you leave.
5. If something feels wrong before the date even begins, you are allowed to cancel.
6. You do not owe anyone politeness at the expense of your safety.
7. Pay attention to behavior, not simply words, professions, pictures, or promises.
8. When appropriate, verify what you reasonably can before meeting someone.
9. Don’t let someone watch you enter your garage code, passwords, or other security information.
10. Keep your purse, identification, keys, phone, and other personal information close to you.
11. If you need to block someone, block them.

You don’t owe them one final explanation.

The next day, I wrote about what happened in a mom’s group.

I received a tremendous amount of support.

Some responses didn’t feel supportive at all.

Why didn’t you call the police?

And say what?

I let him inside my house.

We had sex.

I didn’t scream.

I didn’t fight.

I froze.

I fawned.

I was scared.

Would anyone believe me?

Report him.

And say what?

These are questions survivors wrestle with.

I am Jane Doe.

And I want people to understand something:

Sexual assault isn’t always loud.

It doesn’t always look like a stranger jumping from behind a bush.

It can be someone you met online.

It can be a date.

It can be a spouse.

It can be a partner.

It can be a friend.

It can happen quietly.

It can be confusing.

It can be messy.

A person’s nervous system may respond in ways they never expected.

Mine froze.

Mine fawned.

Mostly, I wanted it to be over.

I wanted to survive the night.

And I did.

I am alive.

I will never again allow someone into my home simply because they’ve been charming, bought flowers, have a respectable job, are a parent, or have spent weeks telling me exactly what I want to hear.

Trust isn’t something another person gets because they ask for it.

Trust is earned.

To Survivors

I see you.

I believe you.

Your story does not have to look like somebody else’s story to matter.

You don’t have to have bruises.

You don’t have to have screamed.

You don’t have to have fought.

You don’t have to explain why you froze.

You don’t have to explain why you stayed.

You don’t have to explain why you kissed them back.

You don’t have to explain why you were afraid to say no.

You don’t have to explain why you didn’t immediately call the police.

You don’t have to explain why your memories are fragmented.

And if you consented to one thing, that did not automatically mean you consented to everything that followed.

Consent can also be withdrawn.

If someone has experienced rape or sexual assault, they deserve support—not interrogation, judgment, or blame.

Reach out to someone you trust.

Seek medical care if you need it.

Talk with a sexual-assault advocate.

If you are in immediate danger, call 911.

If someone’s hands were placed around your neck or pressure was applied to your neck, consider seeking medical attention. Serious injuries aren’t always visible immediately.

Make a safety plan.

Tell somebody.

Don’t carry this alone.

And please hear this:

What you wore does not give someone consent.

What you drank does not give someone consent.

Going home with someone does not give them consent.

Letting someone into your house does not give them consent.

Accepting dinner does not give them consent.

Accepting flowers does not give them consent.

Starting sexual activity does not eliminate your right to stop it.

Freezing is not consent.

Fawning is not consent.

Fear is not consent.

You deserve to be heard.

You deserve to be believed.

You deserve to feel safe again.

I believe you.

I’ll make space for you.

You don’t have to carry it alone.

If You Have Been Raped or Sexually Assaulted: You do not have to decide everything immediately. You can seek medical care, talk to an advocate, make a safety plan, and learn about your options before deciding whether you want to report.

• Immediate danger or medical emergency: Call 911.
• RAINN – National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-HOPE (4673). Free, confidential support 24/7. You can also text HOPE to 64673 or use RAINN’s online chat. RAINN
• National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text START to 88788. This can be especially helpful when the assault involves a spouse, partner, date, or abusive relationship. The Hotline
• A hospital or Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner (SANE): Seek medical care after an assault, particularly if there was choking/strangulation, injury, possible pregnancy, or concern about sexually transmitted infections. A sexual-assault advocate or RAINN can help locate a forensic-exam provider. RAINN
• A local sexual-assault advocacy center: Advocates can provide emotional support, explain reporting and forensic-exam options, help develop a safety plan, and sometimes accompany survivors to medical appointments or police interviews.
• Police/law enforcement: A survivor can contact local police if they want to report the assault. Calling an advocate first can also help someone understand their options before deciding what they want to do.
• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988 if the trauma has led to a mental-health crisis, suicidal thoughts, or an immediate need for emotional crisis support.
• A trusted person: A friend, family member, counselor, therapist, physician, teacher, clergy member, or another person the survivor feels safe with can provide support and help them avoid facing the aftermath alone.

Arizona Resources

The Arizona Sexual and Domestic Violence Helpline can connect survivors with local advocacy, counseling, safety planning, medical accompaniment, and other services: 602-279-2900 or 1-800-782-6400. Arizona DES also lists text support at 520-720-3383. Arizona Department of Economic Security

For people in the Tempe area, CARE 7 Victim Services has a 24/7 CARE & HOPE line at 480-350-8004. Advocates can provide confidential support and can help arrange a SANE examination even when someone does not want to make a police report. Tempe