Waiting : The Aftermath of My Title IX Complaint Against My University
By: Sara Chittenden
Tags: Rape Culture, College, Title Ix, Sexual Assault

*Please note: in this piece I refer to a “they” and a “you.” These are general references and are not referring to or targeting specific individuals.

It has been 7 years since I was raped, 6 years since I reported the assault to my university, and 5 years since I reported Grand Valley State University (GVSU) to the Department of Education (DOE).

It was the spring of 2014 when I filed this complaint against my university for failing to follow Title IX guidelines which protect students from sex-based discrimination, harassment, or violence. Now, in 2019, I came to an understanding with GVSU through a “facilitated resolution” with the DOE and my complaint is closed. I cannot discuss the particulars of the mediation, but there is a statement from GVSU which you can read here.

It was the first time since 2014 that I was able to directly speak to the university about my complaint. I did not enjoy the mediation, particularly because I have years of thoughts and feelings that are impossible to do justice in one meeting. It has felt very infantilizing to be spoken about without being spoken to all of this time. So much of my experience, in all of this, has been just waiting in silence. And waiting. And waiting.

I wrestled with whether I should participate in the mediation, knowing that it was going to pull up a lot of old feelings, like dredging a riverbed. Ultimately, I made the decision to participate with a very familiar sinking feeling. When I‘ve tried to use what little power I have against institutions and cultural biases, it is seen as an attack fueled by emotional distress. I’m seen as a bitter instigator instead of a response to injustice. My anger and pain didn’t just spontaneously appear. They have been grown and fed by years of injury, thinly explained away as simple ignorance or happenstance.

As intertwined as my experiences are, I am easily able to distinguish my feelings between the assault and the reporting processes. I can confidently say that my experience trying to report the assault to my college was just as traumatic as the assault itself. It’s belittling to assume that my anger always stems from my assault, and that I remain angry because I just haven’t found peace yet. As I write this, I’m not thinking about my assault. The mediation was a resolution to my formal complaint but, to be clear, I have not and will not forgive GVSU.

The word I keep coming back to whenever I try to summarize all of this in my mind is “dehumanizing.” It’s a heavy word that carries with it this dull fog, a feeling of being insignificant and beaten down. There were so many times I just had to swallow little injustices. I still do. From the outside, “they” will tell me that I’m letting myself be dehumanized. That I have a choice. Why don’t I just stand up for myself?

Well, I stood up for myself. I was knocked back down. So I tried again. And again. As I consistently fought for my own humanity in emails, classroom, discussions, relationships, I was consistently met with resistance. To call it exhausting is an understatement. I started to doubt myself, to feel the poison of that confusing voice created by all this gaslighting.

My own experience was a special kind of hell, but I cannot imagine what other people go through. My experience isn’t the worst one, and it isn’t unique. My own identities as a white bisexual woman affect my life, especially regarding sexual violence. I have identities that make things harder and identities that make things easier. I have found comradery with other people with similar experiences, but I know I can’t truly understand many of their stories. It’s truly unbelievable how many stories there are and how little has been done to help us.

My goal in writing this is to try to fill in the gaps and to explain what my feelings are these many years later. I usually find myself downplaying the timeline of events. It’s much easier to digest bad news when we view it as one instance. It’s frustrating to see sad things play out in the long term. One news story that airs for 30 seconds may represent years of suffering. I don’t blame people for dealing with sad events this way, and I often do it myself. It would be impossible to hear every story in its entirety. However, this shouldn’t be an excuse but motivation to dig unflinchingly when we can.

I don’t like bringing up something that makes my family and friends upset. To me, it’s a normal thing to think about. To others, I’m bringing up something negative and heavy. Allies tend to resort to positivity rhetoric since rape culture makes them feel bad. It’s well-intentioned but ultimately selfish. At its worst, it’s a way to silence and manipulate survivors/victims under the guise of “moving on” and “being healthy.” This whole experience has impacted my sense of self and mental health in a serious way, but that’s not something I dwell on. It feels like more of a win to not focus on “peace” or “healing” and to just let myself live and feel. I don’t feel damaged in the way people assume, and if I do have a wound it’s silly to tell me to heal. My body will heal in time regardless of advice and well wishes. Don’t look at my wounds or scars and tell me to heal or hide them. Maybe they still pain me, and maybe they don’t. Regardless, I am more concerned with who gave them to me and why more people aren’t angry about it. The conversation is always “Sara is upset,” not “someone really messed up.”

I have found strength in my anger and self-worth in my decision not to forgive. I have learned to reflect the negative feelings and judgments thrown at me outward. I have gained empathy, pragmatism, nerve, and resilience from this experience. It has also left me with anxiety, impatience, and distrust. I am neither grateful nor angry about any of these things. That’s just how it is. I have gotten used to traveling in this gray area between victim and survivor, angry and calm, ok and not ok. It isn’t to say it’s easy, but I know my way around.

Throughout this process and now in my daily life, I’m doing my best. It’s a lot to figure out, much of it by myself. I have this sense of obligation to everyone else who has been affected by sexual violence and/or Title IX, especially those in West Michigan. I think I did ok. I hope it was worth it — this might be the questions that haunts me the most. After not hearing from the university for 5 years, I’m just now finding out that they’ve implemented significant changes due to my complaint. I started sobbing when I first heard this. I had no clue, and it came as a shock. All this time, I just figured that it was what it was and went on with my life with a lot of bridges burned and a new trauma tucked under my arm. It feels cruel that I didn’t know. I offered up my experience, like a sacrifice, hoping that they would change. In return, I was treated like an exile and given nothing but silence. There is no excuse.

So, with my complaint being closed, there is a sense of a loose end being tied off. I don’t get much satisfaction from it, but it’s one less thing for me to worry about. Even though I am now done with my official complaint, I still do not consider the score settled. What was done can never be undone, and I doubt than an institution would ever truly apologize in a way that would feel fulfilling. The realist in me understands this, but my heart knows that, just because that’s how it is, doesn’t mean that’s how it should be. I have worked hard and endured so much. I asked my university to do their job, which they were not willing to do. Whatever their true intentions were, it’s irrelevant. I had to push. I had to demand. One person can be so much stronger and braver than an entire institution of people, but it’s a lonely and harsh undertaking.

It’s been 7 years since the assault, 6 years since my report to GVSU, and 5 years since I filed a complaint with the DOE. It happened, and it’s still happening. I do not ask for sadness or pity — it’s not for my benefit. I ask for motivation and empathy. I ask that you consider how these injustices affect our humanity and daily life. And I ask that you think critically about the institutions and belief systems in our society that might be harming people under the guise of “that’s just how it is.” It’s vital to support victims of injustice, but it’s important to do so selflessly. Don’t look to us to make you feel better or to be your unwilling teacher. If you don’t know how to support a victim/survivor, do some research and remember that we are all individuals with different needs. Let us do what we need to do and use your status as an ally to address the instances of rape culture that you encounter in your life, no matter how seemingly small. It shouldn’t take someone like me going through hell to spur empathy and change.

I am not an expert on rape culture, but I am adding my experience and opinions into this ongoing conversation. I have so much gratitude to my friends and family who continue to support me, as well as all the people that have made me feel less alone by sharing their stories. Even with support, facing down something so ingrained as rape culture is intimidating. I’ve been told that my bravery is inspirational, but I wait impatiently for allies to be braver.