To a girl,
Young, scared, hurt, and overcome by the feeling of wanting to crawl out of her skin. You have come so far. You have marched down the length of that dock, felt the dead, dry, prickly summer grass on the bottoms of your feet, and you’ve kept walking. You threw away that swimsuit, you know the one. The pale blue bikini with the tiny yellow and pink flowers. You’ve even gone back to that lake. It took you a couple tries, but you gathered the courage to place your picnic blanket under the big oak tree, remove your shoes, and swim in the beautiful deep blue Washington water once again.
I don’t blame you for staying away for as long as you did. Even just driving on the bridge that overlooks the water made you shiver. There were a lot of firsts that happened that day at the lake, and the weeks to follow. It was your first time going to the lake without an adult. It was your first time visiting the public swimming area of the lake. It was your first time jumping off the long wooden dock. It was your first time being touched by a man. It was your first time feeling the gaze of a man threaten you into silence. It was the first time you were so terrified that you couldn’t make even the tiniest weakest sound. It was the first time you felt like an uninvited guest in your own body.
Some disturbed people will tell you it was your fault. “A fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t be wearing such a skimpy bathing suit,” they’ll say. That is an idea that has been passed down through the generations, and unfortunately, that idea is still widely communicated to young girls today. But you know now that the way you dress is never an invitation to somebody else. I wish someone would’ve told me that in the weeks that followed.
I am incredibly proud of the way you handled yourself in those following weeks. Looking back, it was upsetting that there wasn’t more the police could do. You gave them the location, the date and time, and they even had you go to the police station and meet with an artist who drew a portrait of your assaulter while you picked his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose out from a book of a thousand little drawings. It was like playing paper dolls. You still question if you got it right. You didn’t have a clear image of his whole face. Just his eyes. Those penetrative eyes that silently shouted at you to sit still, stay quiet, and tell no one what had just happened under the water. His eyes were the easiest feature to pick out of the book. To this day, I believe you could still pick them out of a crowd. Some images just never leave, even if the pain has started to fade.
Pushing through that darkness and letting that fear die out was one of the hardest things you’ve done. Even if your predator wasn’t brought to justice, you created a personal justice. Your body belongs to yourself again. You feel at home in your skin, and you dress however the hell you want. You wear scarves in your hair, bikini tops and little jean shorts, turtlenecks and long skirts, cropped shirts. You wear it all, and you don’t wear any of it to send a specific message. You just like how you look. And let me just say that that is a huge accomplishment in a society that raises women to hate how they look once they reach a certain age. Keep fighting that predetermined narrative.
Taking back your body was the first step. June 14th, 2023, you went back to that public swimming area. You wore your favorite swimsuit. You took your dog and your partner at the time for extra comfort and support. Getting back in the water was hard. That dock might always hold a painful memory, but you will never let it keep you from enjoying something that everyone has the right and privilege to do. Young girls shouldn’t have to fear something as innocent as a lake day or removing their swim coverups in a public swimming area. You have now marched back down the length of that dock, jumped into that water, and enjoyed the freedom of your body swimming in the magnificent deep blue Washington waters. Those eyes aren’t watching you anymore and those hands have let you go.