I have contemplated writing this letter many times since my daughter was a first-year. The ache in my heart has changed over this period of time. Last year, my initial reaction was concern for my daughter’s physical and emotional recovery. Preceding her sexual assault, my daughter had contracted mononucleosis. We are not sure which came first, the physical violation or the tiny viruses that zapped her strength. Both contributed to her powerlessness and terror.
I sent her away to college as a healthy, vibrant young woman. She was an extremely successful high school student-the type that would be admitted Early Action to such a fine institution as Georgetown University. Not only was she a skilled athlete; she also had numerous accolades for her accomplishments in the area of AIDS awareness. A speech she had given on the subject was utilized to educate students in junior high school health education classes throughout a prestigious school district. After the attack, this previously self-confident young woman now had to struggle to get out of bed, take a shower and eat.
The two handsome young men who committed this crime lived in her first-year dorm. Upon visiting their room at the request of another first-year girl, she was given Rohypnol, better known as the “date rape drug.” Little did the school know that these two young men were apparently suppliers of marijuana and various other drugs. I could cast aspersions toward the resident advisor who did not even know my daughter or much else that was going on in the dorm. When my husband and I reached out to the former Director of Residence Life, she caused us even greater turmoil and demonstrated little to no human compassion. My daughter was going through the toughest year she will ever likely ever have in her life. The knot in my stomach seemed permanently embedded. Grief took on a new meaning.
The support my daughter received from a Georgetown University psychiatrist is what sustained her during some of her bleakest days. He was a compassionate physician who helped breathe life into her again. I tried to provide input and direction to overcome my feelings of helplessness, sorrow and despair. I also had to subdue her father, who wanted to make sure these young men would never see the light of day again. Lately, I have finally seen a glimmer of the daughter that I had known. Although she has not wanted to outwardly discuss her sexual violation with anyone other than her psychiatrist and parents, she has allowed me to share her story of shame and terrible pain.
The article Kate Dieringer (NUR ‘05) wrote two years ago about her sexual assault at Georgetown hit so close to home that it made me feel whole again. I realized that my daughter wasn’t sexually assaulted because of naivete, but because there was, as an editorial in The Hoya described, “a disturbing pattern of violence by Georgetown students against Georgetown students.” Both my daughter and Dieringer were first-years when they were sexually assaulted. Dieringer knows neither my daughter nor countless others who cried her cry because they cannot, or will not, come forward. Perhaps the sexual violation of female students at Georgetown University would be an appropriate topic for the University’s own Ethics Institute to study.
The wounds that these two maladjusted young men inflicted are deep and lasting. I witnessed a slight regression at the one-year anniversary of the incident. Yet, once again, she pulled through. I am so proud of how my daughter has handled herself throughout the recovery. Someday this will be behind her because she is a fighter and a survivor. If her story helps one other victim or that victim’s parents, then perhaps we can take solace knowing that our sorrow served some purpose. As a parent I now know the real meaning of the word courageous: It is my daughter.
