I’ve repeatedly encountered the harmful notion that it is easy for victims to speak up; that they are immediately rallied behind, celebrated, and believed. This is not true. I was not rallied behind. I had to put in an unspeakable amount of effort for more than a year, and eventually invoke outside legal counsel, to see what I consider basic recognition.
Community norms should not impose costs on sharing such information. I’m sorry you had to pay these costs, Frances. Thank you for speaking out. Hopefully this post decreases the cost in these communities. In fact, such important information should be socially subsidized, not taxed (since e.g. speaking out often requires reliving trauma, which is unpleasant; and most of the benefit is external).
Thank you so much Alexander, I really appreciate this comment. I have some related thoughts, which are completely separate to the concerns I’ve raised thus far. The following is a reflection on abuse and disclosure more generally (and I hope you won’t mind that I’m using your comment as a jumping off point):
There are definitely social costs to disclosure in general around negative experiences (which I’m so sorry you’ve faced first hand), and especially so when they also involve mental health disclosures. The latter is unfortunate given that sexual assault is relatively common, and further, incidences of PTSD specifically among rape victims are very high (a quick look at a meta from 2021 is showing me 74.6% of survivors meet PTSD criteria one month post-assault. Another study found 94% experienced symptoms within two weeks and about 40% of victims still meeting the criteria after a year).
For me personally, some symptoms included difficulty sleeping, generally elevated anxiety, and difficulty with dissociation. For many months, I felt unusually detached from my surroundings and it was difficult to reliably access negative emotions. I also found it harder to focus for extended periods of time in a way I hadn’t experienced previously. One example of a concrete way this did impact my work: I found it hard not to zone out in long group meetings, which is not something I’d previously struggled with. Thankfully, I discussed this with my direct manager. He was supportive and encouraged me to flag without embarrassment if I had missed something a team member said. In general, my teammates were fantastic and supportive, though most of them had no awareness of what was happening (only direct managers did). They’re just naturally kind.
Anyways, I say all of this because I don’t want others to feel alone. I don’t want victims to be terrified to admit that assault does affect your health and it can take months or even years to fully recover. Talking about this stuff is scary. I’m so grateful for all the kind and empathetic support I’ve been receiving in response to this post. I hope we can continue to support victims, both in public and in private. And especially when it’s scary or uncomfortable.
The EA community has a significant undersupply of information from victims of abusive conduct, since the victims are often branded as “triggered” or “irrational”. I’ve heard this from female friends, I’ve read about this (e.g. in the TIME article), and I myself paid social costs in sharing a different kind of negative experience. Victims often pay significant social costs to talk about their experiences.
Community norms should not impose costs on sharing such information. I’m sorry you had to pay these costs, Frances. Thank you for speaking out. Hopefully this post decreases the cost in these communities. In fact, such important information should be socially subsidized, not taxed (since e.g. speaking out often requires reliving trauma, which is unpleasant; and most of the benefit is external).
Thank you so much Alexander, I really appreciate this comment. I have some related thoughts, which are completely separate to the concerns I’ve raised thus far. The following is a reflection on abuse and disclosure more generally (and I hope you won’t mind that I’m using your comment as a jumping off point):
There are definitely social costs to disclosure in general around negative experiences (which I’m so sorry you’ve faced first hand), and especially so when they also involve mental health disclosures. The latter is unfortunate given that sexual assault is relatively common, and further, incidences of PTSD specifically among rape victims are very high (a quick look at a meta from 2021 is showing me 74.6% of survivors meet PTSD criteria one month post-assault. Another study found 94% experienced symptoms within two weeks and about 40% of victims still meeting the criteria after a year).
For me personally, some symptoms included difficulty sleeping, generally elevated anxiety, and difficulty with dissociation. For many months, I felt unusually detached from my surroundings and it was difficult to reliably access negative emotions. I also found it harder to focus for extended periods of time in a way I hadn’t experienced previously. One example of a concrete way this did impact my work: I found it hard not to zone out in long group meetings, which is not something I’d previously struggled with. Thankfully, I discussed this with my direct manager. He was supportive and encouraged me to flag without embarrassment if I had missed something a team member said. In general, my teammates were fantastic and supportive, though most of them had no awareness of what was happening (only direct managers did). They’re just naturally kind.
Anyways, I say all of this because I don’t want others to feel alone. I don’t want victims to be terrified to admit that assault does affect your health and it can take months or even years to fully recover. Talking about this stuff is scary. I’m so grateful for all the kind and empathetic support I’ve been receiving in response to this post. I hope we can continue to support victims, both in public and in private. And especially when it’s scary or uncomfortable.