Looking back over certain events of my life, I can see an order, a reason and the ongoing role Time plays in our lives. In my post titled, ‘It Happened To Me’, (saved from my blog DipseyAura in 2013), I signed off on a happy and positive note, I really thought that writing about the event, healed the trauma I had experienced at the hands of the man who raped me. It did not.
I woke up, It was happening, I didn’t say no, I didn’t fight, I passed out.
I’ve battled with that.
But who does that? I was asleep, I didn’t give consent… that’s rape.
I have looked at it from so many angles.
I think about it a lot, it’s unfinished business and it has been triggered most recently by a person I have encountered who looks just like him. I am unsettled. I am disturbed by the fact that I may have enabled a rapist to harm other women and I’m disturbed by the thought that vulnerable people working on the Underground may have had similar experiences, because I didn’t speak up.
I did speak up though, I told a manager, the top man on my line. I told people I worked with and I wrote about it. The result? London Underground covered it up. The man who raped me was retired on his full pension, it’s what they do… and they are not the only ones who cover up crimes within their ranks. I’m sure many people can testify to this practice within our grand and historic institutions.
As a young ‘Black’ woman, I ticked my fair share of boxes when it comes to degrading social stereotypes, but I was proud of myself for having achieved the status of a Train Driver, I owned my house and I was a ‘strong Black woman’, I was only 26 and I had accomplished so much in my early years on my own, but I felt powerless against the machine.
Let’s be real, I was raped by a ‘Black’ man who had risen up the ranks. A rarity, how could I expose him for being a rapist? I was in a troubling situation and as a single woman and mother I had two mouths to feed. So I did my best to get on with my life. I wanted to be dead, but I had to carry on.
I was urged to report the rape to the police in 2015. There was little they could do. Believing he was outside the UK they placed a block on his passport so that if he re-entered the country he would be questioned. I have not heard from them since. Following the report I was offered counselling with STAR and through that process I made a discovery of myself. I trusted the man who raped me because he wore a suit. The drivers wore a uniform, but he wore a suit. In my mind this meant I could trust him and be safely guided by him. I automatically respected him and saw him as a figure of authority over me. Why? Because I had been raised as a Jehovah’s Witness. Those men wore suits, and raised in a bubble, I was naive to the fact that this too was an organisation that harboured rapists and villainised the victims.
Still, what would they think of me? More shame on myself and my family.
I didn’t know what rape was, I didn’t know what it meant to be raped, but I did know that people who were raped had a hard time proving it. Estranged from my mother and her family of Witnesses I had no elder wisdom or guidance. My dad, who had worked nights as an engineer on the Underground, had died and I had no other relative I could call on. Without protection my fall back was cultural, ‘you don’t chat your business…’ Well I had broken that rule to no real avail and so, my depression deepened, my mental health weakened and my grief had me on the ropes as it clocked up my traumas.
I wore a mask, ‘don’t let them know you are struggling’.
My hair fell out, I got sick with stress, I lost my home, relocated and was bed bound for a decade…
I am weak – That is a big statement from a ‘Black’ woman. Barely uttered out loud. I’m lost and tired.
But I have to speak my truth!
The work of healing is ongoing, whilst I continue to be the help, support and guide for those from all walks of life who experience grief in it’s many forms, I am now diving deeper into this part of my journey, to root out my own trauma and lay it bare. That’s the least I can do.
I have to make my experiences count, other people might just gain the strength to speak up.
I’ve created resources that will help individuals to prepare themselves and their loved ones for their death, and gain a deeper awareness of death related grief, generational and work related grief and trauma. All this and much more through the creation of books I needed when I was thrust into tumultuous situations.
The work goes on and I see how I have been led to this point of disclosure.
London Underground and their managers failed me.
They had a duty of care toward me.
I’m turning it around.
They can not sweep my experience under the rug this time…
Perhaps they have changed their policies around their duty of care toward their staff. Maybe they have sought to find better ways to support their staff experiencing grief and trauma. They may well have looked at their culture of covering up events that could tarnish their reputation and decided to create open pathways for positive resolutions. I doubt it.
Ultimately I left the company to protect my sanity, but 17 years later, I am still affected by my experiences whilst working for London Underground.