You know the moment you get the news that you’ve been waiting for? Like a new job. Engagement. Baby on the way. One-million likes on Facebook or Twitter. Pure elation. That was me in the winter of 1998. I had just been accepted to my college of choice in Sunny San Diego, CA! I couldn’t wait to leave the rainy (and beautiful) city of Seattle, WA. Sure, I would miss my friends and family tremendously, but I had dreamed of moving to San Diego to study fashion since I was 7 (no joke, just ask my mom) and the time had finally come.

I remember people asking if I was scared to move to another state all by myself. The truth was, I wasn’t scared at all. I had been raised with the belief that when we choose to follow the path of our heart and we strive to be our best self each and every day, things unfold as they should, in their perfect time. I was too overwhelmed with excitement to let fear creep in. And I was ready! Sooooooo ready.

Fear. It’s a strange thing. We aren’t born with it, it’s something we are conditioned to feel. “Be careful” our parents would say, each time we left the house alone. Be careful of what exactly? I don’t really think they knew. I think it was more of a protection shield for the parent, which in turn evoked a feeling of fear in the child. Regardless of why we were supposed to be careful, no doubt the statement came from a tremendous amount of love and our parents’ personal fear of the unknown – the fear that if something happened, how would they deal with it? I’m not a parent, but I find myself using “be careful” with my loved ones from time to time. Conditioning. So powerful.

Fear. It’s a necessary emotion but in my opinion, vastly overused. Until the day comes that it’s valid and you wish you never had to face that feeling - true fear - again.

It was September of 1999 when I picked up and moved to San Diego, CA. I was going alone and couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. I’d always been told that independence was important and was fortunate to have some incredible role models growing up. My mom & grandmother – or, “Nana” as we called her – were strong, independent, charasmatic women, who always encouraged me to dream big and do even bigger. I took pride in stepping out on my own. It was my time to shine and let my spirit soar. It was exhilarating. But let’s be honest, when we’re young, we’re fearless. Such a beautiful thing. Naïve? Maybe a little. But incredibly beautiful, nonetheless. And that’s how I felt. Fearless. Unstoppable. Independent.

I settled into my new apartment and was eager to begin college right away. I didn’t know anyone, but was thrilled at the prospect of making new friends and building new memories. I’d heard stories about college parties and all the wild and crazy experiences that college often brings and I couldn’t wait to see what all the hype was about. I’d always been very outgoing and loved new adventures so this chapter in my life would be no different. What could possibly go wrong?

I'd lived in San Diego for nearly a year when I met a charmer of a guy (looking back, he was overly so). He had a way of speaking that made people (women in particular) feel like they were the most important person in the room. He used pet-names like “baby” and “sweetheart” often and it was no secret that he made girls swoon as he showered them with compliments. In retrospect, that should have been my first red flag. But what did I know, I was 19 and impressionable. And he was so darn cute.

He was older, established, successful and seemingly interested in me, which was flattering. He’d asked me out a couple of times, but because he was a customer at the place I worked, I politely declined. Persistence. It pays off. And eventually, I cracked and agreed to a date. Just one, I told myself. I’d get it out of my system and move on.

I was nervous. What was I going to wear? What if I said the wrong thing? What if he didn’t like me? What if, what if, what if… Awwww, fear. Rearing its ugly little head again.

He had me meet him at his house for our first date, which I was fine with. I didn’t want him knowing where I lived yet, I barely knew the guy. From there, we went out to dinner with some of his friends. It was easy. Conversation flowed and my butterflies begin to dissipate. We laughed and I enjoyed myself. I even found myself hoping he’d ask me out again, which he did. Elated, I agreed, while still keeping my cool. I was after all, a college student and he was a powerful entrepreneur, 8 years my senior. I didn’t want to give away how excited I was, so when I got in my car to drive home that night, I did a little happy dance and begin planning what I would wear for our next date.

Our second date started the same way. I met him at his place and from there, we went to dinner. He ordered a nice bottle of wine (I definitely wasn’t old enough to drink and never had a fake I.D. but they didn’t question me so I let it go). I was responsible though. I only had one glass of wine and sipped on water the rest of the meal. Everything was going great. He said we were going to stop by his place so he could grab a jacket for me and from there, we’d go to a movie. Seemed harmless. We got in his brand new, fancy sports car and we were off. Little did I know that my decision to go back to his house that night would ultimately lead to a moment that would change me – and my life - forever.

We got to his house and he asked me to come to his bedroom; he had something to show me.  He kissed me and it was nice. I’d always been extremely assertive and harnessed the ability to speak my mind, but he made me nervous and caused a flutter in my stomach that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I know now that feeling was fear and it was warranted.  

He grabbed me tightly, picked me up & laid me on his bed. What started out as an innocent make-out session, quickly turned into a fight that I remember so vividly. I pawed at his back as he unbuttoned my top. “Please stop”, I said. I didn’t recognized my voice. It was timid, meek, soft. “Oh baby, it’s fine. It’s just me. Relax. Enjoy it.” He unbuttoned my pants. “STOP!” I recognized this voice. It was mine and it was powerful. “You’ll like it, I promise”, he said. As tears streamed down my face, I was determined to fight with everything I had. And I did! But he was bigger than me, much bigger. I was all of 105 pounds and he was easily 200 pounds of solid muscle with the upper hand. He had me pinned beneath him and I felt utterly helpless.

He raped me that night. My world as I knew would forever be changed. And so would I.