Bearing Witness: What I’ve Learned as a Sexual Assault Victim Advocate

The clock strikes 6:00 p.m., and my shift begins. For the next twelve hours, I will be the first voice many victims hear as they reach out, clinging to the hope that someone, anyone, will catch them as they free-fall. Nothing about advocacy is predictable. Each call brings a new story, a fresh tragedy that demands unwavering compassion. There is no uniformity in trauma, but there is always a need for someone to listen, someone to bear witness. Every shift offers a glimpse into the depths of a soul’s darkest night, and it is my distinct honor to stand beside them, the tiniest shimmer of light in the blackness.

Working as a sexual assault victim advocate is both heartbreaking and humbling. Some nights, the phone rings, and it’s a victim on the other end, still reeling from an assault of long ago. They’re not seeking answers or solutions, just someone who understands the weight of their pain. They need a listener, someone who won’t judge, who won’t interrupt, but will meet them where they are. My role is simple, yet profound: to be present. I am honored to be their rock when their world feels like it’s crumbling. Just me and them in the quiet of the night, holding space for a hurt too raw and overwhelming for the light of day. The kind of pain that only emerges when the shadows stretch long, and you’re left alone with your thoughts. “I’m here for you,” I say, and I mean it. It’s never just words—it’s a promise.

Other times, the calls are urgent. A victim in the Emergency Department needs an advocate, their life shattered into a million pieces. Often, their bodies bear the evidence of violence: bruises, carpet burns, swollen eyes, fingernails broken in jagged lines. Some victims react with a primal sense of emotion, tears falling in torrents, their bodies wracked with sobs that make no noise. Others sit in shock with their faces blank and their minds elsewhere. They sit quietly in their hospital gown, with eyes vacant and unfocused. In those moments, I act not just as a silent presence, but as a voice, speaking for those too broken to find the words.

The numbness is just as heartbreaking as the tears. There’s a powerlessness that comes with witnessing someone who has just been assaulted. I’ve learned that both the crying and the numbness are forms of survival, mechanisms a broken spirit uses to cope with the most unspeakable experiences. The tears are the release of a pain too deep to hold, while the numbness is a shield, a desperate attempt to protect the heart from the weight of what’s happened. Both are cries for help, even if they come in different forms.

Being a sexual assault victim advocate has transformed me in ways I can’t always articulate. I’ve learned that trauma doesn’t have a set appearance. I’ve learned to be patient, to give victims the space they need to heal at their own pace. I have learned that recovery is not linear; it is a journey full of twists and turns, a road best walked together with someone you trust. It’s forced me to grapple with my own understanding of justice, of right and wrong, and of the deep scars that violence leaves behind. I may never be able to undo the hurt that’s been done, but in those quiet, sacred moments, I can offer the reassurance that they are not defined by the horror that was done to them. And in doing so, perhaps, I’ll reassure myself of the same along the way.

The greatest tragedy of sexual violence is not just the violence itself, but the way society too often responds. It’s not about what she wore, where she was, or what she did or didn’t say. It’s time to shift the tone of that worn-out conversation. It’s time to hold perpetrators accountable for their actions and create a world where sexual violence will not be tolerated. No exceptions.

As a community, we need to take action. It's not enough to send “thoughts and prayers” when something horrific happens. For those who know a survivor: be there. Don’t ask for details. Don’t offer judgment. Be a place they can lay the weight of their experiences aside. Do your part to break down the walls of shame and silence that surround sexual assault. It’s time to foster a world where survivors feel safe enough to speak their truth, to rebuild, and to face the world without fear of rejection.

The work of a sexual assault victim advocate is, above all, an act of love. It’s a quiet, steadfast commitment to being present for someone during their darkest hours. It’s about showing the broken that even in the face of the unspeakable, they are worthy of safety, compassion, and justice. For me, this work is a calling that carries with it the weight of every survivor’s story, woven together with my own, and the profound truth that even in the darkest of times, it is possible to find the light again.