i share my birthday with a very special person.

the day i met her, almost five years ago, she had come in to my place of work with her mom. the two of them sat out in the lobby, while i was in my office at my desk. my coworker and fellow rape recovery team victim advocate poked her head into my office.

“are you in the middle of something important?”

“nah, not really. what’s up?”

“there’s a victim out in the lobby with her mom. the rest of us are in the middle of SAAM planning with donors. she wants to talk to an advocate, learn about her options, but she wants to do it without her mom present. can you do her intake?”

“yeah, no problem. i’ll get the paperwork.”

“great, thanks. debrief with me about it this afternoon.”

i closed the documents that were open on my computer, locked the screen, and grabbed the intake paperwork from the drawer of my desk.

before my coworker got too far down the hallway and back into her meeting, i called after her and quickly jogged towards her.

“where’s the paperwork from the night of the call? i didn’t have the pager the night of her rape.”

“ah shit, sorry. it’s in d’s top drawer of her file cabinet. key is under her mousepad.”

i got the victim’s name and then went to d’s office to get her file.

all of us had locked file cabinets, paperwork that had been filled out in confidence, that was respected. always.

flipping through the pages of her file, i learned a bit about the victim… the girl… young… too young… i learned about her assault, who responded to the scene, and what protocol had been followed in order to provide the victim with support, information, and resources, should she choose to use the services that we, as victim advocates, provide.

i took her file, along with my intake paperwork, to the front of the building and introduced myself to both the girl and her mother. the mother began speaking very quickly and with total disregard of the fact that we were in the lobby where others were clearly within hearing distance. her daughter stared at the floor and flicked her fingers at the buttons that were on her yellow raincoat.

once i was able to escort the victim back to one of our counseling rooms, i clicked on the sound machine that was kept at the bottom of each door of those rooms. this was to assure whomever we were meeting with, would be respected and met with total confidentiality.

amongst the paperwork and questions about her rape, from both my end and hers, there were times of basic human interaction. i remember her telling me that she liked my shoes.

she then asked me how old i was… and then she corrected herself.

“i’m sorry. i probably shouldn’t be asking you that.”

“no. it’s fine. i will be 25 in a few weeks.”

“i’ll be 17 in a few weeks. you seem really young to be doing this kind of work.”

“i am.”

we both laughed.

after the intake process was complete, i explained the options she had in terms of services that she would be receiving. (this can fall along the spectrum of legal information, to obtaining safe shelter, to establishing free counseling sessions that were provided at my place of work.)

she took a deep breath and asked if she had to share all of the information i gave her with her mother. i told her that what she chose to share with whomever was entirely her decision to make, but i encouraged her to speak with someone, even if it is not her mother.

she then told me why she felt she couldn’t talk to her mother.

her assailant was her stepfather.

the amount of time i spent with her for this intake ended up being more time than i spent during any other intake i had done as a rape victim advocate. there was something about this victim, this girl, that i couldn’t quite put my finger on. but i knew that i wasn’t ready for our time together to end, and i got that feeling from her as well.

for a while, we just sat there and talked. about normal things. because survivors are capable of doing so… talking about normal things.

when i looked at the clock that hung above the door to the counseling room, i grimaced and told her that we should probably wrap things up. i asked her if she had any other questions, if there was anything i had discussed with her that she needed clarification on.

“yeah, i have one question and then i’ll go…”

“absolutely. shoot.”

“how do you know? like… you have sat here and nodded with me for over an hour… you like ‘get it.’ how do you know?”

“i was raped too. a long time ago.”

she hugged me, thanked me for my time. she took the folder of information that i had for her. i compiled her intake forms. we opened the door and i bent down to turn off the sound machine.

when we walked up towards the lobby, where her mother was waiting, i told her that i wished her well and to remember that she was not alone.

her mom saw us and got up from her seat to approach her daughter.

i wished the girl a happy early birthday, and when she did the same, she asked me what day mine was on.

“may 3rd.”

“mine too.”

she smiled and clutched the folder i had given her tightly to her chest.

not a single birthday has passed for me, since that time, when i haven’t thought about her as i blow out the candles on my cake.

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april is sexual assault awareness month. if you or someone you know is in need of support, resources or help, please visit RAINN. the national sexual assault hotline phone number is 1.800.656.HOPE