Patricia Weaver Francisco

A conversation with myself about TELLING: A Memoir of Rape and Recovery, Cliff Street Books/HarperCollins, February, 1999

 

Synopsis:

Telling is an intimate memoir which describes a fifteen-year journey to understand the effects of a violent rape. Francisco explores key aspects of a woman's life in the aftermath of rape --passion, marriage, solitude, childbirth, motherhood. She examines the damage done -- episodes of crippling fear, isolating anger, sexual withdrawal -- culminating in the end of her marriage. Telling also reveals pain transformed into strength, tracing the path that led to renewed happiness.

 

Why did you write this book?

I began writing Telling in 1991, on the 10th anniversary of my survival of a violent rape. I looked around the cafe where I was sitting and realized that two other women there had probably survived a rape. Rape was going strong even though I was "over it." Suddenly, it seemed important to tell , to write the story I had kept to myself.

I wrote Telling hoping to start conversations that otherwise might not occur. I think we need stories, examples, and common ground with any subject we're trying to understand. The level of common understanding about what it means to be raped is very low. I've tried to provide some language for talking about rape, and to be as detailed and honest with the reader as I might be with a friend.

 

Who is your audience for this book?

I hope this book will reach some of the 12 million rape survivors in this country.

More than that, I wrote this book for the men and women who are friends and spouses and fathers and sisters of rape survivors. It's a terribly difficult position to be in. Most of us have no idea what happens to a woman afterward, what to expect or what a survivor might need. We don't even know what questions to ask.

 

What helped you? What didn't help?

Having listeners helped, being able to tell the story over and over, then being allowed not to talk. Also, being taken care of by people who knew I was suffering. People checked up on me for months afterward, much like with someone who is ill or in grief. It helped to be told that I was strong and would be all right. It helped to be told that it was not my fault, that I'd done everything I could. It helped to hear other women's stories, although not at first. That took time.

I needed to be taken seriously when fear became crippling. At one point, I couldn't walk from my car to the front door alone. I didn't sleep a full night for a year. I couldn't take a walk by myself. I needed those around me to recognize that something was terribly wrong. The common impulse, however, is to reassure, to say there's nothing to be afraid of. That doesn't work. It only makes you feel more crazy and alone.

What didn't help was to be expected to act as if nothing had happened, to be discrete and strong. I needed others to shoulder some of the burden of what rape had done to me. That took a kind of courage from those around me. They had to be brave enough to be willing to know what I knew.

 

Tell about "telling." How does talking about rape affect the individual? The culture?

"Telling" is an expression I use for anyone's decision to make their true life visible to others. Having permission to talk about what is "unspeakable" can transform the experience of rape for the survivor. This is the great wisdom behind rape crisis centers and hotlines. Otherwise, the horror of rape can feel like your problem, instead of a social problem. Telling assigns shame to the crime rather than to the survivor.

I believe that if we aren't talking about rape, we permit its existence. Rape is allowed to flourish in America partly because we don't see it. There are women in all of our lives who are carrying this story, yet we have almost no way to talk about their experience. It seems too embarrassing, or painful, or frightening to talk about. We have certainly made progress in the last 20 years with rape, incest and domestic violence. I think the next step is to become more comfortable with the subject and less comfortable with the fact that our culture sustains this kind of behavior.

 

Susan Brownmiller's classic book about rape Against our Will looked at rape across human history. What makes your book different? Why write a memoir?

Against our Will opened the conversation about rape for the first time. When it was published in 1975, the first rape crisis centers were just opening. We were beginning to admit that as a culture we had a problem. Against Our Will played a key role in that change. Yet, back in 1981 when I was raped, I didn't seek out information. What I wanted was comfort and companionship. I needed to hear a story. When I was a child, my mother would soothe me with stories about how she'd solved a problem or suffered an embarrassment. It made me feel less alone. I want Telling to be that kind of book for others.

 

Rape is a difficult and personal subject. Why would someone want to read about it in your memoir?

I'm aware that there's resistance to looking closely at rape. It still scares me at times to look at it. And I know most people anticipate feeling powerless in the face of that kind of terror. But Telling is not a frightening or depressing book. I think that's the real advantage of waiting ten years to write about my experience. I had the perspective of time and health from which to tell the story. I had access to a sense of humor and to gratitude. I'm a happy woman, and I think that comes through in the book.

It's one reason why I've re-told the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale "The Snow Queen" throughout the book. Fairy tales take us to the places we most fear, and they illuminate our courage and our resources. Surviving rape was difficult but I emerged. I know many women who have emerged. What is hidden from the rest of us is how that battle was waged. Walking among us are unsung heroes. So many women could tell you of their private bravery and unsoothed sorrow. That knowledge can help those in the midst of the battle. So readers seem to find this book invigorating, full of surprises, and in the end, it leaves them with good feelings.

 

Telling is remarkably free of the anger and raw terror which a reader might expect to encounter in a memoir of rape. What was it like to write this book?

For the most part, I regarded my memories as material to be shaped. I wanted Telling to read with the forward motion of a novel.. It is a dramatic story, but it's also a completely true story. That took some work -- to give the truth the shape of a story.

The first three chapters recreate the night that I was raped, and those chapters were harrowing to write. I wrote them only during daylight, stopping every few minutes to go outside into the sunlight. I wrote as much as possible near water. Something about the waves, the huge expanse of liquid horizon helped me get through those chapters.

Another section that was surprisingly difficult to write was the immediate aftermath - the first year or so during which my former husband was so helpful and loving. Those memories were potent because we were divorcing as the book was being written. Remembering forced me to relive what was, oddly, a much happier time.

 

There's a great deal in this book about the effect rape had on your life as a woman and on your marriage.

Because rape is a crime of the spirit and the body, it had profound effects on my life afterwards. First, there were the post-traumatic stress effects with which we're familiar - fear, depression, obsession - huge hurdles to overcome. In addition, I found myself suddenly afraid of physical intimacy and sexuality. A counselor told us that 80% of married couples are divorced after a rape occurs. In some ways, this book is also the story of a marriage and of the damage done to it by the rapist's crime.

Six years after I was raped, my son was born. I experienced a difficult labor which ended in a cesarean section, and I've since understood that the stalled labor was probably a post-traumatic stress reaction - one that could have been prevented. This is not uncommon, but it is also not common knowledge. Women who are survivors of rape and incest may need to prepare very differently for labor.

Perhaps the most surprising discovery to come out of my experience with rape was the existence of the body's memory. I learned to treat the body's capacity for stored emotional trauma as seriously as I do the psyche's. I had a great deal of therapy as part of my recovery. But it wasn't until I received bodywork that I was restored to ease with my sexuality.

 

Thirteen years after you were raped, you attended the trial of a serial rapist whose crimes resembled what happened to you. What was that experience like?

The man on trial was given the longest sentence ever awarded in Minnesota history--132 years. The man who raped me was never caught, so this trial gave me an experience of justice. The trial took me another step toward understanding what had happened to me and how society regards this crime. I learned a great deal about the machinery of the law. I was moved and impressed by the women who testified. I was also challenged by some of the testimony -- old feelings came back fresh and strong.

 

We've seen several other memoirs lately about sexual violence. And yet, until now, there haven't been any. Why do you think this is?

It's funny, as I was finishing Telling, I was aware of feeling accompanied. I felt as if I wasn't the only one sitting alone in a little room trying to understand the experience. It's a tremendously positive development. The more we are able to read and talk and think about this crime together, the less alone survivors will feel. And the more likely we are to come up with some answers. America is responsible for the highest number of rapes in the world. We've got a real problem to solve. Perhaps we're ready to take another step.