On Founding SUNN: A Message from Our Founders

A Note from April

After devastating experiences with sexual assault in college, I remember laying in bed in my dorm room at three in the morning unable to sleep, thinking to myself: “If only I knew someone who had been through this and come out the other side. Then I would at least know it was possible to keep living.” In a time before #MeToo went viral, and in circles I occupied where even sex without the violence was too taboo to really talk about, I felt overwhelmingly confused and paralyzingly alone.

I sought support through various means — I tried going to the police; I tried going to the hospital; I tried going to churches; I tried going to school leadership, to therapists, to family, to friends, to acquaintances… hell, I even tried going to an AA meeting (as weird as that seems considering I didn’t actually have any substance use issues) — but unfortunately, the responses I received repeatedly were more hurtful than helpful; and for far too long, I was left by myself to try to wrestle with the nightmares, the stress, the isolation, the panic attacks, and the generally painful aftermath of sexual violence on my own. 

Many years afterwards were characterized by searching: searching for answers, searching for help, searching for purpose, searching for community — literally across the country and around the globe. I studied philosophy at Oxford, I went back to my family’s roots in Mexico, I cycled more than three thousand miles from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean to try to create an experience in my head that would be bigger and take up more space in my brain than the memories tormenting me; finally, I went to Washington, DC (on the other side of the country where I knew no one), to devote myself in service to a nonprofit organization whose mission was purportedly to help survivors of sexual violence like me. Sadly, I would come to find myself once again met with more disappointment from people and systems that should have been there to help instead causing harm — once again trying to pick up the pieces of shattered hope and trying to make sense of it all.

In the years since then, I’ve become deeply entrenched in the world of mental health. I’ve spent time learning from clinicians in mental health facilities in pursuit of my own treatment, I’ve had the opportunity to study psychology at the graduate level from some of the brightest minds in the world, and I’ve had the immense privilege of working closely with key thought leaders and changemakers across the country working tirelessly to pass critical legislation for, and destigmatize the broader conversation about, mental health in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

During this time, I learned several important things that would eventually lead me to helping form SUNN (the sexual assault Survivors United National Network) with a group of likeminded survivors and advocates:

1. The mental health movement and the antisexual violence movement are surprisingly disconnected.

There is a very clear connection between sexual violence and psychiatric disorders: people who struggle with mental health are more likely to experience sexual violence, and people who experience sexual violence are more likely to struggle with mental health. 

Despite the elevated risk for mental health conditions that survivors of sexual violence face (and the elevated risk for sexual violence that people living with mental health conditions face), having worked in both spaces, I’ve learned that mental health organizations and anti-violence organizations are shockingly siloed. I speculate that a big part of this has to do with the fact that anti-violence organizations tend to approach sexual assault as a crime issue — with a focus on prevention and punishment. And mental health organizations have historically approached their work more broadly to strive for a more wide-reaching impact, with the unintended consequence being less focused resources for specific populations with elevated risk for mental health conditions (which many are now trying to address for communities of color, veterans, rural populations, etc., but similarly concentrated efforts have not yet been made for survivors of sexual violence).

As a society, it’s time for us to collectively connect the dots and realize: 

sexual violence IS a mental health issue, and survivors of sexual violence ARE an underresourced high-risk population.

2. The future of support is peer-led.

Over the last few years one thing has become abundantly clear: the need for mental health services has far outpaced our ability to produce qualified providers. This is a direct result of not only more people talking about and reaching out for mental health support than ever before, but also the bar being incredibly high (read: expensive) for folks to provide services when you must have a masters degree or higher to do so. Training folks with lived experience to provide support to others experiencing similar challenges has become an effective way to close these gaps while creating a more diverse pool of individuals qualified to offer help. 

Furthermore, peer support specialists aren’t just important because they are able to help us keep up with the demand while creating more diverse avenues for support, they are also able to offer greater empathy and practical advice from their own lived experiences, in addition to bringing hope in that unique way that I was searching for so long ago in the aftermath of my own assault: peers are able to exemplify living proof to others in similar situations that a good and fulfilling life after trauma is indeed possible and attainable.

3. Interpersonal relationships hold the greatest capacity for both harm and healing.

One of the most insightful things I learned from my graduate studies was that human beings are astonishingly resilient — while many people (approximately 70%) experience trauma throughout their life, very few (approximately 6%) will actually go on to develop posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). However, the risk of developing mental health conditions like PTSD become significantly higher if the trauma experienced was interpersonal in nature (i.e. combat or a sexual assault versus a natural disaster), and the risk of developing PTSD becomes even greater if there is a lack of supportive community in the aftermath of trauma (which is often the case for survivors of sexual trauma, who most frequently experience violence committed towards them by people they know, which others tend to struggle to understand or accept). 

What this means is that trauma inflicted on us by a fellow human being can be one of the most devastating experiences we can face, but the way we are treated by others in the aftermath can also be our greatest source of healing; positive relationships and supportive communities can be one of the most powerful tools for recovery.

4. Trauma survivors need more than just crisis support: healing is a journey, not a destination.

When my time studying in Oxford was coming to a close, in what one psychiatrist would later come to describe to me as the greatest act of avoidance indicating my severe PTSD, I attempted to take my own life. I decided that I would rather die than go back to the way I had been treated by so many in the aftermath of my assault. I woke up in a bed in a hospital, where a psychiatrist asked me to explain why I tried to take my life and if I would continue to be at risk if they released me. I explained that I was just having a hard time because I had experienced a sexual assault at home in California, and I didn’t want to go back to the environment where I experienced it. I told them I was fine though; I’d come up with a plan: I would go to therapy for a few months to address it, cycle across the country and then move on. When the nurses started laughing, I asked what was so funny. They explained that this wasn’t something that was going to magically feel better after a couple months of therapy — that this would likely be a life-long journey. More than a decade later, I can tell you with firm conviction that they were absolutely right.

There are hotlines and centers around the country where people can turn to for crisis support in the immediate aftermath of sexual violence, but resources for long-term healing are much more scarce. We need services for survivors of sexual assault that don’t just support them in the moment, but over the course of their lifelong journey towards healing. 

5. In the aftermath of COVID-19, mental health leaders across the country seized the opportunity to become more unified and less divided.

Through my work with organizations like NAMI and HelpGood, I saw leaders of some of the largest mental health organizations unite through initiatives like the Mental Health Coalition, the CEO Alliance for Mental Health, and the first-ever Bipartisan Mental Health Caucus to try to address the many gaps in our fragmented systems of care. I had the honor of working directly with NAMI’s CEO Daniel H. Gillison, Jr., who regularly shared that great African proverb as a guiding principle for our work: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” 

There has yet to be a similar reckoning within the anti-sexual violence movement. Too many of us are working in silos, duplicating efforts, and treating each other as competition for funding and attention, rather than as partners for collaboration. We need to take a page from our leaders in the broader mental health movement and develop a better model, where national organizations share resources for the greater good, advocate in unity, and work together to develop funding opportunities for smaller centers doing the work on the ground in local communities.

The journey has been a long one, fraught with many hardships along the way. But my friends, colleagues and I truly believe that the future is bright. We hope you’ll join us in our fervent clinging to hope and utter refusal to accept the status quo as we embark on this new venture to unite and empower our fellow survivors towards healing through the power of community. The change we are seeking is here; it’s us.

In solidarity,

April Cisneros

A Note from Ebonique

Through more than two decades as a licensed clinician working in multiple realms of social work and mental health, I’ve heard every buzzword imaginable. You know the ones I’m talking about — “safe spaces,” “client-centered,” “survivor-focused,” “trauma informed” … all these terms used to signal quality care for those seeking services, but too often thrown around indiscriminately and held on empty promises.

What I’ve learned is that entities who fail to give survivors a seat at the decision-making table will always ultimately fail survivors. No amount of credentials can make up for a lack of real connection to the lived experiences of survivors. Ultimately, systems that treat survivors as numbers will always provide sterile outcomes; and treatment plans designed to “fix” predetermined problems will always fall short, lacking the substance and nuance truly needed to meet survivors where they are and empower them towards their own unique version of healing.

Sexual violence is exploitative in nature — which is all the more reason why healing from sexual violence shouldn’t be. When we allow those most directly affected by this work to drive solutions, we can ensure that it isn’t. Sexual violence is also a relational wound — which is why it must be healed within the context of relationship and community.

As a licensed social worker and therapist, I’ve had intensive and extensive training in working with survivors of trauma, particularly in power-based violence situations. I’ve taken, attended and even facilitated numerous courses, seminars and workshops throughout the years. But throughout all the educational and training opportunities I’ve been lucky enough to experience, nothing has so positively impacted my ability to partner with survivors like my shared experience with them.

My ability to connect as a peer is what allows me to approach this work through a lens of partnership (rather than that of a savior mentality), with true empathy and respect for the people I work with. After all, I know firsthand just how confusing, lonely and challenging the journey after trauma can be. I also know firsthand how healing it can be personally to walk alongside others in this journey.

Over the course of my life and career I’ve become convinced that there is nothing more powerful than survivors standing with other survivors. Through peer support, we help others and ourselves find help, hope and healing. And through peer support, we help others and ourselves know that we are not alone.

As we embark on this new venture, I’m reminded of Amanda Gorman’s moving and insightful words: “There is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.” I hope you’ll join us in becoming the light we seek as we strive towards a brighter future for all survivors of sexual violence.

Warmly,

Ebonique Bethea