See? No narrative arc. No character development. Just ten words dropped into the auditorium where they sank without trace. Is it any wonder the audience were restless and whispering? The facilitator had promised them a journey, but this was more like a mid-air stall. I had no progress to report, no growth. I wasn’t even able to refer to myself as a rape survivor. I was still a victim. It remained to be seen whether I survived this in any meaningful sense.

The facilitator nodded encouragingly, giving me every opportunity to develop my story.When it dawned on her that that was it, she smiled and turned back to the audience.

“Thank you, panellists, for sharing your stories with us. At this stage, I’m going to throw the discussion open to the floor. I’m sure the audience have many questions to put to our panellists.”

A forest of hands shot up.

“I have a question for Marion. First of all, I want to say how inspiring I found your story and how incredibly brave I think you are. Then I wanted to ask if you have been the victim of any negativity from friends or family since you came out with your story? Or have they mostly been supportive?”

Marion shook her head. “I’ve encountered plenty of negativity, I’m afraid. Mostly in the form of victim-blaming, which, as we all know, is patriarchy’s way of attempting to silence women. I’ve been asked why I let him into my home if I didn’t want to have sex.What was I wearing at the time? Why did I drink that much? The usual questions women get asked when they report a rape.”

“Yes, Lucy?”

I looked at the facilitator in surprise. Then I realised I had my hand in the air. This is not protocol. You don’t have to raise a hand when you are one of the panellists. Some long-dormant classroom instinct had reared its head.

Why was my hand up anyway? What did I want to say?

Then I opened my mouth and my tirade came spewing out.

“Marion, do you really think you can claim rape victim status equal to mine? You think your experience is even one fraction as traumatic as mine? You think that because some vague question mark hangs over how meaningfully you were able to consent because you were drunk at the time, your experience was anything like mine? Your so-called rapist was drunk too. Maybe you were the one who raped him—have you ever thought of that?”

“Now just a minute . . .”