Content Warning: This post discusses sexual assault, the absence of legal justice, and the profound emotional impacts that follow. It delves into themes of grief, anger, jealousy, and the complexities of healing without institutional validation.
Please prioritize your well-being; if these topics are triggering, consider reading at a time when you feel safe and supported.
Est Read Time: 6-8 Minutes
When Justice Feels Out of Reach
Some time ago, a friend of mine shared her story with me as she talked about how her court date was coming up. She had screenshots of her assailant admitting to the crime and it was basically a sure win.
She absolutely deserves this win-but as happy as I was for her, the words stung just a little.
This moment was the first time I realized that I hadn’t ever truly grieved for the fact that I would never get justice for what happened to me. That he was out there somewhere, living his life as if nothing had ever happened. I had always just kind of accepted it and moved forward.
I know that seeking justice in our broken system can be a difficult and retraumatizing experience. I don’t want to minimize the pain that can come of it. And I know that more often than not, it just ends in disappointment. But I guess I just wished I still had the choice.
I felt a deep, guttural kind of overwhelming grief.
Grieving What I’ll Never Have
Last week she updated me-she had her final court day and the process was over. She told me that he would have to serve time, and that she was awarded a restraining order and thousands of dollars to make up for therapy appointments and missed work hours.
I couldn’t help but think about how it must feel to look your rapist in the eye and watch him pay for his crime. How it must feel to be validated, to have a court of law tell you that your pain was real, and your perpetrator would pay.
I thought about how it must feel to give a victim impact statement. To watch him squirm under the consequences of his actions, to know that your struggle was heard. I wished I was able to feel the world on my side, able to say I received some sense of justice.
I hate to admit it, but I felt jealous. I didn’t want to feel that way. I wanted to just feel happy for her. But I just felt so much pain for the fact that I will never have any of that.
Coping with this pain is difficult. It’s hard not to feel helpless and small, and I’ve been hurting a lot.
I have come so far, healed and grown so much, but that will never minimize how much was taken from me. How many times over, I alone, have paid the price for his decision.
The Weight of Disenfranchised Grief
Have you ever heard the term “disenfranchised grief?”
Disenfranchised grief, also sometimes known as hidden grief or sorrow, is grief that goes unacknowledged or unvalidated by societal norms.
This type of grief can be particularly difficult to process and work through. Because it may be minimized or not understood by others, it can be isolating.
In the context of sexual violence, especially when no legal justice is served, this kind of grief can feel even heavier.
You’re mourning something you were never given-the chance to be believed in a courtroom, the opportunity to see accountability, the validation that what happened to you was wrong and mattered.
It’s not just the trauma itself you’re grieving, but the absence of justice that should have followed. And because that loss doesn’t come with a funeral or a court date, it often goes unseen.
This is why it can feel so lonely. The world moves on, expecting you to do the same, and without the visible markers of justice or societal acknowledgment, your grief becomes something you’re left to carry on your own.
But the pain is real. The longing for validation, for someone to say, “What happened to you matters,” is real.
Naming this grief for what it is can be a powerful step in healing-because what isn’t acknowledged often festers in silence, and you deserve the space to mourn, to rage, and to begin to heal, even without the justice you deserved.
Navigating Complex Emotions
So how do you cope with never getting justice, with being the only person to carry the weight of the harm that was done?
Well, I wish I had a good answer. Honestly, I’m not sure that there is one. A lot of the time it feels impossible, and I just feel helpless in my anger and resentment.
Maybe, for whatever reason, you are unable to seek legal justice, or maybe you did and didn’t receive the desired ruling.
What I can offer is reassurance that you are not alone in feeling the way that you do. I feel it too. I am hurting, upset, and angry.
It’s hard because while I wish I had made different decisions, pursued this while I still had the chance, I can’t blame myself for the fact that I didn’t. At that time, it was taking everything in me just to survive. Honestly, it just really sucks that now I’ve lost the chance.
I would like to address that feelings around this topic can be multifaceted and complex. When my friend got a ruling that she absolutely deserved, something that could be a huge step in her healing, I wanted to just feel ecstatic for her.
Am I a bad person for having feelings of jealousy instead? For thinking about how I deserved that just as much?
Of course not. As much as I hate feeling those things, those feelings are valid and real. Of course everyone deserves justice, and of course it hurts to see someone else get it, knowing that you never will.
Not only that, but of course I am ecstatic for her. I am proud of her for finding her way through a difficult process, inspired by her bravery, and I share in her disappointment and heartache.
My grief and anger don’t make those things any less true, and holding complicated emotions doesn’t negate my care.
Embracing the Healing Process
Repressing emotions doesn’t really get rid of them. And while it may feel better in the moment, it’s like putting a band-aid on a wound that needs much more attention than that.
So right now I guess I’m just trying to feel the emotions. To name them, validate them, and let them move through me.
After so much hurting, it’s scary to let the pain in, to intentionally feel it. I want to reassure you (and myself at the same time) that the hurt won’t last forever, that it won’t always feel so heavy.
I wrote a victim impact statement. One that I will never get to read in any court, one that will never serve its intended purpose. But it kind of felt cathartic. I’ll read it in therapy and then throw it away, and I can do nothing but hope that it gets some weight off my chest.
So anyway, sorry. If you came here looking for help or direction, I’m sorry that I’m just as lost in this process as anyone else. I hope you feel a little less alone, and I hope you know that I have faith we will all make it through this together.
And while I will never receive legal justice, I will not stop validating my own story. I will not stop healing. And neither should you.
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